It was our first night in Xi’an and we were already on our own. We didn’t want our time here to be a waste. It would be a shame to eat at some random chain or western-style restaurant and miss out on what this city had to offer. My plan was to ask the concierge for a restaurant suggestion.
The only problem was that we didn’t know what kind of restaurant we wanted and the concierge wouldn’t speak English. I, having taken Mandarin the longest, was our group’s designated speaker. We headed to the lobby hoping this plan would work.
I was still not very confident going up to random people and speaking Mandarin. I hated making a fool of myself and not being able to get my ideas clearly across. But, this was my idea so I had to follow through. Besides, I wanted to make the most of my China experience and without asking for ideas we had no clue where to go.
I went up the concierge and asked, “Ni zhidao yi ge hao fandian ma?”
All I got in response was a smile and a confused look. My grammar was probably off, but I was pretty sure that I had asked if he knew of a good restaurant. A huge knot formed in my stomach, this is what I hated about speaking a foreign language.
I decided it would probably be best to keep things simple, “fandian?”
Still, he had no clue what I was talking about. Were my tones right? That was definitely the word for restaurant. Now my heart was really pounding but I continued on. I tried other words for restaurant, cafeteria, and the like. Finally, the concierge caught on.
Of course, then he began asking questions. I tried to understand and at least pretended that I did. I also said “yes” a couple times to I’m not sure what question. I was almost positive that he was asking me if we wanted Xi’an style food and that I responded that we did.
Ultimately, we ended up with two restaurant names written on hotel business cards. One was for a Xi’an cuisine restaurant and one was a place to get Xi’an dumplings. We were directed to the restaurant, which was supposedly in the Drum and Bell Tower Square. The Drum Tower and Bell Tower were impossible to miss so we were fairly confident that we would have no trouble finding the restaurant. Honestly, I was just happy to have succeeded in getting the name for something written down.
We headed out, glad to have a destination and enjoying the sights of this amazing city. It wasn’t until we reached the first tower, however, that we realized just how far apart the two towers were. Which collection of buildings made up the Square? With just a handwritten name to go off of, how would we ever find the restaurant?
After a half-hour of wandering, my two companions wanted to call it quits and find somewhere else to eat. It was understandable. After all, we were all extremely hungry. Even though I had my heart set on some authentic Xi’an cuisine, I consented. Our quest seemed hopeless. We then turned down a little ally of store fronts and stopped to examine the first restaurant we saw. And, sure enough, the sign above it matched the name on the card. We had found it!
We naively thought that this was the end of our adventure, but then we stepped inside. All the occupants looked up at us as if they had never seen a Westerner before. This was kind of odd, considering we were in a more touristy part of the city. But, by now, we were used to drawing attention from locals, so we hardly noticed.
In Mandarin we told a woman working there that there was three of us. Instead of seating us, she looked at us strangely and then showed us to a counter. It seemed as if we were supposed to order at the counter, but none of us were quite sure what we were supposed to say.
The racing heart and knot in my stomach returned, this time accompanied by rosy cheeks. I had no clue how this restaurant worked. There didn’t appear to be a clear menu anywhere. I looked to the woman who had brought us to the counter and simply told her the truth, that I didn’t know.
She gave a slight smile and asked if we wanted a certain food item. I didn’t recognize the word, but one of the people I was with said he thought that was the typical Xi’an cuisine. So, we smiled back and said that yes, that’s what we wanted.
We followed her to a row of glass counters at the back of the restaurant, behind which were several cooks and a huge variety of food. The woman asked countless questions: Do you want this? Do these look good? What kind of meat do you want?
Some of it I understood and diligently translated for my companions and then gave our collective response. A lot of it, I just inferred from a combination of hand gestures, visuals, and the occasional recognized word. By the end, it seemed as if we had told her quite a long list of food we wanted. She then took us back to the counter and ordered for us. Considering everything we ordered, the price was really low. I guess that’s the benefit of eating at local restaurants not frequented by foreigners.
She then showed us to a table. It was clear that most people operated here with little assistance, but this woman was being kind enough to take a special interest in us, making sure we understood what we were supposed to do. Two of the dishes we had ordered arrived and they were incredibly delicious. But we also received bowls, each with a large circle of bread inside. I didn’t remember ordering any sort of soup item, and I had no idea what to do with the bread. This must have been the first thing the woman had asked if we wanted, the typical Xi’an dish.
The woman again smiled, and indicated that we were supposed to break the bread into small pieces. We diligently did as we were told, laughing and enjoying ourselves all the while. Looking around at the large groups doing the same, it was clear that the Xi’an dish was about more than just the food. It epitomized the ideal of “breaking bread together.”
When we were done the woman returned. We had bowls and receipts that we were surely supposed to do something with but, again, we were clueless. She took the bowls and told us a number. It was the number on the bottom of the bowl, so that when our soup was ready we’d be sure to get the one with our own bread pieces inside.
As we were finally eating our well-deserved Xi’an soup, a middle-aged Western couple walked in. They tried to sit down and were, like we had been, greeted by laughs and smiles. The same woman who had helped us went up to them and gestured over to us. The couple clearly spoke no Mandarin but the nice Chinese woman wanted to show them that it was possible for Westerners to eat here. I was sure the couple would approach us and ask us what they were supposed to do and, while I still didn’t know exactly how ordering worked, I would have happily helped. Before I even I had a chance to realize what they were doing, however, the couple was gone. They missed out; the food was delicious.
No comments:
Post a Comment