I eat a lot of street food, trusting in my instincts to buy good food and avoid the bad (although a potato salad at Brazilian Bar-B-Que damn near killed me once, and I have stared death in the face in the form of the salad bar at Pizza Hut on several occasions.) Street food has to be semi-clean because if you give commuters food poisoning they will come back and beat you to death. I don't take big risks--for example, I don't order crepes made from batter that's been sitting out in blazing sunlight all day-- and so far I've been all right.
Outside my compound I can buy lovely ripe pineapple, peeled and ready to eat, honey sweet and dripping with juice, for about a dollar a pound. Strawberries too--in fact, I feasted on all-you-can-eat fruit for dinner for a cost of about two bucks. The yogurt I had for dessert cost more than the fruit. However, right next to the fruit truck there are two other places selling food: one is a cold noodle cart, a dish I don't care for, the other is sushi. Yes, you got it. Not sushi as in the Western public's perception of sushi as raw fish, but rather, sushi (vinagered rice rolled up in seaweed and sliced into cinnamon-roll shaped pieces.) You have your choice of fillings: cucumbers, daikon radish, or grilled hot dog. Yes, the ubiquitous pink weenie has found its way into the heart of sushi here in the heart of Beijing. I am currently on a hot dog kick, but I eschew the local pink hot dog (sold unrefrigerated in a hot pink casing) because it frankly scares me. My daughter used to love them when she was four but I was always afraid she'd get worms or worse from them. (For the record, Duchess Dog and The Little Emperor love them, but they have no taste and are known to lick their own hinnies, so there you go.)
I stared in fascination as a fashionable young lady (that is, dressed like a hooker but probably a bank clerk) gave pissy, chirpy little directions to the weary-looking man who was rolling up her sushi. Torn between getting a good bargain and not consuming too many calories, she sent the poor man into a near frenzy with her demands for a bigger chunk of pink weenie--a smaller amount of mustard (the plant, pickled, not the condiment) no, not THAT much weenie--oh, could she just have him re-roll it because she wanted the pink of the weenie to contrast with the pale green of the cucumber--oh, could he JUST roll it again in a different piece of seaweed and not cut it this time with that knife...the vendor's eyes caught mine and I could have sworn he was thinking that I would have made a far better customer, rendered almost mute by an inability to express my fussy princess preferences much past, "One piece, please. No want yucky pink meat."
Outside my compound I can buy lovely ripe pineapple, peeled and ready to eat, honey sweet and dripping with juice, for about a dollar a pound. Strawberries too--in fact, I feasted on all-you-can-eat fruit for dinner for a cost of about two bucks. The yogurt I had for dessert cost more than the fruit. However, right next to the fruit truck there are two other places selling food: one is a cold noodle cart, a dish I don't care for, the other is sushi. Yes, you got it. Not sushi as in the Western public's perception of sushi as raw fish, but rather, sushi (vinagered rice rolled up in seaweed and sliced into cinnamon-roll shaped pieces.) You have your choice of fillings: cucumbers, daikon radish, or grilled hot dog. Yes, the ubiquitous pink weenie has found its way into the heart of sushi here in the heart of Beijing. I am currently on a hot dog kick, but I eschew the local pink hot dog (sold unrefrigerated in a hot pink casing) because it frankly scares me. My daughter used to love them when she was four but I was always afraid she'd get worms or worse from them. (For the record, Duchess Dog and The Little Emperor love them, but they have no taste and are known to lick their own hinnies, so there you go.)
I stared in fascination as a fashionable young lady (that is, dressed like a hooker but probably a bank clerk) gave pissy, chirpy little directions to the weary-looking man who was rolling up her sushi. Torn between getting a good bargain and not consuming too many calories, she sent the poor man into a near frenzy with her demands for a bigger chunk of pink weenie--a smaller amount of mustard (the plant, pickled, not the condiment) no, not THAT much weenie--oh, could she just have him re-roll it because she wanted the pink of the weenie to contrast with the pale green of the cucumber--oh, could he JUST roll it again in a different piece of seaweed and not cut it this time with that knife...the vendor's eyes caught mine and I could have sworn he was thinking that I would have made a far better customer, rendered almost mute by an inability to express my fussy princess preferences much past, "One piece, please. No want yucky pink meat."
Imagine if you were that girl's sex partner! I wonder if she gives the same amount of 'direction' as she does for her sushi rolls!
ReplyDeleteI must say, I miss playing Beijing roulette with street food. Glad to hear it hasn't completely disappeared, like so many other things there.