Label Readers UNITE!

Posted by She Said

Every now and again, you need to have a serious post from us, right? RIGHT!? So, I’m going to give in to your need for something snark-free today.

Greg and I have been worried about Emily for a while now. She has had tummy troubles since…well, forever. And what has really worried me over the last couple of years was her level of energy. I’m not even talking about comparing her to Braedyn, ‘cuz let’s face it, not many CAN keep up with that fireball. I’m talking about her choosing to not have a play date because she’s tired. Or lying down on a couch during a play date and simply not playing. Or during a play date, getting up, going to her room, shutting the door, and falling asleep on her bed. I had every reason to believe that her tonsillectomy last December would remedy this, but it didn’t. In fact, it slowly seemed to be getting worse.

And you know me, I worry. I try not to, believe you me! But this time, I couldn’t help it. I had taken her to the doctor several times for her tummy issues and separately several times for her lethargy. A couple of weeks ago, I took her in again. This time, I pulled her doctor out of the room so Emily couldn’t hear, and I laid it all out. All my worries. And he understood and took action. I took her immediately after the appointment for some blood work to test for celiacs, crohns, iron levels, infection, and lastly, food allergies. She was such a sweetheart as the lab tech prepped her for the blood draw. She didn’t struggle in my lap, and she didn’t cry; she just looked up at me and whispered, “Mommy, I’m scared.” And let me tell you, my brave little girl was spoiled rotten after that! I’m talking chocolate from the candy store, two new dresses, and a new bathing suit. Girlfriend, we shopped!

And then I waited. And just to let you know, waiting patiently is not one of my strong suits.

After a little over a week of waiting for results, I finally heard the news. Thankfully, Emily does NOT have celiacs or crohns, nor does she have any infections. I can honestly say I was relieved to hear that Emily “only” has some food allergies. She is allergic to wheat, cow’s milk, egg, and banana.

Then I let all of that sink in. Um, do you remember all of those food stories involving our children while we were in China? And do you remember how picky they are? Especially Emily? Yeah, it hit me that everything Emily eats she is now allergic to.

• macaroni and cheese, Emily’s staple – contains wheat and milk
• cheese – contains milk
• goldfish crackers – contain wheat and milk
• chocolate milk! – um, yeah
• banana – one of the only fruits I could ever get Emily to eat

Thankfully, she’s not allergic to broccoli - the ONLY green thing she’ll eat.

I am lucky enough to have a dear friend that works at Whole Foods, so the day after learning of Emily’s allergies, we went shopping, and she shared with me all of her knowledge. I bought three different types of vegan cheeses, including one parmesan alternative. I bought goat cheddar cheese because her allergies don’t include goat milk. I bought coconut milk and almond milk. I actually found a “macaroni and cheese” that was wheat-free AND dairy-free. Yeah, it actually tasted good, but nothing, nuh-thing, like Kraft.

And I have to give it to Emily, she has been a trooper and has tried it all.

That’s right. My picky little eater has started a whole new culinary adventure at our house, and she’s the captain of the ship. She’s being honest about what she likes and doesn’t like. She’s never been one to complain about being sick (unlike her brother and her dad, ahem), so her willingness to venture into this new culinary world really makes me feel like she is excited about feeling better. I have a lot to learn and many questions to get answered still, but at least we know what we are dealing with.

We should see a difference in about three weeks, so stay tuned.

Rounding Out

Posted by He Said

While in China (I know, China again, get used to it; I think that many blogs will still start like this for some time to come), I initially lost weight for the first couple weeks. Then I discovered fried bread, and I lost that anorexic look I have worked so hard to achieve. 

For those who don’t know me personally, I have struggled with my weight since my late 20’s.  I started out life as a plump well rounded 10lb 4oz baby but thinned out quickly and was a stick for most of my early years.  I could eat whatever I wanted, as much as I wanted, and never filled out.  During my late teens I would eat an entire box of Lil Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls and wash them down with a quart of chocolate milk. Oh, those were the days. Here is a picture of what I looked like in my late teens.  I am the guy on the far right. Please, no comments on the shorts.  I know how hot I look.

Then something terrible happened. My metabolism slowed and slowed, and food became a battle.  Not just because I could no longer eat whatever I wanted, but because food is also something I turn to when I am stressed or depressed.  Of course, the same time my metabolism slowed I also went through a divorce and boy oh boy did the pounds come on then. I went from around 185 (I was 165 in the pic above) to a whopping 275 near the end of my 30’s.  To prove this, I have a photo taken of me at Skywalker Ranch. Yes, THE George Lucas Skywalker Ranch – do you know how HARD it is to work in an excuse to brag about that one. I’m the tall young one on the right.  Not sure who the statue is of, but it looked pretty cool.

So you can see I put on a few pounds and lost a few hairs (but that’s a blog for another day).  Some time after this picture was taken, my beautiful wife, She Said, and I decided it was time to crack down and work on our weight.  It took a long time and many struggles, but we did it.  I actually rocked my way back down to 210 and was feeling really good about myself.  Here I am in 2005.  Looking pretty slim if I do say so myself.

But I was never able to keep my weight down that low.  It has always been a struggle and while I knew that I have been putting my weight back on ever since we went to China, I have not done anything about it, nor have I really wanted to.

Until today.

Today I was walking out of the office with one of the China employees who is here visiting, and he looked at me and squinted his face.  This is the look I am all too familiar with.  It is the look he gets on his face when he is processing language translations so that he can say something he is not sure of the correct English for.

“You are looking different since you were in Beijing.”

“Really? I did shave my head this weekend,” I say.

“No,” he replies, “you are looking rounder.”

“Are you saying I have gotten fat?”

“Yes,” he says, “Why is that? Too many burgers?”, which with his Chinese accent comes out sounding like “boogers”, but I get the point.

I need to ride my bike to work.

Or eat fewer boogers.

Um, Yeah, I’m Not Eatin That

Posted by He Said.

With one week to go, things are supposed to be winding down as a trip ends, but instead the chaos begins.  We are trying to figure out how to get not only all the crap that we have purchased on this trip but how to include all the wonderful gifts we have been given.  Kevin, sorry, but the MacBook Pro is just not going to fit, I think you are getting a t-shirt instead. We even bought an additional suitcase today and I am STILL afraid not everything is going to make it home. 

To top things off I have been dragging and feeling pretty run down.  This makes being motivated to do anything a bit trying.

During this last week my boss from back home arrived for a weeklong trip and as such the company has to buy the required luncheon out.  We arrived a a great looking place with the coolest looking table (appearing to be made of Jade or facsimile thereof with a builtin fountain, pond and fish.  This was a tea table with built in accessories and such.  There was a large aquarium which the kids love to look at until I tell them that the fish are not for looking at, they are for eating. 

They think I am kidding.

While here we have read about, heard people talk about, witnessed on menus and even eaten the occasional strange item on the menu (can you say century egg).  This place put it all out on on the table, literally.

This restaurant really stood out as it had everything we had heard about, and more.  The menu was somewhere in the range of 25 pages filled with photos and unusual items. One of the items that was ordered for us (because you know, I like chicken) was a smoked chicken. It’s the WHOLE chicken.  They just de-feather it, clean it, lay it out, smoke it, and using the worlds sharpest cleaver chop it into little strips.  With the BONE IN! I couldn’t figure out how to eat it without breaking a tooth.

Just a small taste of the menu

Snake, Crispy Pigeon, Ducks Tongue, Pigs Lung, Chicken Feet, and of course Dog.

Yeah, like I said.  I’m not eatin that, I don’t care HOW pretty that flower is in its beak.

Full Service Hot Pot

Posted by She Said

Yesterday was a company-wide bonus day at Greg’s work. To celebrate the “big day”, everyone was given the second half of the day off. Several coworkers invited us to go with them to a hot pot restaurant that was a short thirty minute subway ride and a 15 minute walk away.

They had us at hot pot.

When we arrived, the 13 of us were directed to our own private room. We had to split into two groups to fit around the tables without clamoring for hot pot privileges. The kids, of course, ate their “chocolate sandwich” that I picked up from 7-Eleven prior to hitting the subway. Yeah, I know. I hate me too.

In my hurry out the door to meet Greg and his coworkers, the unthinkable happened. I forgot all four of our cameras. Maybe I should consider having one surgically attached like my mother did. This is incredibly unfortunate because this place was amazing. A-MAY-ZING.

The service staff was abundant and attentive. Dare I say, especially to Emily? *groan* I found it particularly humorous that one of Greg’s coworkers was asked by one of the staff if the children’s hair was “colorized”. No, no, it’s not. But I am considering a nice shade of black.

After our pots started to boil, a man came in carrying a tray, which he set down and took a small piece of dough from and slightly stretched it. Then he began to dance with the dough as he tossed it around, stretching it into scrumptious noodles. The dough flowed around him like the ribbon of a gymnast during a floor routine.

Since I didn’t have my camera, it is obvious this is not my photograph. Meh, we’re in China, and copyright isn’t an issue, so thanks to whoever took this picture!

Ahhhh, then the food. It was amazing! To start, there was a sauce bar. There were dozens of options of what to dip your savory cooked pieces into. As if I could get past the tahini and cilantro. Pshaw! And as if we were attending the Rib Cook Off in Sparks, Nevada, they gave us aprons to wear so as to not stain our clothing during our chow fest.

There was also a kids’ play area, which we didn’t discover until we were almost ready to leave. We must have spent at least three hours on this glorious lunch. And as if the sauce, the food, the attentive and kind service weren’t enough, they have a FREE shoe shine station and a full-service manicure station set up right across from the computers with free Internet and small book library.

So, to recap:

• delicious food
• sauce bar
• noodle dancing
• great service
• Internet
• kids’ play area
• shoe shining
• nail painting
• books (I would have put this one up higher on the list but I figure I probably can’t read any of them anyway)

Yeah, you’ll be lucky if you ever see me again.

That Duck Egg Is How Old?

Posted by He Said

Those of you who know me well know that I am a picky eater.  One rule my mother burned into my skull is if you are a guest in someone’s home, you eat what you are served.

That rule has been hard for me over the years.  I have sat at many tables and choked and washed down what I have been served.  I suspect many times it was far from convincingly.  Thanks mom, the one childhood rule I haven’t forgotten is yours and I will likely never forgive you for it.

This rule has applied here, and although eating in restaurants with coworkers doesn’t exactly fit the bill, I have still tried to eat what I have been served.

Sweet and Sour Chicken Feet
Pickled Cows Tongue
Blood Tofu (made of coagulated blood)
Partridge Eggs
Counterfeit Wine
Fish served with the head still on
Shrimp which you have to behead, de-leg and gut before eating (to be fair I have done this with crawdads several times)
Fried milk (yeah, not really sure what it was, but we ordered it again)
Fish and squid balls (who knew they had balls big enough to eat)

Those are my favorites of course. This week I went with the manager Johnny to lunch and he ordered for me.  This always kinda freaks me out because I feel obligated to eat what is served even if I don’t like it or it visually is disturbing to me. Two items came to the table.  The main dish was delicious.  The second dish freaked me out to say the least.

Let’s put it this way, they did NOT have Green Ham, but the duck eggs on the other hand? They look just like this.

and thisThis image was originally posted to Flickr by Mandru at
http://flickr.com/photos/55048848@N00/232767706

I ate them.  In fact, I ate half the plate.  Frankly they tasted like…well, hard boiled eggs with some additional complex flavors.  Dipped in the vinegar on the plate they were quite interesting.  The white of the egg, excuse me, the brown translucent gel surrounding the yolk was flavorless.

But hey, lets get right to the interesting part regarding the discovery of these eggs.  Stolen right from Wikipedia.

“Its discovery, though not verifiable, was said to have occurred during the Ming dynasty 600 years ago in Hunan, when a home owner discovered duck eggs in a shallow pool of slaked lime that was used for mortar during construction of his home 2 months before.”

Wow, isn’t that fascinating.  Six hundred years ago this process was discovered when a home owner finds 2 month old eggs in a shallow pool of slaked lime.

TWO MONTHS OLD! UNREFRIDGERATED! OUTSIDE!

But wait, lets get to the best part.

“Upon tasting the eggs he set out to produce more…”

Wait lets stop here. UPON TASTING THE EGGS? That’s right, he just found these old duck eggs which had been sitting in a shallow pool of lime outside (likely in the summertime) whose color had transitioned beyond any normal egg ever seen on this planet.  The egg white having turned gelatinous brown, the yolk several layers of various green … AND HE ATE THEM?  And people make fun of Nevada rednecks.

Ok, let’s put the whole sentence here for context.

“Upon tasting the eggs he set out to produce more, this time with the addition of salt to improve this taste, thus resulting in the present recipe of the century egg.^[3]”

Yes, salt.  We all know salt helps bring out those complex flavors. In 2 month old eggs … mmm… a nice bouquet with hints of chocolate, coffee and pear with a nice slaked lime finish.

Which One’s Not Like the Other?

Posted by She Said

There is a Korean BBQ place not too far from our apartment that I have been wanting to try for a while. After Sinny, a coworker of Greg’s, took me to a scrumptious dinner at a different Korean BBQ restaurant several weeks ago, I have been anxious for Greg to try it. I just knew he would enjoy the wonderful flavors and the way there is an actual coal BBQ at each table on which to cook. With his affinity for fire, what’s not to enjoy? I have to admit, I was a little surprised he finally agreed to check it out after he complained of the way I smelled for two days after eating it. I guess he figured it was like garlic – if we both ate it, he wouldn’t be bothered by it.

I’ve noticed at the nicer sit-down restaurants, where you pay at the end of the meal instead of at the beginning, the server will follow you to your table and stay there until you order. So, imagine if you will, we are on a side of town with very few foreigners, so we always seem to create a stir – well the kids do anyway. So this may not be accurate to say, but it feels like when we walked in, all eyes were on us. Next, we have to take off all our coats. Then we have figure out what to do with them. Here? No. How about piled up there? OK.

Shift, shift, shift.

Then we have the arduous task of deciding who is going to sit where and next to whom –a Moyle version of quack, quack, goose.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

And all of this is prior to even cracking open the menu. Then we do a quick menu dance, akin to a rain dance, in the hopes that there are English subtitles under the pictures in the one enormous, multi-paged menu delivered to our table that we, we being I,  have to flip through.

Flip, flip, flip.

And all of this happens while our server stands next to us with her pen and pad ready to take our order. Suffice it to say, being the one given the role of ordering, this makes me a little nervous! In my desire to expedite the ordering process, I pointed at watermelon juice for Emily out of a color brochure. Small. This is what we got:

This is freshly squeezed watermelon juice. And it cost us about 38 RMB (or over $5 US), which I didn’t really realize during my rush to get our order in.

So this is the way it works. They bring over all of the raw ingredients you ordered – thinly sliced meats, mushrooms, and other veggies – and give you all of the tools you need to cook it over the coals, including tongs for flipping and scissors for cutting larger pieces into more manageable bite sizes.  That’s right. You do the cooking.

That is, unless you are the Moyles.

Greg was busy figuring out how to wear Emily’s Barbie headband from KFC, so he’s not cooking. I’m taking the picture, so I’m not cooking. And there’s no way the kids were getting their little hands near those hot coals, so they’re not cooking.

Instead, we had our own personal chef.

This friendly woman stood at our table for our entire meal and cooked every morsel we purchased. Greg kept looking around and continually asked me why other people were cooking their own food? I kept insisting the staff was helping them too.

Because of her help, Greg had time to figure out Em’s hair band. And who wouldn’t be grateful for that?

As our last bites were taken, and our coals whisked away, another plate arrived with four watermelon slices and four ice cream bars. Braedyn ate a couple bites of the watermelon, and we all devoured our delicious coconut flavored ice cream bars. We didn’t order any dessert, but we sure enjoyed the treat!

By the end of the meal, our watermelon juice was hardly touched. The kids, insisting they liked it, wouldn’t drink it. I started filling all of our small glasses and making us all drink more so as to not seem so wasteful. Damn wasteful Americans! We still only got through about half of it.

So, I have a confession. This is a first for me, so please pay attention, and for my sake, please do not repeat this:

Greg. Was. Right. Iwaswrong.

I know, the horror, right!?

I was led to this realization when my friend, Lilian, and I went back to the same restaurant last night for dinner, and lo and behold, not one small slice of savory mutton, not one piece of thinly sliced sweet potato, not one medallion of savory pork, was cooked by anyone other than Lilian or me.

NOT. ONE.

Oh, and there was no watermelon and ice cream bars delivered either.

I did mention this was the SAME restaurant, yes?

When I told Lilian that we had everything, everything, cooked for us earlier in the week, she just looked at me, laughed, and said, “You must look like you don’t know how to cook!”

Fabio Visits Stemed Dumping Shop

Posted by He Said

Today at the last minute I messaged Susanne “Want dumplings?” Her response was something akin to “if you don’t bring dinner we are eating the children!”  I guess they were driving her a little nuts today.

Sadly, I was without my little piece of paper given to me by a coworker to order my dumplings at the Stemed Dumping Shop. 

Normally I walk in, the girls behind the counter act all giddy and laugh and point like 12 year old school girls, I hand them my paper, which also has the total, and pay my $1.77 for 15 dumplings. It’s always the same girls who giggle and point.  I guess they just don’t see white guys as muscular and hot as me around here very often. Then I walk over to the window behind which there are another 6 women stuffing “steamed dumplings” by hand and the same super friendly young man with a contagious smile.  Yeah, he is kinda cute, but not in that gay kinda way, because you know I am so not into asian guys.  The first time I came into this place by myself I played Susanne Charades until he acted as though he was eating (with chopsticks of course) off a plate.  I, in my usual understated fashion, started waving my arms in a large arc towards the door like one of those guys on the airport runway motioning the planes. He laughed and made my order to go.

This has worked great.  I always get a friendly smile and sometimes even a “hello” from the boy in the kitchen. We have eaten take out from here many times. I even succeeded in ordering without my paper order by using my iPhone and simply playing the word “Pork” and “Beef” and when the price didn’t match, I simply played the word beef and signaled 2, then 3 until the price was what it should be.

Tonight, I was not so lucky.  I asked the manager at my office to write out from memory the beef and pork dumplings order, which he kindly did. Then he asked if we liked soup.  “It’s not really soup, but Chinese rice soup,” he explained. 

“Sure, what the hell, order what you like.” 

He added four more items to the menu.  So I knew the top 3 items were the delicious dumplings and the bottom four were mystery “rice soups”.

I was pretty confident when I walked in with my handwritten order and placed it on the counter.  Immediately I knew there was a problem.  Chinese chatter between Giggle Girl 1 and Giggle Girl 2 and then a man came from the back room and took my paper away.  One of the giggle girls showed me a single finger, not that one, and said something to which I figured was “one minute.”  So I waited patiently.  Then the man and my paper came back and Giggle Girl 2 held onto it while she took someone else’s order.  Now this is much different service than I get from my fried bread guy who hands me my bread before anyone else (who by the way, was back making bread the day after “the bust”).  It pays to be a regular sometimes.  Either that or it pays to be two feet taller and 100 pounds heavier than everyone else.

So there I am, leaning against the counter thinking, should I just yell “ENGLISH?” to all the patrons and hope SOMEONE speaks both languages.  I couldn’t.  Just like I always want to shout CRACKER when I see white people, and I don’t. I waited, and I waited.  When the second person was helped before me, I simply grabbed my paper from Giggle Girl 2 and laid it on the counter. 

I pointed to the first line.  Both giggle girls shook their heads no.  I didn’t know if this meant they didn’t know what the hell it said or if they didn’t have it.  It didn’t matter, I moved on to line two. More head shaking.  Line three. More head shaking.  I point to line three knowing this is the last line that describes dumplings and lo and behold, they shake their heads.  I moved on, line 4? Yes. Line 5? Yes.  Line 6? Yes and so on.  All the items that I KNOW are NOT dumplings they will order for me.  I don’t have my cell phone so I can’t even call my coworker, Johnny, and ask him to order on the phone, and my iPhone is charging, so no translation app. I am stuck. So I cover the top of the page with the precious dumplings and circle with my fingers the bottom 4 items and they ring them up.  A whopping 90 cents, this can’t be good.

This sucks.  I have no idea what I am ordering.  I take my little ticket to the window where Giggle Girls 3, 4 and 5 have a field day pointing and chuckling.  I am beginning to think it’s not my Fabio-like good looks. I watch them pour 3 different soup-looking concoctions in cups, seal them and hand me a bag of what looks like shredded beets.  Yup.  That’s my order, and I am so very bummed.  I figure I will head home, find my OTHER piece of paper with the correct menu items and return.  So I dejectedly strut out of the shop in my Fabio walk.  I hear shouting in Chinese as I leave, but that’s common here, so I continue on up the alley. 

I get almost half a block away, and I hear someone running up on me.  I realize as he grabs my arm that it is the cute kitchen boy from the kitchen. He points back to the kitchen and talks in Chinese.  I think they all must think I am a mute because I don’t even waste time TRYING to talk s..l..o..w..l..y in English anymore.  I just smile and nod and follow him back.

I am directed to the pickup window by the kitchen.  Now realize, I HAVE NO FRICKEN CLUE what is going on here.  A guy dressed in chef’s garb who was eating gets up, and walks to the window.  Cute Kitchen boy talks to him, Angry Chef guy starts yelling at Giggle Girls 3, 4 and 5.  This arguing goes on for some time.  I sit there listening for what sounds like a serious ass-chewing for several minutes.  Then Giggle Girl 3 starts laughing, and the air starts to clear.

Then magically, Cute Kitchen boy hands a large bag of dumplings through the window to Angry Chef guy, and he turns and hands it to me.  Smiling.  A huge friendly smile and I realize at that moment that being a regular does help. Even if you can’t speak the language.  He looks at me and quietly rubs his fingers together and carefully says “money?”

And I realize that several of the people who see me come in all the time realized that I was getting the shaft because Giggle Girl 1 and 2 could have cared less in helping me get my order.

Not Angry Any Longer Chef but Super Friendly Chef guy walks me to the register, speaks quickly and Giggle Girl 2 rings up my order.  I pay my $2.25 for more dumplings than I have ever eaten, and Super Friendly Chef guy kindly holds my arm and walks me out the front door.  He stands looking straight at me and carefully says “Thank You”.

No Super Friendly Chef guy, a huge “Shea Shea” to you and your caring staff.

I still think its because they thought I was Fabio.

Food Inc. Folks Would Brand Us for This, If They Were Into That

Posted by She Said

My children have eaten more McDonald’s here in the last three weeks than they have over the last three years in Reno. This makes me want to run screaming mad into the nearest Beijing intersection. However, with our Picky McPickerson kids, it seems the easiest thing to do to let them actually eat something before we go out to eat for something really yummy for me and Greg. Say, HOT POT! I know, I’m rolling my eyes at myself too. So there.

This Sunday was an exception to this utterly disgusting rule. After our big Silk Market day the day before, we decided to go poke around in Greg’s territory, Zhongguancun. He really wanted a 16 or 32 Gig USB key, and he wouldn’t take me up on his offer of staying home with the kids and letting him roam free. Instead he insisted that I be his negotiating beeeeaahtch. Well since I’ve been called far worse and since that’s a title I rather enjoy, we all headed out.

After picking up a $35-ish USB key for about $28 (not my best, but pretty good for the electronics market), we decided we were only a couple of floors away from one of our absolute favorites, Xiabu Xiabu - “fast food” hot pot. Sorry, kiddos, no McDonald’s here. Only this time we didn’t have any of our Chinese friends to help us through the completely Chinese speaking servers or the completely Chinese written menu. Well, language be damned! We needed our fix, so we headed up to the very full restaurant and took a number, securing our spot in line.

Um, a number. A number that would be spoken in Chinese. Oh, crap. Hurdle number one. Just as I was whipping out the Frommer’s book, the lady from whom we took the number, waved for us to come in. OH THANK GOD WE STICK OUT LIKE FOREIGNERS! Hurdle one, overcome thanks to being so different.

And just a tip for those of you who try and speak slower and more clearly when someone doesn’t understand the language you are speaking – IT DOESN’T WORK! It doesn’t matter how slowly you speak a word, if it is in CHINESE chances are high I am not going to understand it.

OK, hurdle number two. Ordering drinks. We offered to let the kids have a soda, and since we were conveniently sitting next to the fountain machine, Greg hopped up and pointed to the orange soda and held up two fingers. I chimed in with “bing”, which means ice, and adamantly shook my head from side to side with the hopes that I was communicating NO BING. Hey, I can at least attempt to stick to those stringent rules everyone warned us to adhere to prior to coming, including not using ice.

Then, thank goodness we have trigger fingers with our picture taking because we pulled up a picture of a beer that Greg had taken and again held up two fingers.

VICTORY. Two orange sodas without ice and two draft beers. CHA-CHING!

Hurdle three. Ordering the food. Again, we whipped out the pictures we took at our previous visits to Xiabu Xiabu, which allowed us to MOSTLY order what we wanted. We ended up with an extra pork dish:

  
This turned out to be bacon, so we were SO not complaining.

So, to recap, this is what the kids had:

And, this is part of what we had:

Please note, the ordering tool on the table (iPhone) and the kick ass sesame/peanut/cilantro sauce just ready for dipping.

Our only problem with our meal was we were a little TOO eager and showed a LOT of our pictures, making our meal far more than we could possibly eat. We need to learn how to show a little restraint when we go for hot pot or learn how to ask for a “take away” bag. Hey, one can dream!

And just for those of you who might be wondering what this cost us - including two beers, two sodas, an enormous piling of cilantro, and tons of meat and veggies – it totaled a whopping FIFTEEN bucks!

With all this ordering, Greg got himself all worked up in a crazed frenzy. I mean, why else would he have been working so hard to figure out what this said:

Greg: <looking at the sign> What does that say?
Me: <raising eyebrows> Seriously?
Greg: you-da-ix? WTF?
Me: Dude, we are on the wrong side of the glass.
Greg: <smacking forehead>

Gimme My Mystery Meat!

Posted by He Said
Regular readers of this blog will have learned I have one or two quirks.  STOP SCROLLING TO THE BOTTOM TO COMMENT ALREADY.
One of those quirks is that I am a little bit picky about the foods I eat.  Meat is the norm and vegetables are, well, weeds.  Who eats weeds?  This can prove difficult for me because:

1. My wife uses a cookbook at home called Deceptively Delicious so she can sneak all that wholesome weedy goodness into our meals.
2. The Chinese use a cookbook called We Don’t Hide Shit – Eat Weeds and Love Them.

For the most part I can spot a vegetable a mile away.  I can make broccoli dance off my fork as I bring it to my mouth.  I can leave a Close Encounters sized mound of vegetables on my plate and get every tender morsel of meat in MAH BELLY!
This has worked fairly well for me so far, and I have found some really tasty dishes here.  Except cat.  I can’t find cat, but like I said, I am working on that.
On my morning walks, I pass by this vendor selling traditional Chinese breakfast foods, including what appear to be potato like pancakes (although I have not learned yet what these are called), iānbǐng (thin crispy omelets with fillings folded in), and all sorts of other mystery foods. 
And they serve yóutiáo.  Heavenly yóutiáo.  Chinese donuts, if you will.  These are by far my favorite, and at a whopping, step back, 15 cents they don’t break the bank. They are so much fried awesomeness that I am going to make you look at this picture AGAIN.

I have also seen iānbǐng, which can best be described as looking like a sealed taco.  I have been told these were filled with pork.  This sounds like food paradise to me.  Fried breaded thing stuffed with pork for PENNIES.  Bring it on.
On my way to work this morning I stopped to order my morning “donut” and brazenly asked in my best Susanne hand gestures for a iānbǐng as well. It cost me an extra 15 cents. 
I was so happy.  If you are familiar with Sting’s “Walking On The Moon”, you will know how I was feeling.  I was floating.  I was so out of my head rushing to get to work and sit down to enjoy my heavenly fried meat product that I almost was run over by a bicyclist.  I had to grab the handlebars to dodge him.  It was that close. I didn’t even care if it was MYSTERY MEAT. GIVE IT TO ME BABY!
I was so out of my head that I even got off the elevator on the 10th floor (I work on the 11th), because I confused my living floor with my working floor.  This city living is just so hard.  Especially when you are out of your head for mystery meat.
I ran up the final floor and made it to my desk without taking a bite on the run.  I wanted to savor each and every mouthful. I sat down, unwrapped my treasure from its greasy plastic protective coating and took a large bite, AND…
GAH! FREAKIN' VEGETABLES! I hate vegetables. They ruin everything. Especially when there is NO MEAT and they are in my BREAKFAST.
I was ruined for the entire day. I may have to eat an entire roast pig to make up for this blasphemy.
fcuk’ing vegetables.

Wine in a “Bottle”

Posted by She Said

My new friend, Lilian, and I went out for another girls’ night out last night, and I had a BLAST. She took me over to an area by one of the universities to have dinner and then to “shop” at the outdoor market. This outdoor market was basically a string of makeshift displays on the sidewalk along several city blocks. This is one of the places where you can negotiate price. Now THAT’S my kind of shopping.

The highlight on the taxi ride over to this area of Beijing was seeing two men in a van stop in the middle of an intersection and change positions (driver to passenger and passenger to driver). I SAW A BONA FIDE CHINESE FIRE DRILL!

I explained to Lilian that I was open to talking about anything, and if she had questions about the U.S., to please ask. We had a very interesting discussion that touched on capitalism, credit cards, and children. My favorite discussion, however, was this:

Me: What is your favorite Chinese holiday?
Lilian: Chinese New Year.
Me: How do you celebrate it?
Lilian: Family comes together and has a big meal. And many fireworks.
Me: Our Independence Day is when we use fireworks.
Lilian: Do you do the fireworks?
Me: No. It is illegal in most places. We watch shows put on by professionals.
Lilian: <looking perplexed> You can’t do fireworks, but you can have a gun?

Very observant. And funny.

While ordering, Lilian asked if I would like some wine with dinner. Um, does a dog want a bone? So, she ordered this wine, which was presented in a bamboo carafe, and with its cloudy white splendor, I thought I had finally found the right wine for me and Greg. It was a little sweet and it didn’t taste like Chinese White Not Wine.

I pleaded with Lilian to take me to a store and show me where to get it, but she said, “I don’t think you can find. Maybe the restaurant will sell you one.” I figured, hey, here’s a way to see what the label looks like and I can keep my eye out for it at the market. Only, this is the way they delivered it:

Even though the name is in Chinese, I have a sneaky suspicion all the ad campaigns in the States have paid off, and you can guess what was once in this bottle. Yup, Coca Cola. I guess if we really want more, we will have to go back to the restaurant to get it. Do you think we might get a percentage discount if we bring in our own empty Coke bottles?

I wish my negotiating skills as we shopped went as well as my conversation with Lilian. However, my suggested prices were turned down every time but once. I got a beautiful scarf for 15 yuan (a little over 2 bucks) when he was asking 20. I also got a new copy of A Thousand Splendid Suns for 15 yuan. Overall, it was a success in my book.

One of the entrepreneurs I saw during our shopping spree. I’m just kicking myself for not taking a picture of the “Hello Kotty” [sic] wallet I saw.

My Growling Might Land Me in Chinese Prison

Posted by She Said

My friend, Lindie, gave us a pocket-sized Frommer’s guide before we left for Beijing, which offers the following bit of advice about Chinese culture:

Never Get Angry in Public    The Chinese place a premium on group harmony, so foreigners should try to be polite and cope with frustrations privately.

In other words, I shouldn’t have growled at the guy at the grocery store today. OK, it wasn’t one of my full-fledged growls, but it was enough of one that he looked at me and realized his infraction – cutting in front of me in line at the market today. And I’m not talking just ANY line. I’m talking a line that was so enormous, it was the mama of all things colossal line. Seriously, I was at least fifteen people back and there were at least five people behind me when I paused and looked at one of the cookie packs in the aisle. Yes, I was far enough back in the line to be half way down an aisle, and EVERY register had a line like this. Apparently, pause and look at something means you are STILL SHOPPING AND NOT IN LINE. When I saw him cut in front of me, my instincts kicked in. And I growled. Bad American, BAD! I showed frustration in public!

Then he looked at me, realized what he did, and kindly and quickly got behind me. With his THREE items. Looking at my cart, I realized it would have been the nice thing to do to let him stay in front of me, but my pantomiming for him to go ahead of me didn’t work, and he insisted on staying behind us. And then we waited, and waited, and waited for our turn at the counter. I tried to slyly take a picture to show how many people were there today, but I don’t think this even comes close to shows the intensity of just how busy it was:

As I stood in line there was another bit of advice in the Frommer’s guide that I remembered:

Never Accept Food, Drinks or Gifts without Refusing First    If someone offers you something in their home, no matter how eager you are to receive it, proper Chinese etiquette dictates that you not appear to greedy or eager. Politely refuse several times before grudgingly accepting.

So, in this scenario, I realized I didn’t offer enough times for him to go ahead of me in the colossal line. So, when there were only two more people ahead of me, I insisted with my mad charade skills that he go ahead of me again. This time he obliged. I figure he couldn’t be too angry for my infraction of not asking enough times until the Chinese etiquette light bulb clicked on, because I offered him front row seats to a major attraction – my kids.

I also snuck in a few pictures of the different fruits I have noticed here. Please don’t ask me what they are because the signs are all in Chinese (go figure):

  

Since we have been here, the kids have not been eating as healthy as I would like them to be. At home, I am always trying out recipes from Deceptively Delicious to sneak in healthy fruits and veggies into their meals. Here, trying to get them to eat healthy is a major challenge. A lot of the foods I have cooking here are too spicy for them or doesn’t “look” like what they normally eat and therefore refuse to even try it. As a consequence of this, they have been eating more than their fair share of $2 boxes of Kraft mac & cheese and McDonald’s. Trust me, this is not something I am proud of, but scoff at me if you must.

And let me tell you, this change in their diet is making me break Chinese harmony rules. The more crap they eat, the worse their behavior becomes. The worse their behavior becomes, the more frustrated in public I get. My eye rolling and finger snapping and jaw clenching and yelling and foot stomping is just not appropriate over here. So, I think I see more Chinese White Not Wine in my future.

Let’s just hope this phrase taught to me by Frommer’s under the Police Station section isn’t in my future:

Duìbùqǐ, wǒ yǒu méiyǒu zuò cuò le?

Translated: I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?

Hopefully rocking the harmony boat isn’t a criminal offense here. If so, anyone know a good lawyer?

Amazing Weight Loss Stop Discovered

Posted by He Said

The first 2 weeks that our family was here in Beijing I lost 10 pounds.  Now this is a good thing as I could stand to lose 40 more.

As of this morning this is all going to end.  I found the perfect Weight Loss Stop solution.

I had in a previous post mentioned the little shop in the sidestreet that I would likely never venture into. Today they gave me a reason to eat without entering their establishment.  They came to me.  As I walked around the corner I was greeted with pleasant smells of cooking.  Not just any cooking, but DEEP FRYING cooking.  Yes, this picture is blurred.  Since Susanne got yelled at for taking pictures I have been a little hesitant to slow down to take pictures.  Since I was using my iPhone, the issue is compounded. So I apologize.

They have been here a couple times on prior walks but I have been too afraid to even slow down to browse.  Not today.  Today I was going to be a NEW MAN!  Not only did I stop, but I stopped and I (insert crazy Susanne hand gestures) managed to ask to take a photo. 

Ah, Deep Fried Breaded Goodness for breakfast (and for about 15cents).

No, you can’t have any.

I’ve Died and Gone to Cilantro Heaven

Posted by She Said.

 

I had my dream meal last Saturday after our visit to The Summer Palace. Chang was very excited to take us to one of his favorite places to eat. But first, we took the kids to McDonald’s for a cheeseburger before we went to lunch so they would actually EAT SOMETHING. I’m not thrilled about feeding them McDonald’s, but I have to say, not having to bribe our children with 99 cent iTunes games to TASTE SOMETHING NEW is kind of nice. And, well, the cheeseburgers taste just like they do back home. Hooray for them. Ewww for me.

I couldn’t begin to tell you the name of the restaurant we went to, and sadly (for Greg and me) there was no English on the menu, making it hard for us to go back without someone who speaks Chinese. Based on my experience with this place however, I will be begging people to take us back.

The table has a built in “hotpot” in the middle of it. The waiters bring over a huge pot of water that is divided into two sides, one flavored with hot spices and one spiced regularly. A dial on the table allows you to control the amount of heat that goes to the pot. Chang then ordered a plethora of items for us to cook in the boiling broths.

(the hotpot)

(the veggies, tofu, and an egg)

(the meats and fresh noodles)

(the calamari and… squid balls?)

And then, as if it were created for me personally, you dip all of the cooked goodness into a bowl of peanut sauce, called satay in the States, and if you wish, you can add cilantro to this. IF YOU WISH. Hello? Anyone who has been around me long enough knows that I would bathe in juiced cilantro and lick myself clean if I could. I risked the whole fresh herbs thing because IT WAS CILANTRO IN PEANUT SAUCE!

(Greg’s peanut sauce, minus the cilantro and with spicy oils added)

 (Greg’s blood tofu ready to take the plunge)

This was seriously one of the best meals I have ever had. In addition to the mouth-watering food itself, the very nature of cooking your meal together has a very intimate feel to it. Even though language can be a hurdle at times, there’s nothing like cooking food together and then dipping it in CILANTRO LADEN PEANUT SAUCE to bring people together.

Can You Hold that Thought Until I Get the Fish Bones out of My Teeth?

Posted by She Said.

 

Our much anticipated dinner with Greg’s coworkers was on Friday night, and we had a great time. And what is the phrase? Getting there is half the fun? As far as our kids go, I would say that was true. Why? There are no car seat laws here. I did some research prior to coming and could not find any significant reference to car seats in China. There were plenty of references about car seats MADE in China, but not necessarily using them while you were here. We figured most of our transportation would either be on foot or public transportation anyway, but tonight, Jason and Sinny, Greg’s coworkers, offered to pick us up and drive us to our big group dinner. Four of us, including the kids, sat in the back seat of Jason’s car. UNBUCKLED! *GASP* At first I tried to put Emily in my lap and put the seat belt around both of us. Greg turned around and said, “Well, THAT’S a good way to crush your daughter.” I gave up my battle with the belt. Hey, at least I tried.

The kids thought the free reign in the car was pretty cool and were quite rambunctious until I pulled out the tranquilizer, AKA iPod Touches, to calm them down. I have mentioned the traffic before, but we got a serious dose of it during Friday night rush hour traffic. It took us 2 hours to get to dinner (1/2 hour on the way home), making us about an hour late meeting the rest of the group. They were graciously and patiently waiting for us, and they all stood up and waved hello to us as we came in.

And then we started eating. Have I mentioned that my kids are picky eaters? OH YEAH, IN EVERY BLOG POST ABOUT FOOD. Well, it was no different tonight. I honestly believe they would enjoy some of the food if they would stop freaking out about what it looks like. Just ignore the fish head, Braedyn! Try the fish! Speaking of which… This amazing fish dish was placed on our table. Everyone uses their chopsticks to take pieces from the plates placed in the center of the table. I took one piece, and it was savory and scrumptious! As the fish was making its second pass around the lazy susan, I skillfully used my chopsticks to take another piece. As I put it in my mouth, I realized the piece I took was FULL of fish bones. As I scrambled looking for one of the two napkins they must have placed on the table for the ten of us, one of Greg’s coworkers stood to propose a toast. “Welcome!” he said, smiling at us. “Welcome!” said all the others, glasses raised. And there I am with a mouth full of fish bones and no napkin. I smiled, my teeth glinting from the shimmer of fish bones, and lifted my glass, toasting with the group. I then used my mad charade skills to get the one napkin left on the table. I SO did not want to be rude, but HELLO!? I had a mouth full of fish bones! I did my best to get them into the napkin and moved on.

It didn’t take long for my next blunder. Mere seconds, actually. I moved from the fish to the soybeans. I asked, “Are these soybeans?” “Yes!” I heard enthusiastically. I calculatedly used my chopsticks to pick one up from the community bowl and put it in my mouth. The instant it hit my tongue, I heard, “No, no, no, no, no!” Panicking, I pulled it out of my mouth with my fingers. They laughed and said, “Not the whole thing.” Then they showed me how you squeeze the pod to get the soybean into your mouth.

The night wasn’t all full of silly blunders on our part; in fact, we were complimented on how well we used our chopsticks. Score!

Many thanks to the gracious and patient localization team for a memorable evening! (Oh, and if you are wondering where Braedyn is in this shot, he is asleep in the chair behind me.)

Market Tales

I can see after our trip to the grocery store today that much of my education about Chinese culture and people will come from those aisles. I have learned a few things to help me out when it is just the kids and I going to the store. First, let them turn their minds to mush playing their iPods while I shop. They are sitting quietly in the cart, and I’m not worried about losing them among the sea of people. This gives me more time to stare blankly at the Chinese characters on the food packages. Second, I bought a backpack. This allows me to put their jackets in it while we are in the store, and some of the heavier items (like our Dynasty white GRAPE wine, can I hear a WOOT!) in it for the walk home.

At the store today, it was a tossup as to who got more stares, the kids or the kids’ iPods. I felt like such a privileged American with my TWO children, both with expensive toys. But, again, it was worth it for my peace of mind while I shopped. Those things are seriously better than Benedryl when it comes to chilling out my bundles of energy.

I’ve mentioned the attention Braedyn and Emily get from the locals, but I must spend a little more time explaining just how much and how often this attention gets directed their way. I feel like Angelina Jolie walking with her kids down a New York City street. OK, without the full lips. Or Brad Pitt. Or the commanding jaw line. Seriously though, I must be experiencing a little bit of what those stars feel like walking around. I bought ice cream for the kids yesterday and a group of people came in, sat down next to us and watched them eat, all the while chatting and smiling our way. The thing is, they didn’t order anything! The little blonde white kids were the attraction! Then today in the store, a woman said “hi” to us in English, followed by “how old?” as she pointed to the kids. Oh, did I ever want to stick her in my pocket to be my personal food translator, but instead we chatted through our limited shared vocabulary. Then she asked if she could have her pictures taken with Braedyn and Emily. Since she explained how to cook the rolls I was staring blankly at in the freezer section, I figured it was the least I could do. It’s a good thing we are only going to be here three months; any longer than that and this star status might go to their heads.

Napkins? Paper towels? These are words I need to learn in Chinese because I have scoured the aisles in the super market THREE times, spending extra time near the Kleenex and toilet paper, and I can NOT find them. We’ve noticed in restaurants, they will give one or two napkins even though there will be five or six of us. In America, the waiters see children, and they bring over a palette of them. The fact that I can’t find them in the store is even more puzzling than this newfangled Chinese math. Are we just messy Americans? Is it that it is considered wasteful?

The last few times I’ve gone to the market, I get home and realize I am missing something that I know I had in my cart. Where are my bananas? I even remember putting them on the conveyor belt. I bag my own groceries, so I figured I must have left them on the counter. Today I spent more time in the fruits and vegetables area. I have been a little nervous about buying any because of the safety issues with fresh foods, but as I dig my heels into the culture more and more, I figured I have to at least give the foods I can peel a shot. I found a beautiful avocado (hooray for good fats!), an enormous apple wrapped in a special bubble wrap to keep it from bruising, and several bananas. While checking out at the store, I kept a watchful eye on my precious fruits, making sure I didn’t leave them on the counter. Only this time they didn’t make it past the checker. She left them on the conveyor and gave me the universal no movement with her hands. Then she pointed to a sticker on a set of knives I bought (because I was tired of trying to cut cheese with a plastic knife).

Ding! <—the sound of the light bulb going off over my head.

Doh! Fruits and vegetables work the same way as the rice did for me the last time! You must have a worker weigh them and price them, or else? No apples for you! Braedyn was very sad about not getting his bubble wrapped apple, but I promised him I understood now and would be able to get them next time. Honestly, I was equally disappointed about not getting that perfectly ripe avocado.

I was pleasantly surprised to see Jacob skyping me when I got back from the market. Our conversation went like this:

Me: We just got back from the market!
Jacob: What did you get?
Me: Food for dinner.
Jacob: What are you having?
Me: Ham!... I think.

Mystery Meats and the American Food Aisle

Dinners have been a bit of a challenge here. Well, they are back in Reno too, but that’s because our kids have some super-strong mutated form of Greg’s picky gene. Here, we have that to deal with along with several additional hurdles to jump over before dinner is even served. First hurdle - what to serve. Second hurdle - how to make it.

We were told there was silverware in the apartment, but upon arriving we realized that it was the Chinese version of silverware – chopsticks and soup spoons. So after stirring my coffee with a chop stick the first morning, we decided we needed some supplies. During our first trip to Carrefour, we found the “American” section of food. Similar to the American version of Asian or Latino food sections, it’s a short aisle with various things like pasta, pasta sauce, pancake mixes, ketchup, and (insert choir chorus here) macaroni and cheese! Picky eaters unite! We grabbed some spaghetti and sauce, a couple boxes of macaroni and cheese (kraft!), and some peanut butter and honey.

After opening up the can of spaghetti sauce with a wine foil knife because the apartment had no can opener, we all devoured our simple, one-pot spaghetti dinner. We have one pot and one fry pan, so if I can do it all in one, I’m going to. I even used a potato peeler to cut off bits of cheddar cheese to put on top. Hey, adventurous times sometimes call for creative measures.

I know it doesn’t seem possible, but I feared we would tire of things like spaghetti and hot dogs with mac and cheese, so I thought I would try a couple of new things at the store. So, on our second trip to the big mega-mart grocery store, I went up and down some different aisles. I stood in the bulk rice section for about 10 minutes watching other shoppers until I figured out how to get, weigh, and price your rice before I actually tried it. It was fascinating to watch people maneuver around these huge bins of rice. They would run their hands through it, inspect it very closely, and then sometimes walk away with about 10 pounds or so (after getting it weighed and priced by the store worker nearby). It took some of my famous (infamous?) hand gestures and pointing to get it weighed appropriately, but I did it! I proudly placed my little bag of rice among my other items, and as I continued on, there was a little spring in my step.

Then in the freezer section, I found these:

Yeah, your guess is as good as mine as to what these are. Mystery meat at its finest! And to be honest, these yummy little, um, pita pockets stuffed pizzas, things looked nothing on the inside like they advertise them in this picture. It was more like a little monochromatic sausage patty. Frankly, I bought them because of the back of the package:

Hot damn! The one piece of English on the package told me how to cook it! For dinner tonight, I made the rice, which honestly turned out to be some of the best rice I have ever had in my life, and these, uh, things. Of course, the kids didn’t eat anything but a few bites of rice. This inherited picky gene must be something that loses potency with age because Greg finished theirs off, no problem.

We also found one other little gem. These:

 

We each had one last night. Greg, Braedyn, Emily, and me. That’s four. Oooh, there are two left, and the kids are in bed! Gotta go!

But Wait! Have Those Dishes Been Through the Ozoninator?

Water is a BIG HUMONGOUS issue here in Beijing. There are bad, microscopic things living in it. Things I can’t even pronounce. It’s so bad, even locals boil their water before drinking it. Every website I read while researching our temporary Beijing move warned of the dangers of the tap water. The nurse who did our vaccinations emphasized the importance of using bottled water and of not eating any fruits and vegetables you can’t peel. Other tips gleaned from health professionals and travel websites:

• make sure you always get new chopsticks with your meals when dining out (in case the previous user had something you didn’t particularly want to share),
• do not get ice in your drinks (in case it came from the dreaded tap water),
• make sure your food is served PIPING hot so as to kill any pesky little critters like e.coli living in it (to make sure it hadn’t been sitting around for a long period of time before being served to you).

It seems to me bad water is treated as a nuisance by the locals but nothing to freak out about. So, my new mantra is, “Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.”

WAIT! Did you just get water in your eye? Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

OH MY GOD! Did you just WASH YOUR FACE with tap water? Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

EEK! Is the steam from the shower going into my lungs? Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

Companies have even created devices to work around the bad water. Things like the ozoninator in our apartment. OK, that’s our nickname for it; technically, it is the “utensil sterilizing cabinet”. I thought it was a dishwasher at first but couldn’t figure out where to put soap or how to turn it on. Then Greg found the apartment’s “Operation Manual”. Turns out this handy little machine sterilizes your dishes AND can even sterilize your fruits and vegetables. It does this through UV light and “ozone”. The description of this unit in the manual says:

“Thru the utilization of ozone and PTC heat circulation, this cabinet dry, sanitize, defrost and keep fresh tableware, fruits and vegetables.”

Hooray! We have something to kill all the germs on our washed dishes! Oh crap! We figured out this handy little fact on our third day here. How many dishes had we washed and used already? *sigh* Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

Here’s the ozoninator in action:

So, we learn and move forward. Don’t freak out. Right?!  That is exactly the approach I am trying to take as my stress level with this whole water thing gets tested - over and over again. My first real test came yesterday when Emily comes to me, smiling proudly, with her toothbrush in her mouth. She barely got the words out her mouth, “Mommy, I am brushing my teeth!” before I sprang from the bed like a lion on its prey and yanked the toothbrush out of her hands. “Where did you get the water, Emily? WHERE?!” Poor thing didn’t understand; she was doing a good thing, right? “Where, Emily!” She pointed to the cup, the same cup we put bottled water into for our teeth brushing. “But Emily, what water did you put INTO the cup?” Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Then she pointed to the faucet. THE TAP WATER. FREAK OUT! FREAK OUT! FREAK OUT!

OK, deep breath. It’s too late. I can’t throw her into the ozoninator, so we’ll just have to hope for the best, hope that those Olympic websites that claimed the water was improved prior to the Olympics were accurate and we’ll be in the clear.

My stress with the water quality met its second and third challenges today when we went out to lunch. Chang, an uber kind coworker of Greg’s, showed us some more restaurants in a different mega-mall several blocks from the apartment. It must have been six or eight stories, but Chang insisted it was not big. Can’t wait to see what makes up a big mall around here! We picked a noodle restaurant, and Chang helped translate our order to the waiter. No ice in the kids’ juice, we said. No ice. No “bing”. When their mango juices were delivered, they were in these huge carafes with gigantic straws. AND ICE. We repeated to Chang, no ice please. He called the waiter over, bantered with her in Chinese, and then she scooped the drinks away. I noticed one of the carafes had a memorable chip in it. Moments later the same chip came back to us. No ice this time, but I had to wonder, did they just scoop the ice out? Was it the same juice with bits of melted germy-ice in it? Oooh, and what did they use to scoop it out? Had it gone through an ozoninator? *sigh* The kids drank their juice. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

Next, the waiter brought over our super yummy noodle dishes with reusable chop sticks. Chang dug right into his dish, so I did too. When in Rome… I noticed later that some of the other patrons had been given sets of disposable chopsticks with their lunches. You know, the kind you have to break apart? I asked Chang why we got one type of chopsticks while others got the disposable ones? He just stared at me and shook his head. OK, moving on.

So, in less than a week, we’ve managed to break several food and water rules. It’s hard enough with kids, but throw in the language barriers, and it is an ultimate challenge. 

Flying Solo

After yesterday’s lazy-fest, we hit the ground running today. Literally, at 5 am. We have Braedyn and Emily to thank for that, by the way. At least it was better than their 4 am wake up time yesterday.

We hit Carrefour again and browsed the isles, bought the kids a couple of great knock-off Lego toys (just as good as the name-brand, I might add), and picked up some various types of alcohol to try. Apparently, we are on a side of Beijing that isn’t very touristy, which may explain why the kids (especially Emily) get so many stares, waves, and smiles. If we can actually get them to say hello in Chinese, it generally elicits some claps and giggles. We are our own walking circus act!

Tonight I was determined to go out to eat. Every block in this city seems to have several restaurants. The question for us was, would we be able to find one with menus that either had pictures or some sort of English translation? We felt we would score big if we could find one with both. So, we hit the streets. I saw a place nearby yesterday that I thought looked nice, so we thought we would try there first. We walked in, and we were immediately ushered toward a private room. Um… Then I started playing charades with the hostess, which I’m certain made me look like a chimp in a circus act. Through the hostess’s limited English and my grandiose gestures, we learned it was a tea house. We were allowed to bring in our own food, but they didn’t serve any there. So, we left, looking overly gracious in our smiles and gestures as we backed out the door.

We passed several other places that didn’t have very many people in them, which I didn’t take as a good sign. We forged ahead. Then we found one that was in tandem with a Dairy Queen. Yes, a Dairy Queen. There were a lot of people in there, so we thought we’d give that a shot. We found a printed menu with no English on it but it had pictures, so hooray for the ability to point! However, we could not tell what the heck anything was and decided to try another place. I saw a Japanese restaurant along the route and decided to give that a try. We hiked back toward the restaurant, crossed a busy street (safely - yay!), and walked in. We hand signaled, yet again, for a menu. This time, although a picture menu, we still weren’t sure what anything was, so we smiled and backed out to the street once again.

Greg noticed a place up a little way with bright red decorations on the outside, so we headed toward it to check it out. We walked in, and one of the several hostesses at the door held up four fingers (for four guests in the party), and I nodded. The kids were tired of walking around, and I figured we were just going to go for it. We were out for an adventure after all, right!?

Turns out we made a very good decision. It was a nice sit down restaurant, and we were attended to by at least 5 people. One promptly brought over a kid’s plate and spoon for Emily, while another brought her a high chair. We opened the menu, and as if a choir of angels started to sing with its opening, it had pictures and subtitles. Greg ordered beers for us (since for the time we are avoiding Chinese white wine), and left the food to me. Thanks, Greg. So, I picked a scrumptious fried shrimp and cashew plate and a sweet and sour chicken and beef plate. I was feeling so confident, we even ordered fried rice!

When ordering juice for the kids, we have noticed they always bring over a whole carton. This particular time they received a carrot and orange mixture (100% juice – yay!), and it was amazingly delicious! As we ordered, or should I say pointed, the guy taking our order touched Emily’s hair and smiled. She is such a novelty around here.

Before our food arrived, both kids looked like they were about the pass out on the table. We barely had time to put several bites on their plates before they actually did pass out. Greg and I scrambled to finish our savory meals and down our two enormous bottles of beer before they fell crashing down from their chairs.

So, chow we did. Imbibe we did. Then, when we were ready to go, we had no idea how to ask for the check. Greg scrambled to find something that would help on his Mandarin iPhone app, which will speak phrases for you. He found something close, and then when I flagged down someone to use it, I pushed the wrong replay button and lost it. So, I resorted back to my glamorous charades skills to ask for the check. We must have had four people at our table all trying to figure out what the crazy lady (me) was trying to say.

I think it was the kids’ drool on the table that finally tipped them off, and they ran over with our bill. Several hostesses helped me get the coat on dead-weight Emily, since Greg had his hands full with dead-weight Braedyn. Then we stepped outside. In the snow. We couldn’t do anything but laugh about it, and we headed on our way home.

If I had known I would be carrying our kids as much as we have so far on this trip, I never would have only brought one pair of shoes. Which shoes? Sketchers Shape-Ups! The ones that work out your muscles when you walk. Like I needed the extra help.