This is a reprint of an article originally published in the Global Times in October 2009.
Despite being a foreign passport holder, I’m an unabashed aficionado of Chinese cuisine. Especially the deep-fried, flour-based variety typical of Northern dishes. Delicious meat-stuffed buns (better known as “Chinese hamburgers”), flavorful fried rice, deep-fried bread dipped in sweet condensed milk. Yum.
That old guy has some juicy buns.
This should come as no surprise. Few foreigners who aren’t enthusiastic about Chinese food could last for long in Beijing, a city with its own world-famous duck dish.
The cuisine regime is not contained to the capital. In China, the identity of entire regions is wrapped up in what kind of flavor their populaces prefer. No matter the province, the introduction is always the same: “Welcome, eat our famous…”
So when your Chinese dining companion sees you using chopsticks across the table and gives you his thumbs-up approval, that means you’ve arrived.
But sometimes, even foreigners with Olympic Gold Medal chopstick abilities and the appetite of Kung Fu Panda encounter obstacles at the Chinese dinner table. I’m referring of course to ordering more than one zhushi.
What is zhushi? That steamy bun, those fried noodles—most the foods that I love most, are considered zhushi or “staple foods.”
In the mystical, multifaceted system of Chinese cuisine, staple foods are intended to accompany the main dish of vegetable and meat. To order more than one zhushi, objects my Chinese dining companions, would be like ordering bread, and chips and fries all in one sitting of a Western meal.
What would be so bad about that?
The answer lies outside the realm of cuisine and square in the territory of culture. In Chinese culture, there are hot foods and cold foods. The designation may or may not correspond to temperature. Rather, the divisions are intended to balance the cold and hot forces in one’s body, leading to greater health.
This is just one example of the complexity of Chinese cuisine. Any Chinese person knows that there is a science to ordering a well-balanced meal. In fact, there’s a blurry line between what constitutes hearty cooking and healthcare, with many Chinese foods even having medicinal properties.
For foreigners, this prescription is as complicated as pharmaceuticals.
When a menu is placed in my hand, it’s simple. I just want to eat something that tastes good. No counting carbs. No consideration for food groups.
I admire my Chinese dining companions for getting their daily greens. And I am also touched by the waiter’s concern for my health. “Excuse me sir,” he says. “You already ordered one zhushi.”
Maybe that is one of the luxuries of living in another country, being able to break life’s little taboos and feign ignorance. Maybe Chinese staple foods are like Western desserts, delicious but fattening, and my friends are just looking out for me. Or maybe it’s just because my mom is not around to remind me to eat more vegetables.
