Dinner for One

I went into a restaurant that we’d walked by a few times. They always had their doors open and it always smelled amazing. When I got inside however, I couldn’t tell if they were a real restaurant or an Chinese version of Starbucks. I saw big glass display cases and chalkboard menus written in Chinese. Luckily, a man had followed me in. I figured I’d watch what he did first, and then I’d mimic it. Unluckily, he was not ordering food. It appeared he was just asking for directions. Their conversation was in Chinese, but after the girl behind the counter made the same repetitive hand gesture a few times, as if to signal making turns, he left.

That meant it was my turn. Stepping up to the counter, I noticed there was a tea menu in English.

“Orange Brush tea,” I said. The girl behind the counter left and went into the back room. When she returned, she had a younger girl with her.

“English,” she said and pointed to the young girl.

“Hello,” the young girl said.

“Hi,” I smiled. “Orange Brush tea.”

She translated it. As she did, I noticed there were menus on the counter. They were also in Chinese, but I saw pictures of food. I pointed at an item I hoped was food. “This too?” I said.

She studied what I was pointing at. “Is beef and noodles,” she said. “Is okay?”

“Yes,” I nodded and smiled. She translated this order too.

They rang it up and a total of 71RMB popped up (about 10USD.) “The beef and noodles is discounted tonight,” the young girl said. That was lucky. My book confirmed that Shanghai is the most expensive Chinese city to live in. While 10USD/meal isn’t bad, it’s hardly maintainable for 10 weeks.

I paid and after getting my change, went to take a seat. The young girl soon brought out a wooden tray with a glass teapot and cup.

“Where you are from?” she asked.

“The US,” I said.

“Oh!” she said. “I want to study there.”

“Very cool,” I said, in typical American slang.

“Maybe you could help me practice English?” she said.

“Sure,” I said, not exactly sure where she was going.

“I give you my phone number,” she pulled out a little Winnie the Pooh note pad and wrote down her number. “My friends in Europe call me Bee-Kee” she said.

“Bee-kee,” I pronounced.

She smiled it and wrote it above her name.

“Oh!” I said, recognizing the name. “Becky!”

Tearing out the page, she handed it to me and turned the note book to me. “How to contact you?” She asked.

“By email,” I said and wrote down my email. "I'm Zach."

She continued. “And do you…” I couldn’t make out the last word but it sounded like Wa-chang (which definitely sounded like something you shouldn’t do in a foreign country.)

“I’m sorry,” I don’t understand. She held up one finger and disappeared.

WHAT DID I JUST DO??? I thought. WHY DID I GIVE HER MY EMAIL? WHAT IF SHE HAS SOME SORT OF MOBSTER BOYFRIEND OR PROTECTIVE FATHER? WHAT WAS I THINKING?

She returned a few seconds later. “Do you this?” she asked holding her phone and pointing at an app. It was WeChat, a social media site that isn’t censured by the Chinese Firewall.

“No,” I said. “I don’t have an account. I can’t put it on my phone.” I showed her my little dinky phone and she understood.

“What would you like as a gift?” she asked.

We just met. Gifts really aren’t necessary, I thought. Unless the gift is that sheet of paper that has my email on it…I’d like that back.

“Oh I don’t know,” I said.

“Hold on,” she said.

A few seconds later, she returned with my food. “Here is a coupon,” she said presenting me with a gift card. She held it in both hands so I received it with both hands. “It has money on it for a pot of tea and two bowls of noodles so you can come back with a friend.”

“Thank you,” I said, “XieXie.”

“Ok,” she said. “Enjoy.”

The dish looked amazing. It was noodles with little chunks of beef as well as red, orange, yellow, and green peppers. There were also chunks of garlic and pieces of peanut sprinkled over it. I had nothing to eat with, but a waiter made eye contact with me. Without me saying or doing anything, he must have realized my predicament. He soon came over to my table with a fork.

Really? Do I look that white? I get a fork and not chopsticks? That seems like profiling to me.

I poured a cup of tea. It smelled like melted popsicle. In my head, I imagined they had just freshly ground up some sort of Indian paintbrush or something in the back room. Putting the cup to my lips, it was super hot. I sipped just a little and it tasted fantastic.  It was really sweet, but in a watered down, white tea kind of way.

I twirled my fork through the noodles and took a bite. It tasted amazing. Not only was it devoid of bone chunks, but it was super flavorful. In fact, it was downright spicy. It might actually be the spiciest thing I’ve ever eaten. It slowly started to burn my mouth. Then it burned my throat. The boiling hot tea did very little to wash it down. In my mind, I had a very macabre image of my lips smoldering and my stomach lining blistering.

But the flavor was incredible and rich. I enjoyed each and every bite, even though I’m pretty sure I was sweating through my shirt.

When I finished the food (leaving a little on the plate to be polite, as I’ve learned) I poured another cup of tea. Drinking it, I poured another…followed by another…it seemed to be bottomless.

I’d taken a seat by the window and I started staring out. I still can’t get over how normal everything looks. I mean it feels different, but I can’t figure out why. Aside from chopsticks and bone chunks, there really hasn’t been anything too earth shattering. The things that have been hard haven’t been cultural, but just practical issues. I mean if everyone was speaking English it’s almost like being in New York. But there is a different feel to it. There is something I can’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, that is what I want to understand. I just don’t even know what questions to ask to get there.

And I had to laugh as I carried on this conversation in my head. Thinking this is so normal seemed like such an ethnocentric thought. I thought about all of the stereotypes I’d heard about Americans. Some people had thought we were poor because expensive brands in China were cheap in the US. Others had thought we were uneducated because we don’t understand Chinese culture. The most common one however—I heard this from Sabrina, Virginia, and some of the people at the church—was that we were violent because of all the school shootings that made the news.

I started thinking…poor, uneducated, and violent…it seems to be a lot of the same thought processes that American’s have about the Middle East. Maybe we are all too quick to judge based on media sound bites. We’d probably all benefit if we went to see the world instead of fear it.

Everything here feels so safe, it makes me laugh a little bit that American’s generally seem to be afraid of travel. I mean sure there are places we shouldn’t go, but I think most of the world is very safe. I laughed out loud as I sipped my tea, recalling how terrified I’d been the first time I went to Europe. And here I am, less than a year since I returned from Prague, I’m halfway around the world, by myself in a Chinese noodle house, meeting locals, enjoying amazing food, and figuring life out as I go. Now, it’s hard for me to remember what I was like before I traveled. That version of Zach seems like a distant memory. I’m happy and I definitely don’t want this to end.

Walking home, I stopped in the convenience store to buy some of this Pocky stuff Nate keeps talking about. I picked out one that was clearly chocolate, and one that looked like it might be green tea. When I got back to the apartment, Nate was still cooking.

“How was it?” he asked.

“Well for medical reasons, I don’t think I should lie flat for the next 48 hours,” I joked about the spiciness, “but it was great!”

When his food was ready, we sat down to the table to chat. I tried a few bites and it tasted great! As life gets going here in the next few days, I think we’ll be able to cook some good food while saving money. When we finished eating, we opened up the Pocky and split the two packages. Pocky is basically long bread cookies dipped in some sort of sweet coating. Both flavors were really good! The chocolate was really sweet, but not in a sugary way. The green tea also had a sweet taste to it, but was a lot subtler. As we polished them off, we swapped stories from high school. I talked about boy scouts while he talked about running track. I shared more of my adventures in Europe while he talked about different trips he’s taken to Asia.

When we were finished, we cleared the table and he cleaned his dishes. I sat down to read a little more and do a little more journaling. I also sent a note on Facebook to a friend that used to teach in China, thinking that maybe she would have some good cultural tips on how to figure out what I am missing. Until I do crack the code, I really do feel blessed to be here. It's been an incredible experience and I'm looking forward to where it takes me next.