2009/11/10 : Food and poop
I'm coming up on 30 days in China -- I know this, because I'm about to go to Hong Kong on my monthly visa pilgrimage -- and one thing I've learned about myself, is that I can get used to much more than I originally thought. I have no doubt that many aspects of my life here would be strange, and probably more than a little gross, to almost everyone I know back in the States -- including myself, were it not for the last few weeks.
For instance, I haven't used (nor seen) a western style toilet in about 3 weeks, ever since the one toilet here was plugged one too many times (not my fault, honest). The cleaning staff, sick of having to fix it without a plunger, took the logical step of padlocking the stall shut.
One might wonder why they didn't just go buy a plunger, but this would be missing the essentially Chinese nature of this solution: it's immediately effective, simple, free, saves you hassle down the road, and doesn't involve going across the street to the supermarket. The fact that others may be inconvenienced can be dealt with later, if and when they complain.
As far as the process itself goes, I'll admit there's a certain visceral quality to using a squat toilet as opposed to a Western style toilet. With a little balance, practice, and good aim, you eventually start hitting the poop flap dead-on. There's a gratifying little "thwap" sound, the plastic cover springs back into place, and you don't have a turd staring back at you for the rest of your visit, which can only be considered a plus.
The standard of hygiene in kitchens here is undeniably lower than what I was used to in the US, even considering the fairly lackluster way I took care of mine. I haven't actually seen any physical repercussions yet, and oddly enough I don't really expect to. Lately, most of my meals have been home-cooked in Jing Jing's apartment -- we've started a you-cook-one, I-cook-one rotation -- and this has given me an up close and personal look at how typical (lower?) middle-class kitchens operate in Wuhan.
It's been an interesting experience, and there are a few things that I've decided absolutely had to change, but it's still an incredibly remote departure from what I'm used to.
Most of the things I normally identify with a kitchen are nowhere in evidence here; there's no fridge, freezer, microwave, dishwasher, hot-water tap, disposal, stove, or oven. There's one cutting board and one knife, neither of which are typically scrubbed between cutting meat, fish, and vegetables (unless I'm doing the cutting, anyway). Initially, there weren't even any cups, bowls, or plates, but Man Ni and I fixed that with a trip to the local department store.
All of the cooking (aside from the rice cooker) is done with a flat-bottom wok on an electric hot plate, which is actually shockingly effective, and far more responsive than any gas or electric stove I've used before. It's also surprisingly versatile; with this setup we've made braised pork, fried fish, oatmeal, soups, noodles (fried and in soup), fried rice, sweet potato fries,  omelets, and a huge variety of Chinese dishes that in English essentially just become different kinds of stir-fry, which glosses over the bewildering array of techniques I've already seen used.
Not having a fridge means that we're often sniffing leftovers, seeing if they're still okay to eat. One point of contention between me and Jing Jing is our individual interpretation of when something's gone bad. We spent about twenty minutes one night chopping, frying, braising, and stewing before she would admit, much to my relief, that the pork spareribs we were trying to cook had long passed the point of edibility.
It eventually struck me that this, really, is "greener," more sustainable living. We talk about triple-paned windows, recirculating air conditioning, and solar water heaters, but in the end, for most of the world what it really comes down to is doing without. That essentially means you live closer to the outdoors; your food spoils faster, your home is colder in the winter and hotter in the summer, and the timing of your showers often depends as much on the schedule of the water heater as your own. It also means you'll see more poo, eat wilted greens, and start making distinctions between "spoiled" and "too spoiled to eat."
Despite all this, or perhaps even because of it, I haven't had a single regret about coming here. Yes, there have been difficulties; poop and rotten food aside, there are my visa hassles, the sub-zero weather, social drama, and of course I miss my family and friends Stateside.
But there are always compensations.
It might be two degrees below, but the scarf Tan Yin gave me keeps my ears and neck warm. I have to board a train or flight to Shenzhen every month to step across the Hong Kong border for my exit/entry stamp, but this gives me a chance to connect -- for the first time, really -- with an enormous extended family I barely even knew existed. I may struggle with the occasional social difficulty, but through it all Jing Jing and Yang Guang are there to knock me back on track. And I may feel homesick once in a while, but there's the sure knowledge that my friends and family in the U.S. will always be my friends and family.
But my god, do I want a carne asada burrito.