The Heart of China

Dear Great Leader of the People's Republic of China,

Nihao!

Much though I wanted to write to you earlier, I was unable to owing to the fact that you have had to restrict access to websites that have the potential to mobilise public opinion. I, like you, am also of the belief that free-will is unnecessary and over-rated.

I was in Beijing for half the day and I felt compelled to visit 'The Heart of China'. So what if it's nowhere near the middle of the country? I must say, downtown Beijing is a beautiful place. The old city gates are truly magnificent. I, however, think that 'palace gates' is probably a better way of describing them since in their day only the Emperor and his sycophants and posse stayed in the 'city'. Nonetheless a slight linguistic cock-up doesn't belittle the grandeur of the structures.

The 2nd gate

The main gate

Having admired the gates, and having wondered how the bloody hell the you still keep them looking like they were built yesterday, I went into Tiananmain square. And what a square it is. An epitome of order. A showcase of discipine. I felt a sudden urge to start marching with my heels digging deep and my chin tucked in. It was noting like what I expected. There were no bullet hole ridden walls from the time you were forced to use live fire to control angry students. Students can be very dangerous. I know. I was a student once. In my country, and most others, a site of such mischief would be preserved as a reminder of where the country had lost it's way. What a waste of time. Your clean-up job though is worth commending.

Museum to the right of the square

Gate to the Forbidden City, guarded by Mr. Mao

I then walked towards the gate of the Forbidden City. And behold! A picture of the greatest of all Great Leaders - Chairman Mao. I didn't have the pleasure of knowing him in person but I am quite certain he would want nothing to do with the American-style hot dog cart that parks steps from his memorial. I also witnessed the great audio-visual display in the middle of the square that was screening one of your many, superbly directed, propaganda films. I couldn't stay and watch the entire feature but understand the screening was about Xianjin, the Muslim, oil and gas rich province, that you are so selflessly trying to incorporate into your great land. On that note, whatever happened to the plan to integrate Tibet into China by offering free lifetime food to Tibetan women who married Chinese men? Any luck? I rear my own chickens and goats and do see how forced breeding can be used for a greater social good.

Ankle deep in propoganda

Knee deep in propoganda

Chest deep in propoganda

Nose deep in propoganda

After feasting my eyes, my stomach needed some attention. Leaving the old city, I went into the market just opposite. Not too far in, number 30 to the right, was where I had heard I could get the best Peking Duck. Do you prefer Beijing Duck? Not only that, I was ecstatic to hear that this was the place where the icon of the East was actually invented. Then, I was very disappointed to find out that there were no seats, and would not be for a while. I had lost all hope of sampling the fatty goodness when mass commercialisation came to the rescue. It is a great idea to have a fast-food version of the traditional sit down restaurant under the same roof. You've even put an outlet at the airport so people can take pre-cooked ducks home with them? You clever fox.

The place where Peking Duck was invented

Enterance to the place where Peking Duck was invented

Street on which there is an enterance to the place where Peking Duck was invented

I was happy with the size of the portion, which is a rare occurrence. I ate 2. The duck was moist, as I had expected. I am pretty sure it wasn't much different from the one served in the restaurant - minus the table-side carving of course. The skin was not as crispy as it should be but good enough for a fast-food joint. I hope I can enjoy the duck the traditional way, and not on a plastic plate, next time. Have you tried roasting the duck with any wood other than apple and pear? I reckon cherry or orange would go well too. No?

I washed down the Duck Pancakes with some Duck Bone Soup. I saw Duck Webs in Mustard on the menu. Maybe next time. I had a additional plate of condiments on the side - with cucumber, pickled walnuts and jasmine buds and some green beans. This was the best fast-food meal I have ever had. Even better than  the time I ate a kebab in a London kebab shop, with a sozzled friend, a portion of Chips and Cheese, a dozen pickled jalapenos  and a chilled bottle of Mumm.

Peking Duck

Peking Duck on plastic plate

More plastic plates



Duck Bone Soup

Anyway, as I was leaving I asked if the place I had just eaten at was still run by the founding family. What I was told was that the place has been state run for years now! Genius. Next time could I please have my Hoisin Sauce container filled to the brim? Thank you.

Yours faithfully,
Vikram Singh

Where is meat made?

meat   [meet] –noun

1. the flesh of animals as used for food.

Meat eaters fall under two categories. One; those that eat animals. And two; those that, for some reason beyond my comprehension, seem to forget where meat actually comes from. The latter I despise - more than vegetarians. Most people who eat meat seem to forget, or choose to forget, that a steak mooed not too long ago. I took a few Americans to dinner in Germany last September. Situated on the Main, this boat club served up some of the best food I've ever eaten. Local oysters, fresh fish, some German classics like the Schweinshaxe, the works. I went for the Calf's Liver with Mash, Roasted Apples and Gravy. A couple of my guests, Baked Seabass with Lemon and Rosemary. What my dear friends from The United World of America did not realise that the Seabass was not going to come out of a tin. They stared at their plates, as the fish stared back, not knowing how to start on the damn thing.

There was this show on British television called Kill it, Cook it, Eat it, where some specimens from the British public watched their meat go from pasture to pot. I am not proposing a soap-esque drama like that. I am proposing something much more radical!

If you eat meat and have never killed your food - shot it, slaughtered it, or clubbed it across the head, if you like eating baby seals - then give it a shot. If you still keep to your eating ways, which I hope you would, you will appreciate your meat a lot more. If you gag at the thought of having another bite of meat then good riddance, and if you carry on eating meat believing it came from the 'shop' you are the worst of the lot. Ignorant and damned.

I have been rearing my own animals for food for a few years now. Chickens to be precise. I rather that my food live well. While it lives that is. I don't think an overcrowded cage, where chickens wallow in their own shit, is much fun. But that's what most meat eaters settle for. Me included - most of the times. But if I can rear my food, I do. It normally leads to better ingredients to cook with, a longer association and a deeper involvement with your grub and, well, a certain satisfaction. Not to mention better food. And that's what it's all about.

I am currently in the process of building such an association with a couple of goats. Haven't named them - I don't name my food.

Breakfast of champions?

“Breakfast is the only meal of the day that I tend to view with the same kind of traditionalized reverence that most people associate with Lunch and Dinner. I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon; anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas or at home — and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed — breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned beef hash with diced chiles, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of Key lime pie, two margaritas, and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert… Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours and at least one source of good music… All of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked.”

- Hunter S. Thompson

courtesy: Dr. Green