Sunday, September 7, 2014

The Boston Bull

In the middle of August heat, we arrived in Houston, Tx., in 1959.

A weary journey-worn couple with a three-months-old baby.

S.C.'s best friend, C.C. and his wife, Elsie, welcomed us to their home. It was more than generous of them to put up with three extra people. 

Elsie, an American Born Chinese (an ABC), later told me that her sister had tried to discourage them about taking us into the family. Elsie came from California. In California, there were immigrants from China, mostly of the lower class - laborers and farmers. Oftentimes, people from the same village would find a way to immigrate to the U.S. under falsified papers - saying that they were immediate family. Once they came here and entered the household, more than likely they could not find any good paying jobs, and it became difficult to ask the family to leave. Elsie's sister thought we might do that to her.

Of course, C.C. knew that we would not.
And, they took us in. 

S.C. went to see his former boss and found out that his position of research scientist was still open. So, he got his old job back. And he told his boss that now he was married he would need a bit more income to live on, his boss agreed. 
He started working the very next week after we arrived in Houston.

C.C. and Elsie had adopted a baby girl, who was merely a few months older than Cynthia. Since both C.C. and Elsie worked, I stayed home to take care of the babies and tried to do a bit of the housework.
Believe me, it was a challenge!

In Hong Kong, I had Helpers. After Cynthia was born, we hired a lived-in nanny to take care of her while I went back to work at the Cultural Center. We had two servants then. 
I knew very little about how to take care of my baby - though I nursed her. The nanny did everything else. My mother supervised at times.
Now with two babies, it was a JOB and Half for me!

Anyway, I tried to make myself useful.

One day, Elsie said," Why don't you take that piece of Pork out of the freezer to thaw. I will cook it when I get home."
I said, "Okay, I will."

After everyone went off to work and I settled the babies down, I went to the freezer looking for the piece of pork.
I looked,
I looked, 
and I looked.

Mind you, at that time, I really couldn't tell one kind of meat from the other. I did not see the word pork on any of the wrappers. Then, I looked some more.

Where was the pork?

What did pork look like? 

I finally picked up the phone and called S.C. at work - I hated doing do that, but I did not know what else to do.
"I could not find the pork," I said.
'It had to be there, Elsie said so," my husband said.
"But I only see a package saying Boston Bull," I said.
Than, I heard laughter.

You see, the words on the package had been partially rubbed off. The original word of Butt had turned to Bull. It was a piece of Boston Butt that Elsie wanted.
But how would I know that the meat was named Boston Butt? 
It should have been named PORK!
When I read the label of "Boston Bull" I assumed it would be Beef.  
Bull - Beef.
Right?

We stayed with them for a couple of weeks. Then, we found an apartment near Rice University and moved into it. 

No comments:

Post a Comment