Had a fun time last night. Me, my wife, and my son all went to the Barenaked Ladies concert at the Dodge Theater here in Phoenix. (Queue the kool kats ragging on me for liking such a lame band). I really have liked most of what BNL has put out since they've pretty much hung onto the college band 'we dont take ourselves seriously' vibe and most of their lyrics are pretty funny. Sort of like Kiss in that respect only BNL can actually play instruments and their children don't write their songs.
So anyway I've been a fan. But about a year and a half ago their (for at intents and purposes) lead singer left the band and they decided not to replace him. BNL has always been a great band to see live because of the banter that goes on between the band members and their lead singer was a huge part of that. I wasn't expecting much out of the concert and my suspicions were further confirmed when we went to buy tickets 4 days before the concert and were able to pay $45 for seats that were 30 feet from center stage. Needless to say there was a little trepidation as we drove to the concert.
There were two opening acts - some girl I'd never heard of named Angel Taylor, and American Idol star Kris Allen. The chick was good but only played a few songs and then out came Kris Allen. I really didn't know anything about the kid except that teenage girls really liked his music which is proof enough for me (most of the time) that I'm not going to dig it. And I was mostly right. What I didn't see coming though was a kick ass rendition of Come Together and a 'get up on your feet and sing along' version of Man in the Mirror. I was definitely surprised, although most of his own work was eh. Then we prepared for (most of) BNL to take the stage.
The long and the short of it is that they were still the same band, they were just missing a piece of it. Not really a deal killer piece - they got along ok without Steve (the lead singer). But what it reminded me of was Young MC. Ok, ok, let me explain first before you make that face. One of the first tapes I ever bought for my tape player was Young MC's Stone Cold Rhymin (the very first was Beastie Boys License to Ill, followed shortly after by LL Cool J's Bigger and Deffer). I played that Young MC tape so much that I literally wore it out and had to buy another one. I knew every song, every lyric, and every drum beat. I honestly didn't think that I would ever get tired of listening to it. Then this small life event called 'girls' took over and I suddenly didn't have as much time to listen to music as I once did.
Anyways, years later I was in a pawn shop in Walthourville, GA where they sold used CDs. I saw an old Stone Cold Rhymin CD and immediately bought it. As soon as I got home I played it and was taken back to my younger years when those first few notes of Bust A Move came on. But then a less popular song came on, but one that I was no less familiar with, and it sounded a little different. I didn't remember the beat going just that way and I didn't remember the lyrics being that slow. I actually thought that the CD had a different version of the song but when I popped my old tape in it sounded the same way.
That's kind of how BNL sounded to me last night. There were a few songs that brought back good memories and then there were some others where you go - whoa, I don't remember it sounding like that. The only difference being that with nostalgia the memories are almost certainly a by product of your emotions at the time and with a band who lost their lead singer... it's just because they suck a little bit. It was sad - Jen and I were all excited when they first came out which carried us through the first couple of songs and then we were sitting there waiting for that rush of adrenaline when that song that you know they always play kicks in and you jump up and down and sing your fool head off... but it never came. Even when they came back on stage for the encore, Jen and I looked at each with expectation - surely now they'll bring the heat and rock out like they used to.
Alas, it did not come to pass. And so we quietly walked into the blazing heat of 11pm in downtown Phoenix and drove home with the sad realization that BNL was no more.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
I'm lucky I'm even wearing pants Your Honor...
Fear Not! I know that with no post showing up yesterday, my legions of followers feared the worst. That I had slipped back into the comfortable comma that is Illiterate Man. Tempting though it may be, and a damn near certainty on the weekends, I am committed this time around to throwing, er, bytes in the computer? Um, black pixels on the monitor? Ahh f' it - I am committed to throwing ink to paper (digitally speaking of course) at least once a week. With that being said... Off we go!
So while yesterday did not produce a blog post, it did produce some great experiences for today's blog post. For you see my fellow Americans, I, James A. Scott Jr., participated in one of THE most important processes of our fine Democracy (as tentative a Democracy as it is at this point) and gave my Thursday to the people of this great land. Selflessly and tirelessly I strove to better our great nation and uphold all that our forefathers envisioned for their childrens childrens, ah... children. With a steady will and a determined heart I journeyed to the very epicenter of the State of Arizona and presented myself with glory and honor for....
jury duty....
Yup, jury duty. I sat in the holding pen for almost 5 hours yesterday while some idiot behind me had 2 hour conversations about building permits. Did I mention we were in the 'Quiet Room'? Being that I am an army of one at my company right now, I worked furiously over the County Courthouse's free wifi (thank god) to try and get as much work done before my number was up. Last time I was called up for jury duty I sat in the holding pen all day and was told to go home at 4pm - that my service was complete. And boy did I ever warm up that seat cushion like nobody's business - In Service to America!
So I didn't really know what to expect when I was finally called up to the counter around 1:45 in the afternoon. Luckily I had a most fortuitous lunch in the cafeteria of the Courthouse just 2 hours before. A lunch, I might add, with 5 mostly younger women. After paying for my chicken cheese wrap, potato chips and iced tea, I found a high boy table along the back row of windows with only one other person sitting there. No sooner had I sat down then he left and no sooner had he left then a woman walked up and asked if anyone was sitting with me. About 30 seconds later a friend of the first girl sat down and maybe 5 minutes after that my table was filled with nicely dressed clerks on their lunch break.
So let's just say that I've had way worse lunch partners but what made them extra special was when they asked if I was bummed I was here. I told them that under normal circumstances I would be happy to serve, but I ran a small business and I was the only employee. If I wasn't there, the work doesn't get done. So the first girl looks around the table and leans in really conspiratorial like and says in a low voice, "You know, my judge excuses anybody in a small business with less than 5 employees.". After one of her friends say that her judge doesn't the first girl tells me that the judges are supposed to excuse anyone who works in a small business with less than 5 employees and asks to be excused. "Ahhh", says I. "Thank you very much for the information.". I can't remember for sure but I'm pretty certain I threw out a couple Jim Scott patented smiles and maybe a wink or two. All very professional though. Then I thanked them for their company and made my way back to the holding pen. Fast forward to being called up to the counter...
Armed with my ill-gotten knowledge I road the elevator to the 13th floor with grit and determination. Upon entering the courtroom I immediately notice the Defendant standing next to his attorney looking very much the uncomfortable 'polished for the courtroom' ruffian that you see on tv. After a long diatribe about how we were all patriots and will definitely get into heaven, the moment of truth is upon me. Looking very stern and unflappable, the judge asks if any juror would face hardship by serving. I boldly raise my plastic number and after listening to excuse after excuse from my fellow jurors, I stand tall, clear my throat, and proceed to assertively and decisively explain to the judge why I must at all costs be excused. I begin by explaining I had lost my last employee in January. I then explain how I am not in control of when work comes in and that the work must always be dealt with immediately. I finish in a flurry with a lament about how my job really isn't something that one person should do by himself, but that I had not been able to hire someone as yet. The judge makes a note on his paper, looks up at me and says, rather dryly I thought, "So if you aren't there, the work doesn't get done?"
"Uh, yeah... that's right - exactly." Unfortunately my glorious moment of "on the record" ended rather sourly as I realized that I had, shocker, been speaking a bit too long. But, the ends justify the embarrassment, as they say, and I was excused from jury duty with the promise from the County that they wouldn't come knocking for at least 18 months. As I was walking out of the Courthouse reflecting on my short but sweet service to my county, I heard the woman next to me breath a sigh of relief. I look over and realize that it's Olive Garden Girl. Olive Garden Girl is the sole provider for her deadbeat husband and rug rat and was excused from duty because she couldn't afford to not be paid the 4 days the trial would have taken. I smile politely at her and make some confirmatory comment. Then, as I continue to ponder just how lucky we are that we get to live in a society where we are afforded such luxuries as juries of our peers, my reverie is broken by the gruff comment from Olive Garden Girl - "Woulda been a waste a time anyways. That guy was clearly guilty. Did you see that tattoo and scar on his face??"
Ah yes, the harsh fall back to reality.
So while yesterday did not produce a blog post, it did produce some great experiences for today's blog post. For you see my fellow Americans, I, James A. Scott Jr., participated in one of THE most important processes of our fine Democracy (as tentative a Democracy as it is at this point) and gave my Thursday to the people of this great land. Selflessly and tirelessly I strove to better our great nation and uphold all that our forefathers envisioned for their childrens childrens, ah... children. With a steady will and a determined heart I journeyed to the very epicenter of the State of Arizona and presented myself with glory and honor for....
jury duty....
Yup, jury duty. I sat in the holding pen for almost 5 hours yesterday while some idiot behind me had 2 hour conversations about building permits. Did I mention we were in the 'Quiet Room'? Being that I am an army of one at my company right now, I worked furiously over the County Courthouse's free wifi (thank god) to try and get as much work done before my number was up. Last time I was called up for jury duty I sat in the holding pen all day and was told to go home at 4pm - that my service was complete. And boy did I ever warm up that seat cushion like nobody's business - In Service to America!
So I didn't really know what to expect when I was finally called up to the counter around 1:45 in the afternoon. Luckily I had a most fortuitous lunch in the cafeteria of the Courthouse just 2 hours before. A lunch, I might add, with 5 mostly younger women. After paying for my chicken cheese wrap, potato chips and iced tea, I found a high boy table along the back row of windows with only one other person sitting there. No sooner had I sat down then he left and no sooner had he left then a woman walked up and asked if anyone was sitting with me. About 30 seconds later a friend of the first girl sat down and maybe 5 minutes after that my table was filled with nicely dressed clerks on their lunch break.
So let's just say that I've had way worse lunch partners but what made them extra special was when they asked if I was bummed I was here. I told them that under normal circumstances I would be happy to serve, but I ran a small business and I was the only employee. If I wasn't there, the work doesn't get done. So the first girl looks around the table and leans in really conspiratorial like and says in a low voice, "You know, my judge excuses anybody in a small business with less than 5 employees.". After one of her friends say that her judge doesn't the first girl tells me that the judges are supposed to excuse anyone who works in a small business with less than 5 employees and asks to be excused. "Ahhh", says I. "Thank you very much for the information.". I can't remember for sure but I'm pretty certain I threw out a couple Jim Scott patented smiles and maybe a wink or two. All very professional though. Then I thanked them for their company and made my way back to the holding pen. Fast forward to being called up to the counter...
Armed with my ill-gotten knowledge I road the elevator to the 13th floor with grit and determination. Upon entering the courtroom I immediately notice the Defendant standing next to his attorney looking very much the uncomfortable 'polished for the courtroom' ruffian that you see on tv. After a long diatribe about how we were all patriots and will definitely get into heaven, the moment of truth is upon me. Looking very stern and unflappable, the judge asks if any juror would face hardship by serving. I boldly raise my plastic number and after listening to excuse after excuse from my fellow jurors, I stand tall, clear my throat, and proceed to assertively and decisively explain to the judge why I must at all costs be excused. I begin by explaining I had lost my last employee in January. I then explain how I am not in control of when work comes in and that the work must always be dealt with immediately. I finish in a flurry with a lament about how my job really isn't something that one person should do by himself, but that I had not been able to hire someone as yet. The judge makes a note on his paper, looks up at me and says, rather dryly I thought, "So if you aren't there, the work doesn't get done?"
"Uh, yeah... that's right - exactly." Unfortunately my glorious moment of "on the record" ended rather sourly as I realized that I had, shocker, been speaking a bit too long. But, the ends justify the embarrassment, as they say, and I was excused from jury duty with the promise from the County that they wouldn't come knocking for at least 18 months. As I was walking out of the Courthouse reflecting on my short but sweet service to my county, I heard the woman next to me breath a sigh of relief. I look over and realize that it's Olive Garden Girl. Olive Garden Girl is the sole provider for her deadbeat husband and rug rat and was excused from duty because she couldn't afford to not be paid the 4 days the trial would have taken. I smile politely at her and make some confirmatory comment. Then, as I continue to ponder just how lucky we are that we get to live in a society where we are afforded such luxuries as juries of our peers, my reverie is broken by the gruff comment from Olive Garden Girl - "Woulda been a waste a time anyways. That guy was clearly guilty. Did you see that tattoo and scar on his face??"
Ah yes, the harsh fall back to reality.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Two In A Row Baby!
Ok so basically I'm still writing this for myself and I think my wife (she claims to be reading it) but I'm pretty excited about two days, two posts. I'm going overboard and claiming an update habit or anything but it sure is nice to be posting twice in the same year. After writing those first two sentences I realize I literally have no idea what I'm going to write about but the important thing is that I'm writing.
One quick thing I can mention - I actually changed the design of my blog somewhat. You'll notice at the bottom of each post there are share buttons so you can share the amazing wisdom and cunning insight that is spewed forth on a semi-decade basis here. I also added ads. Yes ads. They look pretty non intrusive at this point and I was always curious how people made money off their blogs so I decided to add them and see how it works. From what I gather, every time someone clicks on an ad, I get some dough. So click those ads!
Ok so I still have no idea what to write about so I guess I'll use the old fall back - I'll tell a story! I have some pretty interesting ones from my time in Beijing but since this is the first story I'm telling I'll try to make it a good one. Something gripping and suspenseful yet funny and inspiring. Something... hmmmm - drunken!! How about a drinking story? Ok ok, so most of my stories are drinking stories but that doesn't make them any less gripping...
Alright so I'm in Beijing November of last year and it's my first time that I've traveled there by myself. We actually have a really great friend who acts as translator when we are there so it's never really a problem that I don't speak the language. But this particular time I was actually on my own - I had decided to go out one evening by myself and see if I could not only make it to one of my favorite hang outs in Beijing, but make it back to the hotel. So sitting in my hotel room I realize that there is no way I'm going to be able to tell the taxi driver where I want to go. Problem? Nope - nothing Google can't handle. I just Google the name of the place I want to go, locate what I think is the address of the place in Chinese, whip out my cell phone and snap a picture. Voila - my own personal Chinese communication device.
So I head to the lobby, hop in a taxi, and hand my phone over to the driver. He looks at it for a second, then hands it back and off we go. I throw out a Hao? (good?) to him as we start to leave and he responds with a definitive Hao back. I must say it's a little odd traveling in a taxi sitting next to a guy you can't even ask 'Hows it going?'. So 15 minutes later I breath a sigh of relief as I see the familiar landmarks of my favorite Beijing establishment. I give the driver a great tip ($2 on a $3 cab fare) and waltz in like I own the world.
Many beers and not so many hours later, I find myself at a pool table absolutely working it. This means two very important things - 1) I'm drunk enough that I've stopped over thinking the angles and thus I am playing great pool, and 2) I've got about 5, maybe 6 more games in me before I become too drunk to even hit the cue ball in the middle. For those of you asking the question - why doesn't he just stop drinking so much so that he maintains his current drunk and is able to play great pool? - well, lol I'm sure no one reading this is actually asking that question. So anyways, I beat the next guy and up walks this dude looking very middle eastern, extremely well dressed, big gold rings, and with two guys walking behind him that I can only describe as lackeys. Compared to the other guy they were poorly dressed and you could just tell they came from inferior dna. Immediately, even as drunk as I am, a few red flags start to go up. Does that stop me from walking up, shaking the guys hand, and asking him if he is ready to lose? Of course not.
So we start talking and he is really good-natured and I ask him where he is from. Saudia Arabia, he says. Well let's just say that alarm bells are starting to go off along with the red flags. We start playing and I can tell he is really good but I end up beating him the first game. This whole time his lackeys are standing off to one side, drinking and having a good time, but clearly keeping an eye on everything that is going on. The next game I lose and I can start to feel that my 5 or 6 game 'maintain' time frame is going to be severely shortened this night. The next game we play I lose again only this time it's to the tune of 4 or 5 balls and it's clear that I'm no longer going to be able to compete with this guy. He breaks the next game and as I'm standing over my first shot wondering whether I'm solids or stripes, my new friend walks up to me, gently grabs the pool stick and with a smile says, you should probably give this to me. Now I don't know if it was his dangerous accent or the confidence with which he said it, but it was clear to both of us that I was done playing pool and giving him the pool stick was the best course of action.
So I laughed, handed him the stick and said maybe I should just focus on drinking beer. He walks over and hands the stick to one of his lackeys and they pick up the game where we left off. Now before I left the table my new friend had already sunk a few balls so he had a decent lead on his lackey when they started. It was immediately obvious that he was a much better pool player then his lackey, but his lackey had a few ducks and got lucky a few times and by the time they had gone a few rounds the lackey was actually up 2 balls to 4. This whole time I'm leaning against this island bar that separates the dance floor from the pool table area just watching the pool and laughing along with my Saudi friends. The waitress walks up at this point and my new dangerous buddy was standing next to me trying to talk to me. The waitress asks if we need anything and my Saudi friend leans across me to, I assume, tell her he wants another beer. I can't help but over hear since he and the waitress are on opposite sides of me, and what I hear him say is "Can you bring me a knife?". The waitress and I both look at each other in shock like "Did you just hear what I heard?", and with the slight pause for effect over he says to her "Cause if I lose to this guy I'm going to slit my throat." The waitress and I both look back at him with what I'm sure were crazy faces and after pausing another second he bursts out in laughter.
So I immediately start laughing in an attempt to return the situation to some semblance of sanity and as the Saudi walks over to hit his next shot the waitress hurriedly walks away in search of less dangerous customers. The guy goes on a 4 ball winning streak which didn't seem to surprise the lackey at all and after I had cheered his win I stated drunkenness and stumbled out the door in search of cold air and what I hoped would be an uneventful cab ride home.
Needless to say I made it back and survived so that I might regale you with dangerous tales from dangerous places.
One quick thing I can mention - I actually changed the design of my blog somewhat. You'll notice at the bottom of each post there are share buttons so you can share the amazing wisdom and cunning insight that is spewed forth on a semi-decade basis here. I also added ads. Yes ads. They look pretty non intrusive at this point and I was always curious how people made money off their blogs so I decided to add them and see how it works. From what I gather, every time someone clicks on an ad, I get some dough. So click those ads!
Ok so I still have no idea what to write about so I guess I'll use the old fall back - I'll tell a story! I have some pretty interesting ones from my time in Beijing but since this is the first story I'm telling I'll try to make it a good one. Something gripping and suspenseful yet funny and inspiring. Something... hmmmm - drunken!! How about a drinking story? Ok ok, so most of my stories are drinking stories but that doesn't make them any less gripping...
Alright so I'm in Beijing November of last year and it's my first time that I've traveled there by myself. We actually have a really great friend who acts as translator when we are there so it's never really a problem that I don't speak the language. But this particular time I was actually on my own - I had decided to go out one evening by myself and see if I could not only make it to one of my favorite hang outs in Beijing, but make it back to the hotel. So sitting in my hotel room I realize that there is no way I'm going to be able to tell the taxi driver where I want to go. Problem? Nope - nothing Google can't handle. I just Google the name of the place I want to go, locate what I think is the address of the place in Chinese, whip out my cell phone and snap a picture. Voila - my own personal Chinese communication device.
So I head to the lobby, hop in a taxi, and hand my phone over to the driver. He looks at it for a second, then hands it back and off we go. I throw out a Hao? (good?) to him as we start to leave and he responds with a definitive Hao back. I must say it's a little odd traveling in a taxi sitting next to a guy you can't even ask 'Hows it going?'. So 15 minutes later I breath a sigh of relief as I see the familiar landmarks of my favorite Beijing establishment. I give the driver a great tip ($2 on a $3 cab fare) and waltz in like I own the world.
Many beers and not so many hours later, I find myself at a pool table absolutely working it. This means two very important things - 1) I'm drunk enough that I've stopped over thinking the angles and thus I am playing great pool, and 2) I've got about 5, maybe 6 more games in me before I become too drunk to even hit the cue ball in the middle. For those of you asking the question - why doesn't he just stop drinking so much so that he maintains his current drunk and is able to play great pool? - well, lol I'm sure no one reading this is actually asking that question. So anyways, I beat the next guy and up walks this dude looking very middle eastern, extremely well dressed, big gold rings, and with two guys walking behind him that I can only describe as lackeys. Compared to the other guy they were poorly dressed and you could just tell they came from inferior dna. Immediately, even as drunk as I am, a few red flags start to go up. Does that stop me from walking up, shaking the guys hand, and asking him if he is ready to lose? Of course not.
So we start talking and he is really good-natured and I ask him where he is from. Saudia Arabia, he says. Well let's just say that alarm bells are starting to go off along with the red flags. We start playing and I can tell he is really good but I end up beating him the first game. This whole time his lackeys are standing off to one side, drinking and having a good time, but clearly keeping an eye on everything that is going on. The next game I lose and I can start to feel that my 5 or 6 game 'maintain' time frame is going to be severely shortened this night. The next game we play I lose again only this time it's to the tune of 4 or 5 balls and it's clear that I'm no longer going to be able to compete with this guy. He breaks the next game and as I'm standing over my first shot wondering whether I'm solids or stripes, my new friend walks up to me, gently grabs the pool stick and with a smile says, you should probably give this to me. Now I don't know if it was his dangerous accent or the confidence with which he said it, but it was clear to both of us that I was done playing pool and giving him the pool stick was the best course of action.
So I laughed, handed him the stick and said maybe I should just focus on drinking beer. He walks over and hands the stick to one of his lackeys and they pick up the game where we left off. Now before I left the table my new friend had already sunk a few balls so he had a decent lead on his lackey when they started. It was immediately obvious that he was a much better pool player then his lackey, but his lackey had a few ducks and got lucky a few times and by the time they had gone a few rounds the lackey was actually up 2 balls to 4. This whole time I'm leaning against this island bar that separates the dance floor from the pool table area just watching the pool and laughing along with my Saudi friends. The waitress walks up at this point and my new dangerous buddy was standing next to me trying to talk to me. The waitress asks if we need anything and my Saudi friend leans across me to, I assume, tell her he wants another beer. I can't help but over hear since he and the waitress are on opposite sides of me, and what I hear him say is "Can you bring me a knife?". The waitress and I both look at each other in shock like "Did you just hear what I heard?", and with the slight pause for effect over he says to her "Cause if I lose to this guy I'm going to slit my throat." The waitress and I both look back at him with what I'm sure were crazy faces and after pausing another second he bursts out in laughter.
So I immediately start laughing in an attempt to return the situation to some semblance of sanity and as the Saudi walks over to hit his next shot the waitress hurriedly walks away in search of less dangerous customers. The guy goes on a 4 ball winning streak which didn't seem to surprise the lackey at all and after I had cheered his win I stated drunkenness and stumbled out the door in search of cold air and what I hoped would be an uneventful cab ride home.
Needless to say I made it back and survived so that I might regale you with dangerous tales from dangerous places.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I have a blog?!?
So it looks like my current update schedule is once every 14 months. I call it pacing myself, others would call it lazy. Whichever it is, it sure builds suspense huh?
Ok so I'm going to try to keep things small at first in the hopes that I actually write more than one post this fiscal quarter. I'm going to start off with something a little insightful but not so heavy that you have to go searching for your rolling papers to get to the end.
China - I just got back from another week in Beijing which puts my total time spent with our eastern friends at about 4 weeks. I'm a huge foodie so every time I visit Beijing (or my living room for that matter) it's all about the food. Instead of planning out what locations I need to visit, I plan on what restaurants and food I need to experience. I love trying new things and there are very few dishes put in front of me that don't find their way into my mouth eventually (remember this is a country that uses two sticks to eat, sometimes it's difficult to get the food in my belly).
So as I'm sitting in Beijing freaking out the Chinese with how much I pack away (I know at least one restaurant owner was worrying that he wasn't going to have enough food for this out of control American), I started thinking about how different our cuisine is different from theirs. The stereotype that all Chinese people are skinny is shockingly close to accurate when you walk around China and it certainly isn't from the fact that Chinese don't like to eat. On the contrary - it's basically an entire nation of foodies.
Chinese take eating pretty seriously. And by seriously I mean that they love to eat and a big part of their social fabric is centered around food. And just because the majority of the population is considered poor doesn't mean that they don't eat. There are all kinds of places where you can have amazing food for less then $1. So why are they all so skinny?
There are certainly many small reasons - they walk a lot, they like to be outside, as a people they are very concerned with outward appearances. But I think the main reason is their cuisine, and pretty much everything about it. First off I can't recall seeing butter (or any lard for that matter), or milk at any meal either on the table or in the dish. They cook almost exclusively with oil and always at high temperatures. I'm not a chef or a scientist but I do know that the reason you pretty much always cook at high temperatures when using oil is because you want the oil to cook the outside of the food - not soak into it. Therefore I'm guessing that very little of the oil is actually transferred to the food. I'm also pretty certain that on the whole, oil is way better for you then lard or butter, which is a staple in American cuisine. As a matter of fact, they pretty much don't eat any dairy at all. They never cook with cheese and I've only had one meal that I could recall where there was cheese slices on the table.
And while we are on the subject of what you don't find in Chinese cuisine, I should mention sugar. The Chinese don't use the stuff. You can pretty much make a blanket statement. They almost never do desert and the few times that I've had desert it consisted of rice or donuts that were more dinner roll then donut that you dipped in a sugar glaze that didn't hardly taste sweet at all. They don't have donut shops on every corner and 9 times of 10 if you get something that you think is going to be sweet or sugary, it turns out to be bean paste or tofu.
The next thing you realize about Chinese food is that it's almost always prepared in bite sized pieces. Remember, they eat with two sticks - I've never tried to pick up a slice of pizza or a hamburger with chopsticks but I'm guessing I wouldn't have much success. This means that every bite is actually pretty small, yet out of habit you would chew it just as long as you would as when you embarrass the hell out of your wife by taking a hockey puck sized bite out of your triple heart attack slab-o-cow. Smaller pieces of food into the stomach means easier digestion, which I think I read somewhere also means better use of the food by your body.
Another thing about eating praying-mantis style is that it takes a lot longer to make your way around the table and get the yummy to the tummy. I'm thinking that this gives your stomach more time to cry uncle to your brain. Whether or not you listen is another thing altogether. But clearly shoving a whole KFC chicken down your throat in 10 minutes doesn't really give your stomach much of a chance to tell you how much of a dumb ass you are and that you would have been just fine with half a chicken.
The last thing is that the Chinese pretty much only eat 'family style'. You never order a meal for yourself, you order dishes that are brought to the table to eat from. So that whole 'clean those sticks-of-fat off your plate - there are hungry people in China' thing never really comes into play. It's not 'your' meal therefore you don't really feel obligated to finish anything. This is evident at the end of every meal when the great 'To Go Go' dance (as I like to call it) is played out. I'm pretty sure I've never been to a meal where there has been more than one Chinese person and someone hasn't taken everything but the fine china (no pun intended) home with them in to-go containers. They spend almost as much time boxing up everything as they do on the meal. But they waste nothing - bones, carcasses, sauces, eyeballs - they take it all. And very few Chinese people have pets so you know it's not to bring home a meal to Chido (the Chinese Fido).
Ok well so much for short. I pretty much don't do short when it comes to talking about food but I thought I gave it the old college try. If anyone actually reads this, let me know what you think...
Ok so I'm going to try to keep things small at first in the hopes that I actually write more than one post this fiscal quarter. I'm going to start off with something a little insightful but not so heavy that you have to go searching for your rolling papers to get to the end.
China - I just got back from another week in Beijing which puts my total time spent with our eastern friends at about 4 weeks. I'm a huge foodie so every time I visit Beijing (or my living room for that matter) it's all about the food. Instead of planning out what locations I need to visit, I plan on what restaurants and food I need to experience. I love trying new things and there are very few dishes put in front of me that don't find their way into my mouth eventually (remember this is a country that uses two sticks to eat, sometimes it's difficult to get the food in my belly).
So as I'm sitting in Beijing freaking out the Chinese with how much I pack away (I know at least one restaurant owner was worrying that he wasn't going to have enough food for this out of control American), I started thinking about how different our cuisine is different from theirs. The stereotype that all Chinese people are skinny is shockingly close to accurate when you walk around China and it certainly isn't from the fact that Chinese don't like to eat. On the contrary - it's basically an entire nation of foodies.
Chinese take eating pretty seriously. And by seriously I mean that they love to eat and a big part of their social fabric is centered around food. And just because the majority of the population is considered poor doesn't mean that they don't eat. There are all kinds of places where you can have amazing food for less then $1. So why are they all so skinny?
There are certainly many small reasons - they walk a lot, they like to be outside, as a people they are very concerned with outward appearances. But I think the main reason is their cuisine, and pretty much everything about it. First off I can't recall seeing butter (or any lard for that matter), or milk at any meal either on the table or in the dish. They cook almost exclusively with oil and always at high temperatures. I'm not a chef or a scientist but I do know that the reason you pretty much always cook at high temperatures when using oil is because you want the oil to cook the outside of the food - not soak into it. Therefore I'm guessing that very little of the oil is actually transferred to the food. I'm also pretty certain that on the whole, oil is way better for you then lard or butter, which is a staple in American cuisine. As a matter of fact, they pretty much don't eat any dairy at all. They never cook with cheese and I've only had one meal that I could recall where there was cheese slices on the table.
And while we are on the subject of what you don't find in Chinese cuisine, I should mention sugar. The Chinese don't use the stuff. You can pretty much make a blanket statement. They almost never do desert and the few times that I've had desert it consisted of rice or donuts that were more dinner roll then donut that you dipped in a sugar glaze that didn't hardly taste sweet at all. They don't have donut shops on every corner and 9 times of 10 if you get something that you think is going to be sweet or sugary, it turns out to be bean paste or tofu.
The next thing you realize about Chinese food is that it's almost always prepared in bite sized pieces. Remember, they eat with two sticks - I've never tried to pick up a slice of pizza or a hamburger with chopsticks but I'm guessing I wouldn't have much success. This means that every bite is actually pretty small, yet out of habit you would chew it just as long as you would as when you embarrass the hell out of your wife by taking a hockey puck sized bite out of your triple heart attack slab-o-cow. Smaller pieces of food into the stomach means easier digestion, which I think I read somewhere also means better use of the food by your body.
Another thing about eating praying-mantis style is that it takes a lot longer to make your way around the table and get the yummy to the tummy. I'm thinking that this gives your stomach more time to cry uncle to your brain. Whether or not you listen is another thing altogether. But clearly shoving a whole KFC chicken down your throat in 10 minutes doesn't really give your stomach much of a chance to tell you how much of a dumb ass you are and that you would have been just fine with half a chicken.
The last thing is that the Chinese pretty much only eat 'family style'. You never order a meal for yourself, you order dishes that are brought to the table to eat from. So that whole 'clean those sticks-of-fat off your plate - there are hungry people in China' thing never really comes into play. It's not 'your' meal therefore you don't really feel obligated to finish anything. This is evident at the end of every meal when the great 'To Go Go' dance (as I like to call it) is played out. I'm pretty sure I've never been to a meal where there has been more than one Chinese person and someone hasn't taken everything but the fine china (no pun intended) home with them in to-go containers. They spend almost as much time boxing up everything as they do on the meal. But they waste nothing - bones, carcasses, sauces, eyeballs - they take it all. And very few Chinese people have pets so you know it's not to bring home a meal to Chido (the Chinese Fido).
Ok well so much for short. I pretty much don't do short when it comes to talking about food but I thought I gave it the old college try. If anyone actually reads this, let me know what you think...
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