Simplycurious

The smell envelops me. Drenched with chili, melting my nose, rumbling my stomach and fogging glasses. I stumble at the sudden wall of noise, flurry of waiters and whirling plates. My friends hustle me towards a room. As we cluster around the table, I see why Chinese dine in groups. You could never eat Hot Pot alone. Arguments break out over the order. Raised voices harshly debate potato versus taro. No language barriers, culinary passion speaks one song as we mime out our feelings towards different mushrooms. Plates of leafy vegetables appear in a mist. I poke at wobbly tofu blocks, chunks of vegetables, bundles of mushrooms, meatballs and thin layers of raw meat as they arrive. My eyes glaze with delighted curiosity, pleasing my Chinese friends who were worried about my tastes. My excitement quells their worries, driving past layers of superficially politeness and letting loose true Chinese hospitality. Raw items are unceremoniously dunked into a central pot filled with boiling broth. Stark red, my forehead sweating just at the sight. Hairy roots swim with red berries, ginger and seaweed. Following the example of fellow diners, I mix chopped garlic, coriander and peanut oil into a thick sauce. Ladles swirl through the myriad of brightly colored edibles, fishing for a slice of beef or string of enoki. Fish balls and slivers of meat are cradled between deftly darting chopsticks. Dinner is interspersed with toast after toast to friendship, relationships, happiness and general health. The coherency of each toast deteriorates as the night progresses into peals of confused giggling. My friends heatedly debate which province has the best hot pot. Each claims to be the spiciest, tastiest, most delicately flavored, provincial identity shining through. The bill arrives, fights break out, everyone arguing fiercely over gets to pay. Fierce Mandarin flies over my head, with me desperately waving 100 kuai into the foray just to keep up. So much China filled into one dinner.