A PLACE OUT OF PLACE, A TIME OUT OF TIME
Chinatown's alleyways had a life all their own
Woodfibre. Remember that?
It was a small pulp mill company town just up Howe Sound and, even standing under the Birks clock at the corner of Georgia and Granville, when the wind whistled down, the sound would remind you of the backbone of the local economy. The odour of the mill pervaded the entire city. “Woodfibre,” we'd ruefully remark, while waving our hands under our noses. When it wasn't Woodfibre in the air, there was the tang of fresh timber.
Sweeney Cooperage was just about where B.C. Place Stadium is now.
Until it closed its doors in 1981, the lost art of barrel-making used to take place just a few blocks from the downtown core. The city was cedar scented — that's what home smelled like.
At the best of times, I'm inclined to be nostalgic. At the worst of times, I'm an inveterate sentimentalist.
Mention Woodward's, and I'll show you my collection of buttons proving I sat on Santa's knee. I still crave the date squares — we called them Matrimonial Squares — that the coffee shop on the loop at UBC used to offer. Recently, I came across something in my archive of Things I Can't Throw Out: Chopsticks. Vintage wooden chopsticks with a name spelled out in red foil letters. Marco Polo.
For me, there was no finer destination in the city than the Marco Polo. It opened its doors as a dinner theatre, but that's not what drew me in. It was the smorgasbord — the fluorescent yellow lemon chicken, in particular — and the amazing carved screens writhing with dragons. Damn, but I loved that place.
But I loved all of Chinatown. And not just for the restaurants.
Compressed into about four or five city blocks, it seemed to be a place out of place, a time out of time.
Immigrants have a tendency to crystallize a moment in time.
While my Scottish parents trundled us off to local Highland Games, my truly Scottish cousins in Glasgow went to the mall. It stood to reason that I knew more about caber-tossing than my relatives back in Scotland did.
Chinese immigrants who had made their way to Vancouver preserved a way of life that enchanted me. The street may have been given over to retailers selling teapots and paper parasols, but the alleyways and second floors were given over to family life and to gaming.
The alleyways in Chinatown had a life all their own. Dining at one of the alleyway “Door” restaurants indicated a sort of louche sophistication. There was a Red Door and an Orange Door, but the Green Door was the premier of these legendary underground restaurants. It was a tiny place, announced only by an unmarked door in the middle of the 100 block of the alley behind East Pender. It had the charm of a speakeasy, and you couldn't knock the beef with broccoli.
In a moment of dizzying altruism, I parted with my Marco Polo chopsticks. If you'd care to genuflect before them, head to the Chinatown Storytelling Centre on East Pender in the heart of Chinatown. It is a terrific museum that tells the story of the many waves of Chinese immigrants who made their way to B.C. Asian Heritage Month will be wrapping up shortly, so it's a particularly good time to spend some time in this historic quarter. And round out your day with a visit to Chinatown BBQ. You don't enter through the alley, but it's got all the charm of old-time Chinatown.
If you'd like to visit the Chinatown Storytelling Centre, check out my website as I've got 20 sets of tickets to distribute.
Jane Macdougall is a freelance writer and former National Post columnist who lives in Vancouver. She writes on The Bookless Club every Saturday online and in The Vancouver Sun. For more of what Jane's up to, check out her website, janemacdougall.com
THIS WEEK'S QUESTION FOR READERS:
Q Do you have fond memories or family traditions that involve Chinatown?
Send your answers by email text, not an attachment, in 100 words or less, along with your full name to Jane at thebooklessclub@gmail.com. We will print some next week in this space.
RESPONSES TO LAST WEEK'S QUESTION:
Q How green are you? What's your eco-warrior badge of honour? Do you compost?
■ Prior to retiring, I was the manager of the North Shore Recycling Program and we spent a lot of time promoting home composting and helping residents compost properly. The composter you had was problematic in that the organic material tended to clump together and it became too heavy to rotate. We recommended the Garden Gourmet composter, one of which I have had in our yard in North Vancouver for eight years. It's easy to use for composting coffee grounds, tea leaves, vegetable and fruit scraps, as long as you include enough leaves, stir it up and ensure the material is covered with leaves.
Allen Lynch
■ Wow, Jane, this technology marks a paradigm shift in composting and opens the door for much wider application. The possibilities are endless. It's really quite remarkable. Thank you for showcasing this. One thing, you mentioned: worms. Years ago, I brought home a few bags of spent coffee espresso grounds from a local java shop and tossed it into my backyard compost box. I soon discovered that coffee grounds are like caviar to worms and they got addicted to it, reproducing like no tomorrow.
■ For over 50 years, I have been adopting new habits to reduce my environmental footprint. My biggest pet peeve is seeing dirty food containers contaminating other recyclables in the blue box. I have even gotten out of a warm bed in the night to retrieve a plastic container I had garbaged because I couldn't get it clean enough to recycle. Crazy behaviour to some, but I couldn't sleep knowing I had not recycled something. I earned my eco-warrior badge of honour that night when I prioritized my green commitment over my sleep.
Paula Alvaro
■ I keep a container on my kitchen counter and put food scarps in it. When full, I put the scraps in my food processor and turn it into a purée, adding a little water as needed. I do this about three times a week. That's over 150 times a year. I dig a hole in my garden and add the purée and cover it with soil. Prior to starting this process my garden soil was so hard and compacted it was hard to grow veggies. Now the soil is soft and full of worms.
Arlene, New Westminster
■ Once I had a large garden and composted like crazy. Now I'm a condo dweller with strict rules governing our neat yards. The mowing team whisks away every blade of grass, followed by leaf blowers that catch any cowering morsel that might feed a worm. I'm frustrated watching all that good stuff being carted away. To satisfy my nurturing instinct, I've taken to dicing up banana peels. They dry nicely in a pasta bowl on my counter and my plan is to spread these nutritious tidbits into my potted rose bushes. The Garden Police will be none the wiser, and I'll be so much happier.