Friday night was a parents' night at school. We hold these nights on Fridays because many parents live outside of Beijing, and must fly in for the meeting. They fly in, spend five minutes with each teacher, spend the night in a hotel, and then fly home. They are dedicated to their children's education.
The event runs until about 6:30. As a way thank the teachers, the school brings us out to dinner afterwards. I'm not talking about a sandwich tray in the teachers' lounge or some colleagues going Dutch unofficially. Nope, I'm talking about an official sit-down meal paid for by the school. With beer, no less.
We had a great time looking through the menu. Some of the translations were priceless. We have to go back with a camera. I can't even begin to fake just how awesomely bad some of the names were. While the Chinese staff usually order for us when we go out, this time they gave us a chance to order on our own. Well, the Canadian decided we should try something "exciting". OK. Donkey it is!
It was a cold dish. Sliced meat with a ginger/garlic dipping sauce. I did a side-by-side comparison with the cold sliced beef we also ordered. I couldn't tell much of a difference. It tasted like... meat.
The highlight of dinner was the duck, though. Oh yes, I had my first official Peking duck. Thin pancakes, cucumber sticks, green onion shreds, plum sauce, and sugar. And duck. First, they bring out the duck skin. You get meat later on. And at the end they fry up the bones so you can suck on them. By then, I was stuffed, so I didn't try the bones.
The skin, though. Oh, the skin. Crispy, fatty, warm duck skin. It brought me back to my days at Maggie G's, when chef used to staff the duck cracklins after rendering duck fat for confit. The sauce was bitter; the sugar was necessary. We ran out of cucumber and onion. But the skin was heaven.
Definitely better than the donkey.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Snack Wrap Supreme
I have a new lunch-time favorite. It's tastes a lot like a chicken snack wrap you'd get at . It is a piece of flat bread wrapped around some fried chicken nuggets with some sauce and a little lettuce and cucumber.
Yesterday, it tasted good. Today I had to stand in line to wait for one, and I got to watch them made, and it got better.
Here's what I noticed.
The bread was cooking on a large, flat oven in the back of the kitchen. I say cooking and not heating because at one point, the man went over to check on the bread, looked at it, and put the lid back down. That tells me that he is watching for the caramelization on the bread's surface to show that it is cooked, not just heating them up.
Another man was breading the chicken. I couldn't see the whole process. I don't know if the chicken came in fresh or from a freezer pack. But I know that it was breaded before my eyes and then dropped into oil.
When the bread came off the griddle, the chicken came out of the fryer. A man then immediately spread the bread with some red stuff (I think it's the ubiquitous red bean paste), put on a handful of chicken, added a few pieces of lettuce, and a cumber spear. Then he tossed on two shakes of something (salt and pepper?) and rolled it up. Into a plastic baggie and voila.
The best snack wrap you've ever had.
Sure, it has fried chicken in it. You can call that bad for you. I suspect they use peanut oil, though. (Although I don't know, it is certainly the oil of choice in this country.) But I'm noticing that the food is actually made on the premises. Not heated or assembled onsite, but made. By people. Out of food.
It is incredible.
There is a man who makes the noodles. A man stirring up your soup in a pot. A man who puts the ingredients you want into the hot pot for you. And while I don't see it, I bet there is a man or woman chopping the meat and veggies for the stir fry, too. The food isn't 5 star cuisine. Some of the flavors are odd to my palate and sometimes you can tell that things have been sitting on the steam table for too long. It is an enterprise that serves 5000+ people daily. (Well, that's just lunch. Many people eat breakfast and dinner there, too.)
But they serve FOOD.
I wonder if that has anything to do with how wonderful the students are. They eat food, not highly-processed, food-like by-products of the agricultural industry. Imagine that.
Yesterday, it tasted good. Today I had to stand in line to wait for one, and I got to watch them made, and it got better.
Here's what I noticed.
The bread was cooking on a large, flat oven in the back of the kitchen. I say cooking and not heating because at one point, the man went over to check on the bread, looked at it, and put the lid back down. That tells me that he is watching for the caramelization on the bread's surface to show that it is cooked, not just heating them up.
Another man was breading the chicken. I couldn't see the whole process. I don't know if the chicken came in fresh or from a freezer pack. But I know that it was breaded before my eyes and then dropped into oil.
When the bread came off the griddle, the chicken came out of the fryer. A man then immediately spread the bread with some red stuff (I think it's the ubiquitous red bean paste), put on a handful of chicken, added a few pieces of lettuce, and a cumber spear. Then he tossed on two shakes of something (salt and pepper?) and rolled it up. Into a plastic baggie and voila.
The best snack wrap you've ever had.
Sure, it has fried chicken in it. You can call that bad for you. I suspect they use peanut oil, though. (Although I don't know, it is certainly the oil of choice in this country.) But I'm noticing that the food is actually made on the premises. Not heated or assembled onsite, but made. By people. Out of food.
It is incredible.
There is a man who makes the noodles. A man stirring up your soup in a pot. A man who puts the ingredients you want into the hot pot for you. And while I don't see it, I bet there is a man or woman chopping the meat and veggies for the stir fry, too. The food isn't 5 star cuisine. Some of the flavors are odd to my palate and sometimes you can tell that things have been sitting on the steam table for too long. It is an enterprise that serves 5000+ people daily. (Well, that's just lunch. Many people eat breakfast and dinner there, too.)
But they serve FOOD.
I wonder if that has anything to do with how wonderful the students are. They eat food, not highly-processed, food-like by-products of the agricultural industry. Imagine that.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Heat Is On
One of the things that I had heard about China is that some apartment buildings turn off the heat in the winter. It's so cold, they figure, it costs too much to heat the place, so why bother? When we first moved into our apartments, that was one of the first questions: where are the heaters!?!? Beijing gets cold, and I really didn't want to spend the winter without even the hope of heat.
No worries, I was told, the heat is in the floor. Hmm. OK. I'll believe it when I have heat.
Then I learned about the centrally-controlled heat. Oh yes, the government says when the heat comes on (and goes off). So although it got really cold three weeks ago, the head doesn't come on until November 15th (or the 10th, depending on who you talk to).
My apartment complex turns things on in order, it seems. People in buildings 1 and 5 got their heat a week ago. I'm in building 6, so I didn't get heat until last Thursday. My friend in building 9 got heat yesterday.
And let me tell you, when the heat comes on, it comes ON.
The thermostat is centrally controlled, as well, so I can't do anything about it. Today, I left two windows open all day: one in the living room and one in the bedroom. Currently, my thermostat reads 25.1 degrees Celsius. Let me remind you that room temperature is 20 degrees Celsius. 25 degrees Celsius is about 77 degrees Fahrenheit. That's with the windows open. In winter. In Beijing.
So while it's winter outside, it's still summer in my apartment.
No worries, I was told, the heat is in the floor. Hmm. OK. I'll believe it when I have heat.
Then I learned about the centrally-controlled heat. Oh yes, the government says when the heat comes on (and goes off). So although it got really cold three weeks ago, the head doesn't come on until November 15th (or the 10th, depending on who you talk to).
My apartment complex turns things on in order, it seems. People in buildings 1 and 5 got their heat a week ago. I'm in building 6, so I didn't get heat until last Thursday. My friend in building 9 got heat yesterday.
And let me tell you, when the heat comes on, it comes ON.
The thermostat is centrally controlled, as well, so I can't do anything about it. Today, I left two windows open all day: one in the living room and one in the bedroom. Currently, my thermostat reads 25.1 degrees Celsius. Let me remind you that room temperature is 20 degrees Celsius. 25 degrees Celsius is about 77 degrees Fahrenheit. That's with the windows open. In winter. In Beijing.
So while it's winter outside, it's still summer in my apartment.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I <3 Beijing
WARNING: If you have no tolerance for good-hearted double Nintendo and/or find gutter humor utterly deplorable, you might not what to read this post. If, on the other hand, you have a sense of humor, read on.
I found this t-shirt during the second week I was here, and I had to have it. I've been planning the photo shoot opportunities the entire time. Finally, with enough poses up my sleeve and my friends sufficiently brow-beaten into agreeing to serve as photographers, I have the beginning of the series. I plan on adding more shots throughout my time here.
Enjoy! I sure did. ;-)
Wait for it... what is it that I love (that I am obviously not loving right now)?
Oh yes, there it is... BJ!!
I also love the fighting turtles. They could be the mascot for a hippie California university.
:-D
I admit that the Chinese translation of this shirt isn't funny at all. It just says "Beijing". Ho-hum.
I found this t-shirt during the second week I was here, and I had to have it. I've been planning the photo shoot opportunities the entire time. Finally, with enough poses up my sleeve and my friends sufficiently brow-beaten into agreeing to serve as photographers, I have the beginning of the series. I plan on adding more shots throughout my time here.
Enjoy! I sure did. ;-)
 |
| From I 3 Beijing |
Wait for it... what is it that I love (that I am obviously not loving right now)?
Oh yes, there it is... BJ!!
 |
| From I 3 Beijing |
I also love the fighting turtles. They could be the mascot for a hippie California university.
 |
| From I 3 Beijing |
 |
| From I 3 Beijing |
 |
| From I 3 Beijing |
 |
| From I 3 Beijing |
:-D
I admit that the Chinese translation of this shirt isn't funny at all. It just says "Beijing". Ho-hum.
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Life and Times of Donald Duck
OK, so I don't know much about his life, but I know a lot about his death. Here he is, waiting for his beheading.
I was glad to see he had already been eviscerated. He also had had his wings chopped off. I assume the store sold them separately. And I didn't even have to pull the heart out of his body -- it wasn't included. Still, I was feeling very much like the Queen of Hearts. And chop off his head I did.
The bit in the middle I put aside with some duck backs in the freezer for some duck stock.
Once skewered, badly, and trussed, poorly, he went into the oven. He was also dusted with some salt and pepper and thyme.
I admit that I overcooked him... it's tough when your recipes are in pounds, your duck is in kilos, and smaller than when purchased, and you aren't ever really sure what temperature your oven is at. Oh, and I haven't ever rotisseried anything before.
He tasted pretty good though.
And now, he's becoming soup.
You can see the full album here
 |
| From Donald Duck |
I was glad to see he had already been eviscerated. He also had had his wings chopped off. I assume the store sold them separately. And I didn't even have to pull the heart out of his body -- it wasn't included. Still, I was feeling very much like the Queen of Hearts. And chop off his head I did.
 |
| From Donald Duck |
The bit in the middle I put aside with some duck backs in the freezer for some duck stock.
Once skewered, badly, and trussed, poorly, he went into the oven. He was also dusted with some salt and pepper and thyme.
 |
| From Donald Duck |
I admit that I overcooked him... it's tough when your recipes are in pounds, your duck is in kilos, and smaller than when purchased, and you aren't ever really sure what temperature your oven is at. Oh, and I haven't ever rotisseried anything before.
 |
| From Donald Duck |
He tasted pretty good though.
And now, he's becoming soup.
 |
| From Donald Duck |
You can see the full album here
A Word about Money
The unit of currency in China is RMB, or Renminbi. Well, that's what the banks call, it anyway. The bills are called yuan and the symbol is a capital Y with an extra line on it... except when they use the symbol that looks a lot like a Greek pi.
So, if you say yuan, everyone knows what you're talking about. Most people call them kwai, however. It's a lot like calling "dollars" "bucks", as in "Give me 20 bucks." Kwai means "lucky" in Chinese, and we all know that having money is certainly lucky -- hence the name. All the kwai have a picture of Mao on them, but the different values are different sizes and colors -- it's all very Monopoly. One yuan is worth about $.15 (or 10p if you're British). Spending 100 yuan notes is a lot like dropping twenties.
Next in line comes the jiao. Ten jiao make up on yuan -- so it's like a dime, except instead of just being a denomination it's its own thing. Remember, one yuan is worth $.15, so one jiao is worth... next to nothing. Jiao don't have pictues of Mao on them, they have pictures of cute children. However, everyone calls them mao. (Talk about screwing me up when I first got here -- the mao is the one withOUT his picture on it.) Jiao are bills, unless they are coins, and are smaller than yuan bills.
And then there are fen. One hundred fen make up one yuan -- like pennies. They are small, aluminum coins that weigh next to nothing. And if jiao are worth next to nothing, fen are worth nothing. Often, you don't even get them as change in stores. Today, my grocery bill came to 51 yuan 9 jiao and 3 fen. Instead of giving me back 7 fen, she just gave me back 1 jiao. Most items don't cost fen, it only comes into play with weighed produce. As far as I know, fen are so unimportant they don't even have nickname.
I guess that's how you know you've made it -- you get a nickname.
So, if you say yuan, everyone knows what you're talking about. Most people call them kwai, however. It's a lot like calling "dollars" "bucks", as in "Give me 20 bucks." Kwai means "lucky" in Chinese, and we all know that having money is certainly lucky -- hence the name. All the kwai have a picture of Mao on them, but the different values are different sizes and colors -- it's all very Monopoly. One yuan is worth about $.15 (or 10p if you're British). Spending 100 yuan notes is a lot like dropping twenties.
Next in line comes the jiao. Ten jiao make up on yuan -- so it's like a dime, except instead of just being a denomination it's its own thing. Remember, one yuan is worth $.15, so one jiao is worth... next to nothing. Jiao don't have pictues of Mao on them, they have pictures of cute children. However, everyone calls them mao. (Talk about screwing me up when I first got here -- the mao is the one withOUT his picture on it.) Jiao are bills, unless they are coins, and are smaller than yuan bills.
And then there are fen. One hundred fen make up one yuan -- like pennies. They are small, aluminum coins that weigh next to nothing. And if jiao are worth next to nothing, fen are worth nothing. Often, you don't even get them as change in stores. Today, my grocery bill came to 51 yuan 9 jiao and 3 fen. Instead of giving me back 7 fen, she just gave me back 1 jiao. Most items don't cost fen, it only comes into play with weighed produce. As far as I know, fen are so unimportant they don't even have nickname.
I guess that's how you know you've made it -- you get a nickname.
Friday, November 12, 2010
What Else Floats in Water?
A duck.
I bought an oven a couple of weeks ago. I'm sure I told you about that. It's one of them new-fangled convection ovens with a rotisserie attachment. Fancy. Well, after a, er, short day of grading, I decided it was time to try out the rotisserie. And, since I live in Beijing, and the weather has turned chilly, what better meat to roast than a duck.
Off I trundled to the store where I bought a half a duck earlier. And... there they were. Whole ducks. I had expected to see them with the head on. That's how most birds are sold in this town. But...
As I looked closer, it appeared that the WHOLE duck was there. There appear to be no slits in the duck at all. That means no nice, neat package of giblets stuffed inside a clean cavity. Not even a mostly clean cavity with just a few congealed blood bits. Oh, no. That I can handle. I mean a WHOLE duck. Head. Feet. Entrails. All of it. In a neat package of, well, duck skin.
Glorious, roasted, crispy duck skin.
So that was it. It was a moment of truth. Would I buy the duck? Would I face up to the most disgusting thing I've encountered so far or would I walk away and buy some nice bit of trimmed pork or something? I wanted duck. I wanted roast duck. I scanned the chickens. They looked anemic and scrawny -- and the purple ones just look evil. I've tried to pick meat off of a whole chicken, and it's just not possible. And the ducks looked kind of scrawny, too. The half ducks weighed almost as much as the whole ducks! Would I be paying for too much bone if I bought a whole duck? But you can't really put a half a duck on a spit. (Fowl, it seems, are built rather like the people -- thin. What can I say: no one has any breasts.)
Choices! Indecision.
Well, I came here for something different and I didn't want to roast a chicken, I wanted to roast a duck. So, I picked up Donald and put him in the basket. Of course, poor Don was frozen, so there wasn't anyway I'd be cooking him up tonight.
To hedge my bets, I walked over to the pork counter and picked up a tenderloin (or something that appeared to be a tenderloin). (I cooked it up with some veggies a la Murley, and it was quite tasty.)
As I walked out the store, I wondered if I had made a horrible decision. Was I wasting money? Would chopping off a duck's head become too scary once I was home? Would I lose momentum since I'd have to wait for the darn thing to thaw? And then I considered the price... 20 yuan. That's... yeah, $3.00. It's Beijing, and while some meat can be pricey, duck is not one of those meats.
I stopped by a friend's place on the way back and she pointed out something that I hadn't thought of before. Not only might I find viscera inside, but perhaps unformed or partly formed eggs. (OK, maybe those are considered viscera, too, but I hadn't considered it before.) Ewwww!
Don is sitting in the fridge right now, waiting. The plan is to go sightseeing tomorrow and then roast him on Saturday. That should let him thaw and give me some time to screw up the courage to decapitate and eviscerate him, literally.
This is going to take more courage than anything else I've done, except maybe get on the plane.
I bought an oven a couple of weeks ago. I'm sure I told you about that. It's one of them new-fangled convection ovens with a rotisserie attachment. Fancy. Well, after a, er, short day of grading, I decided it was time to try out the rotisserie. And, since I live in Beijing, and the weather has turned chilly, what better meat to roast than a duck.
Off I trundled to the store where I bought a half a duck earlier. And... there they were. Whole ducks. I had expected to see them with the head on. That's how most birds are sold in this town. But...
As I looked closer, it appeared that the WHOLE duck was there. There appear to be no slits in the duck at all. That means no nice, neat package of giblets stuffed inside a clean cavity. Not even a mostly clean cavity with just a few congealed blood bits. Oh, no. That I can handle. I mean a WHOLE duck. Head. Feet. Entrails. All of it. In a neat package of, well, duck skin.
Glorious, roasted, crispy duck skin.
So that was it. It was a moment of truth. Would I buy the duck? Would I face up to the most disgusting thing I've encountered so far or would I walk away and buy some nice bit of trimmed pork or something? I wanted duck. I wanted roast duck. I scanned the chickens. They looked anemic and scrawny -- and the purple ones just look evil. I've tried to pick meat off of a whole chicken, and it's just not possible. And the ducks looked kind of scrawny, too. The half ducks weighed almost as much as the whole ducks! Would I be paying for too much bone if I bought a whole duck? But you can't really put a half a duck on a spit. (Fowl, it seems, are built rather like the people -- thin. What can I say: no one has any breasts.)
Choices! Indecision.
Well, I came here for something different and I didn't want to roast a chicken, I wanted to roast a duck. So, I picked up Donald and put him in the basket. Of course, poor Don was frozen, so there wasn't anyway I'd be cooking him up tonight.
To hedge my bets, I walked over to the pork counter and picked up a tenderloin (or something that appeared to be a tenderloin). (I cooked it up with some veggies a la Murley, and it was quite tasty.)
As I walked out the store, I wondered if I had made a horrible decision. Was I wasting money? Would chopping off a duck's head become too scary once I was home? Would I lose momentum since I'd have to wait for the darn thing to thaw? And then I considered the price... 20 yuan. That's... yeah, $3.00. It's Beijing, and while some meat can be pricey, duck is not one of those meats.
I stopped by a friend's place on the way back and she pointed out something that I hadn't thought of before. Not only might I find viscera inside, but perhaps unformed or partly formed eggs. (OK, maybe those are considered viscera, too, but I hadn't considered it before.) Ewwww!
Don is sitting in the fridge right now, waiting. The plan is to go sightseeing tomorrow and then roast him on Saturday. That should let him thaw and give me some time to screw up the courage to decapitate and eviscerate him, literally.
This is going to take more courage than anything else I've done, except maybe get on the plane.
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