The Golden Age of Basketball

Gan Guoyang devoured half a roast chicken, a bowl of wonton soup, two servings of noodles, three shrimp dumplings, four char siu pastries, and drank five small cups of lemon tea before he was slightly satisfied. He wiped his mouth and let out a burp.

"Dad, your cooking skills seem to have improved again," he said.

Gan Youwei, seeing his son's hearty appetite, finally let go of his worries; a good appetite meant that there were no significant health issues.

"It's not that Dad's cooking has gotten better, but that you're hungry. Do you want to eat more?"

"No, I shouldn't overeat. Besides, this is food we sell for money in the restaurant; it's not good to consume too much of it..."

Uncle Gan Youtang, who had been standing at the door, came in and let out a deep sigh, "Eat up, eat up, Guoyang. You should eat more; anyway, if it's not eaten, it will just spoil in the kitchen. Look, it's the middle of the day, and not a single person is in sight. The restaurant only opened six months ago, and the business has turned this bad. Youwei, I'm really sorry for inviting you over from the mainland and leading you into this mess."

Gan Youwei waved his hand quickly and said, "I came of my own volition, and besides, when you asked me to come, you didn't trick me. You said straight up that the restaurant was struggling and needed a skilled chef. With my abilities, I believed I could turn things around, but who would have thought..."

"Who would have thought these American wild boars couldn't appreciate refined food! They can't get used to our generous portions and good cooking, and it's too good for them! They just love the mixed fry from Chinatown! Damn it!"

Gan Youtang picked up the conversation, and both brothers frowned with worry, troubled by the deserted business and the substantial monthly rent.

Gan Bingguang and his son Gan Youtang had been working in America for more than ten years. The old man had always been a head chef in a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown, while Gan Youtang managed the place.

Having saved up some money, they wanted to end their working lives and become bosses for once, owning their own restaurant business.

Through a referral, they rented this shop located near a busy street in the Tenderloin District. They completed renovations and had a grand opening six months ago.

The landlord of the premises was a Guangdong man from Chinatown named Chen Yaoming, who had highly praised the location before they opened their business, boasting about the good feng shui and calling it the busiest area in the Tenderloin District, with plenty of residents, tourists, and office workers, ensuring the business could not possibly be poor.

With a five-year lease, they could make their investment back within a year, and everything after that would be profit.

However, they only realized after opening that although the place was indeed located in a busy area with plenty of residents, tourists, and office workers, and ample foot traffic—which they had ascertained from multiple site visits—there was a problem they had overlooked.

There were also many homeless people, hippies, and ruffians who would appear in groups during mealtimes and evenings, lingering around and sometimes coming into the restaurant to score a free meal.

Unable to afford the pricier meals and drinks, they would order cheap fried rice and tea, occupying seats for the whole afternoon, which deterred potential patrons like tourists and office workers from coming in.

These people couldn't be driven away and turning them into a customer base was not possible—as it was, being willing to pay for some food was good enough.

The target customers for Gan's Restaurant were the urban middle class. Gan Bingguang, who had been a head chef for many years, aimed to open an upscale Chinese restaurant in San Francisco, changing the stereotype in American society that Chinese food is cheap fast food and miscellaneous stir-fries, and to promote the profound and extensive Chinese cuisine.

But with so many homeless people, hippies, and groups on drugs, the middle-class consumers were simply too frightened to patronize the restaurant.

Gan Bingguang, with a typical Chinese hard-working and enduring mindset, firmly believed that diligent work would eventually earn divine favor. He insisted on maintaining high-quality ingredients and standards.

He believed that a good wine needs no bush and that persistence would one day build a reputation.

Thanks to this belief, the restaurant's delivery service was doing well, providing some additional income to mitigate the losses.

However, breaking even, let alone profiting, was a distant dream since delivery was just supplementary and couldn't even cover the rent.

The restaurant quickly began to run at a loss, with the kitchen severely underutilized, and the chefs unable to receive their full salaries left the job, forcing the old man himself to step in.

Kitchen work is physically demanding, and although Gan Bingguang had the experience, he was getting on in years. His son, Gan Youtang, didn't have the makings of a chef, and they couldn't find suitable local chefs in a short time, as other chefs were reluctant to join seeing the restaurant's poor business.

Amid their worries, he suddenly remembered a kindred nephew back across the ocean in Gan Family Village, Gan Youwei, whose family was prominent in the village and had inherited the Gan Family Cookbook. If he could convince him to partner up and come to America to cook, there might be a glimmer of hope.

With nothing to lose, Gan Bingguang managed to contact Gan Youwei, who was thousands of miles away. After a long-distance call, Gan Youwei astonishingly agreed to come, saying he would bring his son across the sea to bolster Gan's Restaurant.

It was a time when China and America were enjoying a honeymoon period, and according to the Immigration Act of 1965 and subsequent agreements after the establishment of diplomatic relations, forty thousand Chinese nationals were allowed to come to America each year (half from the mainland and half from Taiwan), significantly loosening immigration restrictions.

With the help of his uncle Gan Bingguang and cousin, Gan Youwei and his son Gan Guoyang smoothly arrived in San Francisco and began their life in America.

Gan Bingguang had worried that his nephew only had a reputation for cooking and had neglected his culinary skills, unable to cook Gan's cuisine, but after personally cooking a meal, even Gan Bingguang, an experienced chef, gave him a thumbs up – his cooking was unquestionably excellent.

But being a good cook was useless at that time. In 1979, America's economic growth stalled, and the California region was hit by an economic crisis, with Los Angeles, Sacramento, San Francisco, Oakland, and other areas plunging into severe economic decline.

In 1980, Reagan took office and introduced an economic reform plan, but it was ineffective; instead, by 1981, the American economy had entered a period of stagflation, with unemployment rates soaring to 8%, and the Dow Jones Industrial Average falling from 2,600 points in 1965 to 800 points, with a continuing downward trend.

The big cities began to show signs of hollowing out, as many new immigrants and middle-class families moved to the suburban satellite cities, and the tourism industry in San Francisco also suffered a heavy blow.

Homeless people, criminals, and drug addicts roamed the streets in groups, making the restaurant industry's survival environment increasingly hostile.

This was not something determined by a chef's cooking skills. Even with Gan Youwei's extraordinary culinary skills, he couldn't turn the tide if customers did not come and those who did didn't do business.

A few men carrying handbags, wearing black fishnet stockings and tight mini skirts, with various colored pretend curls on their heads, pushed the door open and found a spot to sit down, waving at Gan Youtang and calling for a steamer of potstickers.

Gan Youtang rolled his eyes and shook his head, cursing under his breath about how these "damn queers" would come in groups of threes and fives and eat only a little, like chicks, and then not leave, hanging around in the restaurant to chat and play cards.

If you tried to shoo them away, they would act coquettish and throw flirtatious glances at you, utterly unbearable, and there was no way to deal with them.

After they sat down, they started to chatter and quickly lit up cigarettes. Gan Youtang had no choice but to serve them, while Gan Youwei got up and went to the kitchen to make the potstickers.

Gan Guohui had just come down from upstairs, holding a basketball and telling Gan Youtang he was going to play, ready to leave.

Gan Guoyang quickly got up and called out to him, "Hey! Guohui, heading to play basketball? Take me with you!"

Gan Guohui said, "Guoyang, brother, you've just recovered from illness, can you handle it? Besides, I thought you didn't like basketball."

"Who said I didn't like basketball? With my height, it would be a waste not to play. I just wasn't used to it before."

"Heh, I knew it. Such a waste of your build not to play basketball. Let's go, there's no business in the shop anyway. It's perfect; you can help me teach Chen Xing a lesson."

As Gan Guoyang passed by the 'flock of warblers and swallows,' one of them pinched his arm, and another took off the Bohemian floral wreath from their head and put it on Gan Guoyang's.

The group laughed and teased, throwing flirty glances at Gan Guoyang, making him break out in goosebumps.

Looking at these strange and extraordinary people, he suddenly thought of a song from the movie "Forrest Gump" called "San Francisco":

If you're going to San Francisco (If you're going to San Francisco)

Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair (Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair)

If you're going to San Francisco (If you're going to San Francisco)

You're gonna meet some gentle people there (You'll meet many kind-hearted people there)

For those who come to San Francisco (For those who come to San Francisco)

Summertime will be a love-in there (The summer will be full of love there)...

He touched the wreath on his head, didn't take it off to throw it away; instead, he smiled and wore it as he left the restaurant with Guohui.

The warblers and swallows smoked their cigarettes, collectively and silently watching Ah Gan's departing figure.