China Chronicles: Assault on the Olfactory and Gustatory Senses

Possibly the most memorable part of my past two China trips has been the delicious meals/snacks I've had the chance of savouring. ~ Although I maintain that taste and smell are two very distinct senses, my attempts to write separate posts for these two in my Assault on the Senses series has only led to repetition and redundancy. Therefore, I present a combined senses post. ~ Writing this late at night made me crave authentic Chinese food all the more - hopefully I've managed to convey a sense of that through the upcoming ramblings. ~ Also: I have so many pictures of the foods described here that I felt it necessary to break my one-picture-per-post tradition. Perhaps it's cheating to use visuals to complement a post on the olfactory and gustatory senses, but the inner foodie in me just can't resist. ~

Smells in China are very... strong. ~ There are two extremes - my nose either crinkles in disgust and I feel an uncomfortable roiling in my stomach that indicates I have enjoyed a meal much to rich for my usual tastes, and must now suffer in face of the abominable smells pelted at me - or my mouth waters at the delectable aromas that are so enticing, I can nearly feel the texture of the odours tickle my taste buds. ~

Below the apartment where my grandparents live (and where I spent most of my days in China this past summer), there's this little food market/street vendor alley that's always teeming with cars, people, bicycles, and smells. ~ In the mornings, I stroll down to grab breakfast. Delicious local Tianjin dishes are cooking everywhere: 煎饼果子 (Chinese pancakes), 锅巴菜 (sliced pancakes in broth), 豆腐脑 (tofu pudding)... It is perhaps a testament to how wonderful these smells and tastes are that I cannot help but worry over how I will find enough room in my stomach to satisfy my gluttony, or enough meals to even begin curbing my cravings. ~ I dart from booth to booth, placing orders, catching glimpses of the dishes made on the spot, gingerly accepting the little plastic sacs containing the steaming foods and paying the vendors. ~ It's lots of fun, and everything is so cheap and convenient that no one bothers to make their own breakfast at home. ~ The sizzle of frying 油条 (Chinese donuts) cooking next to the pure white soy milk make a perfect combo. ~ Freshly diced pineapples stand guard in a row, while newly picked strawberries line a wooden crate in perfect, soldierly formation. ~ Yet underneath all of the cooking smells, I also detect the ever-present hint of garbage that soils my mood somewhat. ~ The vendors don't bother with real garbage cans, throwing cracked-open egg shells and pouring dirty dish water right onto the streets and into the gutters. It saddens me that such a merry, fresh place should be dirtied repeatedly everyday. ~ The smell of rot reaches my nose and I wrinkle it in disgust. The source? A putrefied peach that's been lying on the sidewalk for the past two weeks now. Mold and all sorts of nasty bacteria have rendered it nearly unrecognizable, and its smell has morphed from a sweet perfume to a revolting stench. ~

In the evening, the scene transforms. ~ Spices fill the air, mixed in with the heady smell of coal smoke. ~ The breakfast vendors have been replaced by the night vendors - an assortment of cold veggie dishes, fried noodle concoctions, stinky tofu, and, of course, the kebabs. ~ In China, people will put anything and everything on a stick and grill it: eggplants, some sort of red meat that passes for lamb, squids, bok choy, fish balls, curly bits of spiced noodle, asparagus... The list is endless, and the customers many. ~ Every time I pass by the nightly motley (which is nearly every night, since it's much cooler out after nightfall, and I'm a night owl by nature), the smells draw me in, while my poor stomach screams "no!" at the recollection of the cramps and unfortunate visits to the loo that have inevitably followed my splurging in these hygienically-questionable foods. ~ Nevertheless, I stop for something every time. ~ My new favourite this year was a dish called 哈尔滨烤冷面, which roughly translates to "baked Harbin-style cold noodles" - interesting name, I agree. ~ Having watched the entire cooking process, I can confidently assert that it's a sheet of noodles cooked with rice mixed in with many different spices that constitute the vendor's secret recipe. Add in a dash of parsley, and the mini-meal is complete. ~  I dig in, savouring the sweet-n'-salty overtones mixed in with the strong cumin and fresh parsley. ~ 

While my favourite dishes are all under 10 RMB, the cost of food in China can skyrocket if you choose to visit a high-class restaurant. ~ A few hundred for a family of four is a regular occurrence at a middle-class restaurant. ~ Take Pizza Hut. ~ It's considered high-end cuisine because anything occidental carries a foreign - and thus luxurious - taste and appearance with it in China. ~ Sweet caviar shrimp balls, savoury escargots in oil, deliciously cold drinks... No wonder the decor inside the restaurant is so fancy. ~ Up it another scale, and you get places where there are napkin rings (napkin rings, of all things!), valet service, chandeliers, personal bathroom suites that smell like mint... ~ Although there is a certain delight to be had from acting all poised and grown-up in such settings, I must admit that the food is always average at best. ~ Then again, the Chinese always were known to place great emphasis on saving face and pride, though I much prefer satisfied tummy. ~


Yet another interesting meal was for my grandpa's birthday. ~ Our family booked a table at 海底捞火锅 (which translates very roughly to Deep Sea Fishing Hot Pot) - one of a chain of restaurants of the same name, known for their exceptional customer service, especially for a Chinese restaurant. (If you're a regular frequenter of dim sum restaurants or noodle houses, you should know what I mean - service tends to be rude and rushed compared to what's found in other culinary establishments.) ~ 海底捞 was a completely different experience. ~ Taking into account that some of us wore glasses, the waitress brought in soft cloths so that us bespectacled guests might wipe off any of the fog that so annoyingly accumulates when we tried to slurp up some fresh-out-of-the-pot noodles or tofu. ~ Seeing that we had a toddler and child with us, the waitress brought over two bowls of soft steamed egg so that they might eat something suitable for their teeth - or lack thereof. ~ When my uncle unveiled the ornately decorated birthday cake (which tasted just as fluffy as it looked), the waitress brought a lighter and lead us in a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" amidst the smell of burning wax. ~ A skilled young cook came over with a dollop of dough and put on quite a show by weaving is around and around in the air until the unsightly lump had become one long, continuous strand of 长寿面 (longevity noodle) - a traditional dish for the celebration of birthdays, with the length of the noodle supposedly reflecting the lifespan of its consumer. ~ Finally, the waitress brought over a spiked massage tool, wishing good health and good wealth upon my grandpa. ~ All in all, we were treated courteously, thoughtfully and warmly. ~ And he cherry on the cake was the lack of questionable odours in the bathroom. ~ Smells are such an integral part of the dining experience that they often linger in my memory long after the taste of the dishes have evaporated. ~

Indeed, even past their immediate effects, the flavours and scents of China left an incredibly complex and strong impact on me. ~ Much as I enjoyed the food, I could not help noticing the less appealing sides of Chinese society that were so openly reflected by the putrefying smells. ~ If there was ever a more poignant physical reflection of the apathy that results from living in an overcrowded space and being just another number among the millions, it's the sorry smells wafting off of some of the streets in China. ~ Much as I love my home country, I wasn't able to fully quell the desire to organize a huge city-wide clean-up every time I rode down the 23 floors from my grandparents' to the street vendor quarter below. ~ And perhaps that's what's contributed to the fact that I approached my second trip to China not as an adventure, as I had done the first time around, but rather as a critique. ~ I began noticing that the reason no one picked up the rotting peach was that no one paid it any attention anymore. ~ I fervently hope that the zombie-like, blank stare of Chinese people walking obliviously down the street isn't a future reflection of what all populations in a crowded country will look like. ~ Nor do I wish the smell of clean air and freshly mown grass to be tarnished by the forgotten rotting peaches of disregard. ~

Not the most optimistic ending to this post series, but certainly an accurate reflection of my current views and fears on the future of civilization, as pompous as that sounds. ~