Introduction

KATHY: If you visited our restaurant, House of Nanking, on any given day in the late 1980s or early 1990s, it is very likely you would have encountered the following scene:

My dad, Peter Fang, visible through the large, steamy window facing the street at the front of the restaurant. This was the site of our original tiny kitchen, where my dad, the only cook, manned the one wok he used to cook all the restaurant’s food. If the line was too long, he’d probably have a concerned expression on his face, and would be moving even more lightning-fast than usual. He didn’t like the long lines; he was always nervous that people would walk away and he’d lose customers. That didn’t happen too often, though.