He could eat a lot of Big Macs

My mother's brother asked to be taken to McDonald's quite a lot. He could eat at least two Big Macs in a sitting, and consume at least one large fries and a large Coke besides.

My uncle, who is from Hong Kong, is the youngest of nine children, and must be in his 50s now. He has salt and pepper hair and a boyish face. When he was four, he had scarlet fever and suffers from brain damage and seizures. He has long, gangly arms, a lolling head, and has a hard time speaking clearly, which frustrates him. He often skulks at the edges of groups, observing with a scowl, then sometimes showing he knows what's up with a burst of mocking laughter. His siblings, who are prone to tease, are gentler with him.

Since I first met him in the mid-1970s, when he emigrated to Los Angeles with my grandmother, I would watch fascinated as he'd slowly push burgers into his mouth, snakelike, chewing deliberately, his gaze fixed in the middle distance. I know food – this meal in particular – is one of his life's great pleasures.

Recently, on a hot Los Angeles day, I offered to take him to McDonald's as a treat, since he can't drive himself and for health reasons he's cut down on the junk food. The ride out of the walled housing tract to the drive-through at the edge of the parking lot felt awkward. As usual, our conversation was limited by the language barrier and his difficulty speaking. He wanted to talk anyway. I let him mock my attempts at Chinese. It was the best we could do.

At the drive-through there was a tussle: I insisted on paying. But he was smiling to himself as we got out of the car.