Tag Archives: hotpot

a pleasant time

Xmas day was beautiful in Nanchong. Actually sunny, and without wind or rain to drive you into a huddling mess. Today, not so much, but you take what you get.

We went to the foreigner Xmas at Karen’s out at the Xihua new campus, where we ate sausage and jiaozi and mashed potatoes and drank coffee. We also played Scattergories, which I played exactly the way Holly had imagined I would play the game: annoyingly. Although to my shame I blanked on a book beginning with R. Just after the buzzer went off, Revelation Space popped into my head. But I prevented Mark from scoring Revenge of the Sith, because the actual title of the book is Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith (this is what being annoying at Scattergories looks like).

We left early to come back to the bakery, where it was busy as all get out. As in all the people in Nanchong got out of their houses and came to the bakery for pizzas and sangria and such. (I just tasted the wine being used for the sangria – it’s fizzy and weird and not at all like a red wine is supposed to be. Holly’s going back to the place she bought it to get mad.) It was the bakery’s best single day in sales. I washed a lot of dishes.

Today after teaching Sam we had lunch. The first part of lunch almost killed me. Sam’s mom asked if I could eat crab, and foolishly I said yes. I didn’t make the connection that the crabs would be brought to the table cooked whole and bound in string, looking exactly like the armoured spiders of the sea that they are. I got mine open with help from Holly, but couldn’t get past the hairs on the crab legs sitting there as I tried to pick the orange meat from around the guts and brains of the huge bug. I hit these walls when it comes to food in China sometimes. Last time it was that hard was at the pig brain hotpot in Nanjing. But I made it through (and Holly got to eat two crabs).

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trappings of winter

It’s gotten cold around here. Last night it snowed in Chengdu. The internet says we’re somewhere around 4 degrees outside right now. Which isn’t bad if you have well-insulated buildings and heating, but is mighty shitty if things are otherwise.

Holly has an air conditioner in her apartment which is also a heater, but we can’t run it at night because it’s kind of noisy and it keeps her neighbours up. They left a note on the door about “their bedroom shaking” after the one night we did turn it on. So it’s all about the multiple blankets, which gets inconvenient if you ever want to leave the bed. For food, say.

Although today we did make some good soup/stew/vegetables. We bought the vegetables to make this soup yesterday because of the soup stock Sam’s mom brought us, but when lunchtime rolled around the water to the apartment had been cut off for some reason. It’s hard to make soup without any water. (Also, pooping into a hole you can’t flush brings cholera epidemics to my mind, so it was kind of an uncomfortable day.) The water was restored at like 10pm but before that we bought soup from a nearby restaurant that Holly is rapidly losing faith in. Today we cooked our soup in the rice cooker for hours until really there wasn’t much soupiness to it at all, but it was tasty.

I’ve been getting some writing done but nothing’s going as smoothly as I would like. The story I was working on turned out to be crappy. No, just uninteresting. So I’m repurposing the good details that I had into something else which is interesting. Moreso. I hope.

We went for hotpot the other day and it was some special style of hotpot using a copper pot with a chimney and coals instead of a gas flame. I love mushrooms in hotpot but for some reason, though we had a tray full of them, mushrooms were the last things to get dumped into the cauldron. I had to brave so many unpleasant mouthfuls of bony fish before we got to the stuff I enjoyed.

It’s also really nice having a girlfriend at hotpot who likes stuff like duck intestines so I can pass them off to her when our hosts were placing the choicest entrails in my bowl. Thank you Holly. I don’t know why duck intestines are so cringe-inducing in me, when I can eat those shredded stomachy bits with impunity. Probably because I ate those stomachs for so long before realizing they weren’t a kind of chewy mushroom.

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35a catching up

My vegetarian stretching discovered its exact limit and that is the brain of a pig. I was fine all through cheap hotpot with Xiao Meng, her brother, cousin and one of their friends. I watched the congealed duck blood get slid into the spicy broth. I avoided the fish gut slime deftly. I even laughed (to myself) about the pig brain when it was sitting uncooked in front of Holly, and when she tried to cut it into manageable chunks. It was in the nonspicy broth and I paid it no attention. Holly got a section that neatly lobed off from the rest, which was interesting to see, but then the next section ended up on my plate and I couldn’t eat anything anymore. It was probably supposed to be impressive but I had to fight to keep from vomiting. Man, I’m a lousy Chongqingren.

Earlier that day I’d eaten delicious baozi for lunch then spent the afternoon reading a biography of Jung in various places. One was the apartment, another was the Avant Garde, then Holly arrived and after a while we went to the library. It was immense but wasted a lot of space. The two towers were where the (rigidly defined separated and defended) collections were, while the connecting granite walkways were cold and skylit. We weren’t supposed to be in any of the collections without a library card, which made my public property hackles rise a pile. And my censorship/freedom of information nerves too. But whatever. It’s their city. Fuck the IDless if they want to. We eventually found couch-like things on the main level where it was coldest. Selah.

From there we walked to hotpot and stopped at the foreign language bookstore on the way so Holly could look at HSK materials. There was a children’s book at the bookshop with a wonderful bucolic English riding scene with rosy-cheeked children wearing red riding-coats and black helmets, the whole deal. Inside were English children’s stories for warming the cockles of your heart with the innocence of yesteryear. Story #63 was about three applicants to the CIA who are asked to kill their wives with a provided gun. Two refuse but the third fires all the blanks and then his explanation why it took so long was “So then I had to strangle the bitch!” Incongruous much? We laughed and laughed. They also had a history of the Dalai Lamas which ended in 1958. I really wanted to buy it but didn’t. It was too big and bulky and not uproarious enough for my tastes in propaganda. That evening we finally watched the Darjeeling Limited, which made me ever so happy. It’s so orchestrated. You never feel you’re watching something real

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