Number 34, No MSG

Did you ever think about this: if it weren't for Jewish people, all Chinese restaurants would go out of business. As far back as I can remember, this is what my family did on Sunday nights - go out for Chinese. And as I remember it, that's what every other Jewish family in my community did, too.

My mom always ordered the Egg Foo Yong for us to share while my sister sat in her baby carrier sucking her toes. I so loved the rice, billowing out of its bowl in great, starchy clumps; the steam from the won ton soup beckoning to me with its translucent fingers; egg rolls, hot and crisp and hiding a tornado-like whir of vegetables tucked safely inside. I loved to stir up a mixture of tangy sweet and sour sauce and dull yellow hot mustard, watching it blend together in spirals.

Often when Jewish people went out for Chinese food, it was in groups. It was an extended family affair, or you went with the neighbors. I don't remember many instances of sitting in the Chinese restaurant with just the immediate family - was that considered heresy?

After Egg Foo Yong came the little bowl filled with a scoop of the creamiest chocolate ice cream. And the fortune cookies, which held the key to your future.

But the best part of the Chinese restaurant experience was watching Pam suck her toes. You never forget something like that.