(Written 8/30)
MOMENTS THAT TRANCEND WITTY TITLES

Last night, (8/29/06) I was treated to one of the most amazing dinners of my life. I was taken to dinner by one of my colleagues, three of his friends and four of their children. It was the first time I made it off the area peripheral to the compound since arriving and, as we traveled by sunroof-ed Peugeot, I was greeted with the sites of traditional Xi’An. Yet again, it is more of Xi’An as the people traditionally experience it, not as the tourist see on their tours. The wide thoroughfares of Xi’An’s larger and more modern highways (think three to four lane California Highway with soaring on/off ramps spotted with flanking half-completed high rises) gave way to the narrower streets (side streets with two lanes and main avenues with four lanes of traffic in the center, flanked by an island for pedestrians, then more local road and then finally the sidewalk) with primarily four and five story buildings and the occasional spotting of a twenty to thirty story hotel.

The “children of” attending were primarily all about middle/high school age and I rode with three of them in the car. One was the wonderfully precocious, bright and charming 8 year old daughter of my colleague, one was a shy, beautiful and very doting young woman about 14 or 15 and the third was a handsome, shy, tall (about six feet) young man about 15 or 16. We parked the car and as they all piled out of the back (I am always given the front seat in cars, complete with door opening and closing service; I kind of feel like I’m on a chronic date) I got my first authentic experience of Xi’An. Frankly, it rocked. People were bustling everywhere, again, the whole world was staring but I’m getting used to that (not to mention, giving up the blonde for dark hair has helped me be pegged less often; my skin color is within the range of the Chinese and there are Chinese people who are this tall, it is not until people see my face that they realize what they are looking at) and as we were strolling to the restaurant, the shy young man came up to me and began a conversation with, “You’re very tall.” He could not have been sweeter. Had it been America, where nothing is thought of touching between the sexes, I would have put my hand on his arm as we talked and hugged him at the end of the evening.

When we reached the restaurant, there were four women traditionally dressed in long, red Chinese gowns waiting at the top of half a flight of black marble stairs. They greeted us warmly and upon seeing me went into overdrive. The shy young man escorting me with his lovely conversation immediately stopped to allow me to go first through the sliding glass doors. (I truly appreciate the manners of allowing me to go first with everything but I’m just more comfortable taking the lead once I’ve been given an example of what’s going down. I definitely have a tendency to, when given a “right” and a “wrong” way to do things, stumble into the “wrong” answer. Most people label me a “free thinker” because of that but I know that I’m little more than a “jackass.”) As we ascended another flight and a half of black marble stairs, our party was met with a flurry of attention. The restaurant was very large (perhaps seating thirty to forty table of twos and fours) on the half that we entered and there was another half that we did not see, as the entrance was in the middle of the resturant and we went left. The access aisle ran along the right side of the seating area (the opposite side of the seating area was a window-wall overlooking the street) and on the right side of the access aisle was a series of doors.

We were ushered through the door (me first, again) to a round table to seat ten comfortably. In the far corner of the room was a tall, freestanding air-conditioner that was promptly turned on, and rather high considering this area is very comfortable with 110% humidity and a steady 75-80 degrees Fahrenheit. The table was covered in a canary yellow tablecloth and a massive glass lazy Susan. I figured, “This is Xi’An, [land where they invented dumplings and noodles] there’s a lazy Susan, we’re all about the dim sum tonight!” Each seat had the customary teacup, glass, small plate and chopsticks except there was also a mini fondue looking- set up, minus the fondue pot. Now, I’ve had a lot of food from a lot of different places before in my life but I’ve NEVER even heard of dim sum fondue. But, I decided to take the leap of faith that the people who live here and have been eating several times a day for most of their lives might know just a bit more about their own customs than I do, so I kept my mouth shut and waited for all to reveal itself in good time (which it usually does).

I was not disappointed. We were greeted with a wonderful plate of a fresh selection of melons (watermelon, honeydew and cantaloupe) and cherry tomatoes. I tried some of all the melons as we waited for the other three to arrive. By the way, a tip I have quickly learned with the generosity of the Chinese; try a little of everything. There are so many courses and so much provided that to fill up on any one thing is stupid. The sheer breadth of offering is filling enough.

The mother of the shy boy and her girl friend showed up first, followed quickly by the friend’s daughter. All the children were instructed to sit near me and work on their English. The shy young man, who had curled away from me in embarrassment was good-naturedly scolded by his father for not taking the opportunity to speak with me and then was instructed that, for the night, he would be doing his father’s translations.

My colleague then asked me what kind of spice level I like. I was given the option of hot, a little hot and no hot as I was shown pictures of pots with red liquid and one with pot with what looked like milky water. I figure, I can handle large chunks of wasabi and hardcore Indian spices, so it’s easy to believe I’d be comfortable with the slightly hot. (I’ve come to realize that when spice is an option in food, it is only the children and tourists who take no spice and the most authentic, adult experience involves at least a little spice. Consequently, I always sign up for a little spice when going in blindly.) Fortunately, I was right on this one, despite the fact that I had no idea what food I was signing up for to go with that spice.
A waitress, dressed in a powder blue mandarin-collard shirt with black frogs and a black skirt lit my fondue-looking frame and then placed a small pot atop it. We were handed small bowls with a heaping spoonful of dark reddish brown paste, a dark brown liquid and chopped chives. I was told to mix it all together, which I did, and the resulting solid-y liquid (or liquid-y solid) had nutty undertones almost like a satay far but more savory.

And the feasting began.

Waitress after waitress clad in the powder blue ushered in tray after tray of thinly-sliced, bright-red meats, various green leafy veggies (the only one I recognized was spinach), tubular veggies and a variety of noodles, from broad, whole wheat noodles to thin, translucent vermicelli. Off came the pot tops, our boiling broths revealed and thus began the dunking. As wild as the cache of having had fondue dim sum would have been, this Chinese sashimi was far better tasting.

At some point, though I could not tell you when, the manager came in and gave us his card. I remember the importance of fully reading the business card you are handed and not just nodding and shoving it in your pocket. Though I recognize a little under 100 characters and no compound characters, I studied the card to show that I was indeed interested in the man’s position.

Over dinner, they spoke lots of Chinese and occasionally translated some for me. My colleague and I spoke about how good his English is and he says he listens to BBC radio and Radio Free American to help him. He explained many of the customs and that Northerners and Southerners have a hard time understanding each other’s accents. I explained it is very much the same in the US. He asked how I was getting on with chopsticks and I said I have been using chopsticks since I was a small child so I am just as bad with chopsticks as I am with a fork. We talked about the American diet verses the Chinese diet. He was curious to understand the obesity issue in the States. (Though, to be clear, he never outright stated that. He simply said something about the fact that he thought there might be too much fat in the American diet.) I explained how Americans view food, not as a communal, pleasurable experience but as medicine and a fix. I explained how most of our food is overly processed and filled with too many chemicals. I explained that in the US, we have too much of a love/hate relationship with food. He explained that in China, food is just food, they like a lot of fruit and a good meal. We spoke of traveling and the cost of living in New York City. The shy boy would like to be a businessman in NYC and I must remember to pass along some more tips to my colleague.

Later in the meal, we paused for my colleague to explain to the children that it is very important that they study and not become lazy in their work. As he was explaining the importance of hard work, more food came in; shrimps and a small wooden boat with raw meat to be dipped in a wasabi based pink sauce. It was damned good but it blew the lid of my sinuses. The air-conditioning got kicked up to high and you could finally see the steam rising off all of our pots.

My colleague read the characters on the flag on the boat and explained that it was a praising of good wind. I commented that with the ac going full blast, we had good wind. He translated my joke (as he had been doing throughout the evening) and everyone laughed (as they had been doing throughout the evening). I must say, I have never met a people more ready to laugh than the Chinese. There is no pretense or arrogance and their sense of silly is truly heartening.

The raw, whole shrimps that had been dunked into our pots were ready quickly and everyone helped me get mine out as they felt it most important that mine, over everyone else’s, not overcook. Frankly, I’ve never had better shrimp.

And then there was dessert, as if the feast had not been enough. There was a platter of warm, small, flat cookie-sized very soft fritter like things with a faint coconut taste, covered in sesame seeds and filled with a fine nut and berry paste. Though the inside had the consistency of starchy fudge, it had the finest skin that gave the hint of having been fried. To die for, it was so good. And then there were small nuggets of bread. Actually, it was more like dumpling batter baked like bread to be dipped in local very thick honey cut with milk. The sauce maintained the consistency of honey but it had the flavor and coloration of a hint of milk.
Once the feasting was over, two of the people at the party almost came to fisticuffs over who would pay for dinner. It was rather funny to watch this friend of the wife beat up the boisterous father of the shy boy to pay the check. It was like something my friends and I would do back home.

The woman finally won the battle and the bill was paid. We then hung around and chatted. My colleague‘s wonderful daughter draped herself all over her father while he spoke and he absentmindedly stroked her hand or complied to her pushing. I was reminded of my mother telling me that the Chinese carry their children at their chest in lieu of slinging them onto the distant back, indicating what a warm home they are being raised in. Here, children are truly valued as children and not some obligation or guilt trip.

I feel like China and I keep having very good dates. Perhaps soon we’ll be going steady.