6:30am, and would you believe it, I'm awake. Yesterday we started Chinese classes with our teacher, Liz (named changed to prevent severe embarrassment.) She's awesome. This chick has been Peace Corps trained, and we have heard that Peace Corps Chinese teachers are the best in town. She pretty-much doesn't speak English in the classroom, so we gotta be shar –
graaroohuhuuuu...
Okay, what the hell was that?
Meh, whatever. Ooo and I got myself a Chinese name too, courtesy of Liz. It's Lou An, with the “Lou” pronounce like “lounge”, and that is my surname (the Chinese go by surname first, then first name last). I gotta get used to this name, too, coz that's what she gonna call me from now on. Lou A –
GRRAAAhaahaahoohuhuuuu...
What the *%&#*% was THAT? Sounds like someone's let a flanging baby tiger loose in my lounge, and it's found my stash of yak jerky. Well, I don't feel like getting up just yet, and the poor thing is gonna be dead in about 15 minutes (the yak jerky, you see), so I'll just have to get the maintenance guy in to deal with the corpse. Maybe turn it into a new milkshake or something.
So Liz has got us doing these pretty hilarious exercises, right? She's got us moving our mouths around like we have chronic gum disease while mooing like cows to get our pronunciation right, and it seems to be working. I can almost say “Ni hao” now without sounding like it's the only thing I know how to say (which it still is, really... my “Sai jien” sounds more like “Say hi to Jen” at the moment. Which may explain why most shopkeepers look at me like they're thinking “Who the heck is Jen?”). So I'm going “niiiiiiii,” with lips tighte –
G-g-g-u-h-u-GR-GR-A-W-ROR-AOR-AROAGOAROFLAARP-G-g-u-g-u-u-uuuu...
Ah *%#%&!! The tiger must've found my flanging stash of delicious Chinese twinkies! (Well, they're not that delicious, and they're not very twinkie-like, but still, in China, you gotta make do with what you can get. And it appears that the tiger in my lounge also knows this.) Right, time to deal with YOU, mister. I get out of bed -
– and fall to the floor. I've been punched in the gut, just above the groin, and it hurts like flang.
g-g-flarp-if-fo-fu-u-u-uuuuuuu...
The noise, it seems, is not a tiger in my lounge. And the pain is not due to going ten-rounds with David Tua taking kidney shots. It is (as you will have no doubt correctly surmised) my stomach, and there is only one culprit.
Last night's hotpot.
.... - flarp...
I gotta get to the bathroom. NOW.
Okay so I get to the bathroom and (CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED) stopped breathing for a second. And, after looking myself in a mirror I (CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED) twelve minutes past eight already.
I'd better explain how this came to be. Let me start by getting to the end of the Chinese lesson.
“Liz, I just have one more question before we break,” I say.
“Lou An?”
“Do you know how to order hotpot?”
“'Wo yao hong wei huo guo.'”
“Ah, okay.”
“If you want,” she continues in perfect English, knowing full well that I have no idea what she just said, “we could all go to a hotpot restaurant tonight?”
Awesome! See? Peace Corps Chinese teachers are the best!
Fast-forward to the end of the day. We're all heading to the South Gate mall, where many such hotpot restaurants are situated. Ah, woops. I just realised I have neglected to advise you about what exactly a hotpot entails. A very good question! Picture this: A small basin, such as one used for bathing babies. In fact, if it has been recently used for bathing babies, even better. Remove the baby, but don't throw out the bathwater (i.e. the opposite of the famous saying (which the Chinese invented)). Fill this basin with 1) hot sauce; 2) hotter sauce; 3) hottest sauce; 4) chillies that were too hot to be made into hottest sauce; 5) 2,4,6-trinitrotoluene; 6) yesterday's hotpot sauce, and 7) of course, coarse horse sauce (isn't the English language dumb?). Cook said saucy pot until it is boiling.
Now for the fun part. Imagine an animal. Any animal, it doesn't matter. Dissect it. Remove any bits which you might consider actually eating (e.g. flesh, tongue, eyeball, etc.) Throw these bits out, but keep the rest (i.e. skin, bones, mysterious organs which seem to have no use but look squishy, and, er, the entire digestive system from start to finish). Place these at your leisure into the hotpot, which should be going at a real pace now. Wait a few moments. Eat, and do your best not to die.
Unfortunately, while we did have a camera for the occasion, it was impossible to retrieve from Lindsay's bag because her cognitive ability was, er, impaired (as was everybody else's). However, here's a good enough approximation:
(Please forgive me, I will have a picture of a real hotpot next time, I promise!)
So, an hour or two later, after the detox teams have made sure we weren't glowing in the dark still, we head home. I am feeling fine and dandy. I even manage to get to sleep. But the true effect of hotpot is time-delayed, so that its consequences cannot, er, hinder the functions of the restaurant lavatory. So, sure enough, I find myself awake eight hours later, completely unaware that I am approaching what the United State Department of Homeland Security would aptly call “Threat Level Red”.
Despite all this, I have to admit that I can't wait to have hotpot again!
Pies out.
Pies noodle of the day:
This one is called “square-orange-box-with-deceitful-contents”.
In our quest for the perfect noodle, Linds and I decided to forego our normal “round-box” and settle for an unusual “square-box” instead. Upon opening said square-box, we were delighted to find a) a sachet of soy sauce (a very good sign); b) a sachet of dried, shrimpy vegetables (also a good sign); and c) black, non-descript goop (uh oh...). The black goop turned out to be iron filings sautéed in tar, and it completely ruined what could have been the closest thing to the perfect noodle to date. Square-orange-box-with-deceitful-contents gets three thumbs down.
