I am going to have turkey for Thanksgiving!
I was at the office today so that I could get some work done on the computer, and Lin Laoshi (second to the dean of the school) happily informed me that STI would be providing its American teachers with a Thanksgiving meal complete with our favorite November poultry! My initial desire for some juicy roasted turkey breast started because none of the poultry here is served in a manner I particularly enjoy. I generally don't eat a lot of meat (I can easily go weeks and months without it, but will also happily consume some if it is served to me), but, having accepted offers of chicken several times only to be served bone, skin, fat, and a tiny hint of the foodstuff I was anticipating in the midst of those, I began to crave just one complete chicken breast served on a plate with nothing impeding my access to its wholly splendor. (My pun with/misuse of “wholly” reminds me that I have a student named “Holey” who wanted a name meaning “holy holes.” There are several levels at which I think this could be inappropriate in an American context. I try to be careful to only inform my students of how their chosen names may be perceived in the States, not tell them that they absolutely must change them. “Holey” and “Yokal” are the two that concern me most, and I think they are both choosing to keep their names. After pointing out that these can be made into middle names after adopting a more formal or official sounding first name, I have decided to step aside altogether and let them learn the way my 二哥 (er4ge1, second oldest brother) always did: experience the natural consequences firsthand.)
For dinner one night this past week, I went to a British pub in Tangjia called Old Chinese Junk with Vince, a fellow teacher and friend. I was ecstatic when I saw both shepherd's pie and garlic chicken on the menu. I advised my friend to order the pie; I got the chicken. I figured we could each taste each other's dishes and know in the future which we liked best.
My mouth literally watered – not something I am used to noticing – while I waited for the waitress to bring my order. I didn't have to wait long, but my friend did. I think the workers at the restaurant finally just forgot about his order, since, immediately when he reminded them of it, a bowl of slightly cooled shepherd's pie was delivered. It was only cool on top; the inside was still sizzling.
I would have been terribly jealous if my friend had not been so kind as to offer to split the pie. Why was such an unselfish distribution of gastronomic wealth so desired on my part? It was not that the shepherd's pie was the most scrumptious hunk of meat pie I had ever laid eyes on, but that my chicken was a thoroughly localized form of the grandeur I had been expecting. Of the several parts of the chicken we omnivores commonly eat in the States, the only one I truly dislike is the thigh. There have only been a few times in my life that I have genuinely enjoyed that bit of chick (the same goes for egg yolks) due to the strength of its birdy flavor, and this time was not one of them. Yes, they served me a chicken thigh with skin and fat. The skin and fat was not just attached, but absolutely prominent on the chicken. I was so ready for a big white juicy chicken breast (which I had not clarified with the waitress – the server was Chinese with very limited English speaking abilities, and I was not in the mood to use gestures to indicate which part of the chicken I was hoping would come with my order...) that having my arch enemy of poultry parts staring back at me from my plate was almost too much to bear.
Even without comparison, the shepherd's pie looked quite good; with the now cold chicken thigh inches away from it, the pie took on the appearance of everything good in the world cooked to perfection in a bath of caramelized onions and decked to the top in pure, whipped potato finery. Vince was kind enough to offer to help eat the thigh; he said he liked it, but, at the time, I practically equated that claim with the one that, really, stinky tofu does taste good.
.... By the way, after dinner, we walked around for a bit. We walked to a stinky tofu vendor. We bought a bowl of stinky tofu. I ate some. Actually, I ate three pieces because, unlike the chicken thighs, the stinky tofu was actually good. The fact that the smell was noticeably trapped in my hair was not so good, but we can just call that additional motivation to take a long, relaxing-even-while-intensely-scrubbing-my-head-with-a-double-dose-of-two-in-one-shampoo shower.