Visitors would look at chopsticks and the different dishes, and ask “Tell me how to eat here,” and I usually replied, “Any way you can, there are no rules.” I could have added, “for us” because of course there are, many.
I remember thinking the same—just eat however you can—but slowly realising there was a whole choreography going on around me. Where to place your chopsticks, when to refill someone else’s tea before your own, who picks up the bill (and how fiercely!). As foreigners, we’re often granted a kind of graceful leniency, and yet, learning those rules feels like being slowly invited in.
Two decades on it's still really difficult to know whether I was or not! Sometimes the door felt ajar, certainly. But can a laowai ever be seen as anything other than a laowai?
Aah, the old slurping of the noodles. And using chopsticks to push rice into your mouth with the bowl actually resting on your lips. A good and efficient way to eat. You get so used to it that you do it without thinking when you come home, and people give you odd looks. Oh well.
Yes! It’s amazing how quickly those little habits become second nature. I remember coming back to the UK and diving head on into my first noodles back at my local Chinese restaurant. There’s something deeply comforting about it, like your body remembering a rhythm even when your mind’s elsewhere.
I love that—it’s those small, everyday rituals that stay with you, isn’t it? There’s something deeply human about how food and comedy can speak across languages and barriers.
The BEST food is near colleges, or even schools.
Visitors would look at chopsticks and the different dishes, and ask “Tell me how to eat here,” and I usually replied, “Any way you can, there are no rules.” I could have added, “for us” because of course there are, many.
I remember thinking the same—just eat however you can—but slowly realising there was a whole choreography going on around me. Where to place your chopsticks, when to refill someone else’s tea before your own, who picks up the bill (and how fiercely!). As foreigners, we’re often granted a kind of graceful leniency, and yet, learning those rules feels like being slowly invited in.
Did you ever really feel invited in? Wait, don’t tell me, that might be coming up.
Two decades on it's still really difficult to know whether I was or not! Sometimes the door felt ajar, certainly. But can a laowai ever be seen as anything other than a laowai?
Now THAT is the question.
Aah, the old slurping of the noodles. And using chopsticks to push rice into your mouth with the bowl actually resting on your lips. A good and efficient way to eat. You get so used to it that you do it without thinking when you come home, and people give you odd looks. Oh well.
Yes! It’s amazing how quickly those little habits become second nature. I remember coming back to the UK and diving head on into my first noodles back at my local Chinese restaurant. There’s something deeply comforting about it, like your body remembering a rhythm even when your mind’s elsewhere.
I love that—it’s those small, everyday rituals that stay with you, isn’t it? There’s something deeply human about how food and comedy can speak across languages and barriers.