Don't Ask, Don't Tell

We told the international office that we don't need to keep seeing museums and monuments-- that we'd like to see things off the beaten path. They thought we would like to experience some authentic Chinese snack food.

Betty, a lovely young woman on the international office staff, conducted us to an area close to Tiannanmen Square in the heart of Beijing. The snack place she remembered had closed. We wandered awhile through narrow lanes where storefronts sold ice cream, trinkets, and shoes; and kids raced around on scooters. A man who did not have a shirt on upbraided us for not buying anything. "You are the rich. You must spend."

At length, we reached a snack food restaurant, and Betty asked us to pick out some eats. We chose a vegetable wrap and some orange juice. But the Chinese don't feel hospitable unless they have provided you with more food than you can possibly finish, so Betty chose additional dishes, none of which I recognized.

Always eager to practice my Chinese, I said, "Zhe xie shen ma (What's this?)" as I pointed to a plate containing a grooved and stringy white, green and black substance which was served with hot sauce. Betty's English is as well-developed as her Chinese hospitality. "Oh, "she said. "It is stomach. Of the ox."

A seasoned international guest, I refused my impulse to gag; but downed a few mouthfuls of ox with hot sauce. I suggest this policy when confronting new foods here: Don't ask what you're eating; and if you know, don't tell.