For a great deal of my educational life, my dad held a fairly high position in the diplomatic core. Yup, while I was slaving away at Loyola University in New Orleans (*cough* *cough*) and then later at the University of Central Florida, my parents were whisked to and fro by Uncle Sam, landing in far away places like Shenyang, China and Koror, Palau. While I was cramming for a final, my parents were doing shots on the great wall or diving with great whites. While I never actually got wind of any of these activities, I know they were partying it up, because I, their only offspring, Was in COLLEGE! Out of their hands, out of their hair, and out of their bank accounts. I may only be a step mom now, but y'all are foolish if you don't think that dh and I have Cub's graduation date pinned down to a tee. PAR TEE TIME.
A large part of being a diplomat/diplomat's wife/diplomat's daughter means doing the rounds. I swear that I have wasted away half of my non-wrinkled years dozing off at some "official function" answering mundane questions such as "What is your major?" and "What do you plan to do with your studies?" and "How much do you charge for the evening?" (True Story. 'Nother time, kiddies) before being completely tuned out, because, as only Momma could put it, "They're only asking to be polite. You have a vagina. They certainly don't expect you to have a brain." Reflecting back on all the countries I whiled my youth away in, I'd have to say (I don't care if you're not asking. I tell this story at all my parties. I'm the funny one.) China had to be my most favorite country to attend "official functions" in. They were numerous. The food was fabulous. The liquor was non-stop, and I was old enough to drink at all of them.
TAP. TAP. It must be interjected here that the Chinese are the most studied and most agressive of all drinkers. While I thought I had boned up by doing undergrad in New Orleans, where the Long Island Ice Teas and Daiquiris replace the actual tap water, I spent many a morning regreeting my dinner the following morning in China. And if you say that I couldn't handle my liquor, I'll challenge you to an Irish Car Bomb drink for drink. It is more importantly interjected that the Chinese love to toast. They'll toast to beauty, to health, to fortune, prosperity - you know, all that shit they write on the fortune cookies. And who wants to toast with water? No, no my friends, the poison of choice here is a white liquor hiding beneath the alluring moniker of "Mao Tai". Sure it means black death in Mandarin. Do you speak Mandarin? Case and point. This flowery white liquor has been compared by great drinkers of our century in many ways, the most common as "What the hell was that?" as they hang on to the toilet for their dear lives, but in my favorite words as "airplane fuel". I think the after taste is like pineapples, but one of my friends told me it was the "foulest shit he'd ever tasted", so I could be wrong.
One particular blustery winter day, my family and I were fortunate enough to be the guests of the Japanese Consul General and his wife at an outrageous restaurant known by the "big noses" (Mandarin for "foreigner". See "Not US.") simply as Champ's. Holy Cow did I gain some weight there. About 50 pounds each time I went home. I SCOFF at your EGG FOO YUNG. If that's chinese food, I'm Ming Na Wen (I'd spit on it, but then I might get more "1" ratings.) .
Desperate to appear "acclimated" to Chinese culture, my parents, the Japanese consul general and everybody at that table was toasting like motherfuckers. Mao Tai was flowing from glass to gullet with Niagara Fall-ic volume. And nobody was refusing. Think about it - who wouldn't love it to have a table full of complacent drunks toasting to your beauty and everlasting health? At first we were shy about the toasts. Maybe every 3rd bite or so. A good wish here. Double happiness there. May your wife be impregnanted here. And then people got drunk. And the toasting took place between bites.
Up until this time, I was politely toasted. I was also in my vegetarian phase. It was the safest thing for me. I have to say that of all the cuisines I have partaken of, NONE rival the creativity of the chinese. Our friend the restaurant owner once told us that if it moved, his people would it eat, and later, when I found a turtle foot in my soup, I believed him. Not to mention that I was also carnivorically dissuaded by the large shark hanging outside a neighboring restaurant that seemed to disappear portion by portion as the winter went on. Punctuate these with run ins with worms, botulism and general stomach-affecting germiness. Raging vegetarian. Which didn't leave much on the menu for me. Seems the Japanese Consul General and his wife were AVID meat lovers. Everything was meat. Juicy Meat. Red MEAT. And I didn't know what animal it was from, so I wasn't touching it with a 12 inch chopstick.
However, I also was not there to upset the Japanese Consul General and therefore incur the wrath of Japan on the United States, so I toasted. And toasted. And toasted. Ad Nauseum. Musn't lose face! Right before I nearly lost conciousness, I saw it. Glistening on the tray. A small greyish plate of vegetables. So desperate was I for identifiable sustenance that I believe I cried "Hallelujah!" as I fell on my knees with alcohol induced stomach pains. Luckily for me, I ate at the restaurant frequently, so the waitress knew my utterance was indeed a bastardization of "Feed Me. NOW," and placed the plate before my poised chopsticks. Like weapons they were. At the ready.
As I attempted to shovel the "vegetable" in my mouth, I analyzed it. In slow motion. "Peas? No. Not round. Longish. Stringy. Green? No. Translucent. Like Jellyfish. Maybe cabbage." And for all digestive purposes, that's what I believed I was putting in my mouth. Cooked cabbage. It was only after my mouth crunched down on the gristly, fatty hardness that I knew I was sadly and nauseatingly mistaken.
At the very moment I realized that if I ate any more of this I would "Exorcist" all over the table, two things happened. 1.) Momma gave me a "If you spit that out, I swear that you will never do ANYTHING again!! Do NOT EMBARASS YOUR FATHER AND I!" which I clearly recognized even through my Mao Tai shrouded vision, and 2.) The Japanese Consul General looked up and said, "AH! TCWH! You are a true connoisseur of fine cuisine! I was worried that you were not going to eat a bite, but I see that you have saved your stomach for the best! Pig's Ear is also my favorite!" and ordered me two more plates.
CRUNCH!