KIRK KENNY:
Have you eaten?
CBC News Viewpoint | January 10, 2005 | More from Kirk Kenny
Kirk grew up in small-town Saskatchewan and received a BA (Hon) from the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon. He has been living in Xuzhou, China, for over four years, and has been married for three of them to a woman from the city. He has been making his career there by teaching English and doing translation work, but is also looking for avenues to better exploit his language skills. Kirk says that he feels only slightly less out of place in Canada than as a "laowai," or foreigner in China.
I'm sitting in my study, reeling in a mixed state of pain and pleasure caused by my morning breakfast of warm soy milk and piping hot "baozi" – a steamed bun filled with sweet bean, vegetables or meat. This self-induced pain is the result of overeating, a phenomenon I seem to have experienced with increased regularity since moving to Xuzhou, China, some 4½ years ago.
It would be impossible to overstate the preeminent position food plays in Chinese daily life. As far as I can make of it, China's food culture is one of the few heritages to survive the tumult of the past century and has become iconic in value.
When greeting people I rarely say "ni hao" or "hi" like everyone else, I now ask: "Have you eaten?" and part by saying: "Sorry, but I've got to go and cook supper." If I see someone I haven't seen for a while, they'll probably tell me that I look fatter than usual, but there's no need for hurt egos or raising fists. Saying someone looks "fatter" is a form of flattery that implies one is "living a prosperous life."
To a large extent, all of this preoccupation with food reflects its shortage in the past. My wife's parents both experienced poverty and hunger during the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s, so now, when I visit my in-laws, all they want to do is feed me.
At mealtime, my father-in-law enters the kitchen with a sense of urgency and purpose while my mother-in-law stacks food on my plate as the dishes reach the table, and lectures me on how "health is everything." No matter how great an effort I make to display a good appetite, my efforts are met with skepticism and urges to eat a bit more.
As for what kinds of things to expect in one's bowl, a good motto might be "expect anything." Chinese cuisine is incredibly diverse. Growing up on the Prairies in Canada, I thought that Chinese food consisted only of sweet and sour chicken balls, ginger beef and rice. The truth is, Canadians really have little exposure to the immense selection of food and cooking styles typifying mainland China, especially the north.
For example, numerous flat breads, fried and baked, as well as fresh noodles, dumplings and steamed buns adorn the tables of the north, not rice. In Canada we sing of "chestnuts roasting on an open fire" but I never found them until I came to Xuzhou, where they are roasted in large cauldrons on the street by shovel-wielding men.
If I'm feeling peckish, nothing is better than a roasted sweet potato sold by industrious farmers who turn metal barrels into portable ovens. And unlike in Canada, where the choice of meat seems to be limited to chicken or more chicken, here we eat a lot of lamb – kebabs, baked lamb covered in chili powder and cumin, and spicy stews – in addition to the other meats and seafood.
But for all the wonderful gastronomic adventures I've enjoyed in China, there has been no shortage of less-than-appealing, if not nauseating, ones as well. "Smelly tofu" – tofu that grows a layer of mould not unlike blue cheese – makes me wince whenever I catch scent of it; dog, while palatable, is not something I ever ask for second helpings of; snake just sits on your plate and looks too much like snake; and cicadas and grasshoppers make a conspicuous "crunch" noise when you chew them.
Were I still a vegetarian I could perhaps avoid some bad gastro-intestinal karma, but my wife and friends passionately defend the health benefits of each exotic food. It's hard to argue against 5,000 years of culinary trial and error, or a Chinese wife.
Restaurant and banquet settings also provide a distinctly Chinese experience. Business or other "agendas" often take place over meals, typically last hours, and can be painfully formal until everyone seems to have drunk enough "baijiu" – a hard, colourless alcohol.
"Cold" dishes – usually spicy, pickled and salted vegetables – are brought out first, then hot vegetable dishes, then fish and seafood, then meat, then noodles, rice or dumplings and finally, fruit. Servers perform engineering marvels as the dishes reach the table in such profusion that they must be stacked on top of each other in a precarious manner.
Eating takes place in bursts and spurts, interrupted by overly ceremonious toasts, chain smoking and requests to belt out a few songs on the incessantly loud karaoke system – standard equipment in any private room.
As for the bones and shells one has to pick around, and there are a lot, I've learned not to bother putting them in a bowl; instead, nonchalantly tossing them on the table or floor meets with approval.
The banquet scene is often wasteful, always messy, and feels downright primitive with the shouting, chewing around bones and even spitting, but there's something liberating about not having to worry about being polite and proper.
Coffeehouses and Western fast-food chains might be popular with Chinese youth, but they are too foreign for most. China's is a food culture hard to imitate: refined in content but often rough in setting and delivery, full of flavour yet totally unpretentious. I love it!
When it comes to choosing between eating noodles on a wobbly outside bench in sub-zero temperatures or overpriced, mediocre Western fare in a plush setting, I'll take the former.
^TOP
CBC Ombudsman
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