6 of 6

Write now Article Tools

Page 2 of 3

other. As the drinking continued it became harder to understand many of the explanations of the dishes. But I dove in anyways, sometimes happily surprised and sometimes a bit repelled, but never with the slightest bit of regret. "This is why I came here to experience everything," I thought to myself, "what could be better than this?"

Rolling around in my rock hard bed and clutching my twisting stomach the following morning, I was able to think of quite a few things that were better than the civil war in my stomach and intestines. To say that something I ate had disagreed with me would be the understatement of the century. Something I ate had disagreed with me, kicked me in the gut and taken my money. I was sweating profusely, unable to hold down anything and struggling to swallow questionable Chinese medicine. The food poisoning spilled over into the next day and the next and then gradually dissipated, taking with it some of my initial courage to try every bizarre food I encountered. Several months and a few gastrointestinal bouts later, I would realize that you never do know what the next food is that will send you running for the Imodium and there's nothing you can do to avoid it. This was the toll for adventure; the fare I would pay more than once to eat as the Chinese ate and to sate my curiosity.

Every meal was certainly not like the one at the food court, although there were quite a few of them, and Pete and I learned to find our own meals on the streets of Shaoxing. We meandered through the busy avenues and cozy alleyways on our bicycles each night, looking for new and unusual delicacies. We were continually drawn back to the exotic, fragrant spices of the Muslim noodle shops called "la mian", where on cold nights we would park our bikes and hurry inside to slurp steaming, spiced soup. The cook slammed and kneaded the piles of noodle dough in a hypnotic rhythm up and down onto the flour covered wooden tabletop. In the city center, we frequented a steamed pork bun shop that was eternally buzzing with customers. Finding a seat on the weekend was a rarity and fighting through the crowd to get the attention of the woman frying up the juicy dumplings was just as difficult. But it was always worth the struggle for the savory bundles of heavenly pork wrapped in delicate noodles. I found it nearly impossible to ride past the carts peddling sweet yams, whose cracked and hardened skins oozed sweet brown juice from slow cooking all day long. While their weathered

• << previous page
• 1
• 2
• 3
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Strange and unusual ethnic foods?
We want to hear your view. Write now!