Dumplings

Mother’s Older Brother went back into the small kitchen after breakfast and started making the filling. Taking the leftover pork from the previous day’s soy noodles, he slowly fed it into the bright red Dice-o-matic™ that Mother’s Older Brother’s Wife bought in Hong Kong. The said purchaser of the device stood next to him, her hard eyes watching him work. Slowly and methodically he dropped the pork, prawns, onions, ginger and bamboo shoots into the noise of the blades to be hacked into neat, uniform chunks like perfect miniature dice.

Adding to the cacophony, Mother’s Younger Sister was pouring flour and water into the Blend-It-Right™, its high pitch whine the soprano accompaniment to the snare drum of the Dice-o-matic™. Out of its gizzards came yards of soft dough which were then passed to Father’s Younger Brother’s Wife to place inside the SpeedKneader™ that rolled out long, pale snakes to its own steady, thumping beat. The SpeedKneader Dough Separation Attachment ™ cut each serpent up into inch long blobs.

With a noise like a woodsaw being scraped over a washboard, the Dice-o-matic™ shuddered and stopped.

“Aiya,” Mother’s Older Brother’s Wife cried. “I told you you were putting too much into that. You stupid idiot, you know how much that thing cost?”

With a long suffering silence, Mother’s Older Brother took down a cleaver hanging on the wall and swung the large blade to knock the Dice-o-matic™ back into alignment. With a satisfied grunt he put the cleaver back, and tapped on the switch. Dutifully the blades got back to work and the Dice-o-matic™ resumed its effortless, high-pitched disgorgement of minced fillings into the waiting bowl.

The production line continued as the dough and filling were carried out of the kitchen by cousin and I to the living room. Mother’s Younger Sister sat next to Mother as they both silently watched the New Year pageant on the new 50-inch ViewDeluxe™ television. Without even looking down, Mother’s Younger Sister would take up each chopped tube of pastry and slide it into the Flattenit™ sitting in front of her. With a sibilant hiss, the Flattenit’s™ piston would drive down on the dough, forming a perfect three inch circle that Mother’s Younger Sister would pass to Mother.

Before Mother sat the new, silver X-85 DumplingMaster™. A funnel on top was kept full of filling hauled in from the Dice-o-matic™. Mother took the circle of dough from Mother’s Younger Sister and placed it on the special plate on the side of the machine and pressed the big green button. With a deep rumble, as if the DumplingMaster™ was reaching down through the floor, through Mrs Shen’s apartment and on to the centre of the Earth, the DumplingDeliveryPortal™ opened and out tumbled one dumpling.

We sat at the table, quietly eating the dumplings and watching the commercial for the new X-100 DumplingMaster™. With a soft blink, the power went out. Everyone froze, looking at each other in the muted sunlight filtering in through the window. I took a deep breath.

“Thank you Mother’s Older Brother and Mother’s Older Brother’s Wife for making the filling.”

“Thank you Mother’s Younger Sister for making the dough.”

“Thank you Father’s Younger Brother’s Wife for kneading the dough.”

“Thank you Mother, for making the dumplings.”

Silence. And then we all started talking again.