It was our first university banquet. I was new to everything in China and I took in the scene with an air of intrigued bewilderment that didn’t leave me the whole time I lived and worked in Beijing.
Photo: Jorge Santiago
The first dilemma hit when I tried to choose a chair.
Faculty members did an awkward shuffle, turning this way and that like confused middle-aged couples in salsa classes. I loitered over a seat and pulled back, loitered and pulled back…
Then the deans strolled in with grace and unconcern and seated themselves in the two seats closest to the door of the banquet room. Somehow, everyone unraveled neatly into seats around them without further ado.
I later learned that the seats closest to the most important guests are occupied by the second most important guests, and then the ensuing chairs are filled in the same way, with the least important people being furthest from the guests of honor.
The university staff must’ve known this and waited for the cue from the deans, and the other professors swiftly slid into their places accordingly. I, being the youngest and newest professor, sat squarely across the table from the deans.
It was our first university banquet. I was new to everything in China and I took in the scene with an air of intrigued bewilderment that didn’t leave me the whole time I lived and worked in Beijing.
The younger dean was in charge of the menu. This is a great honor and an even greater responsibility. Unlike in American restaurants, in which each person studies a menu and chooses a dish, in China one person orders a variety of plates for everyone to share. This ordering must be done according to several cultural givens:
There must be way, way too much food for anyone to eat.
There must be a mix of hot and cold dishes, sweet and spicy dishes, meat and vegetable dishes, and dishes cooked according to the different styles of Chinese cooking.
There must be rice and/or noodles. The rice should follow the meal.
There must be soup.
The dean ordered a cold wood ear mushroom salad, a cold Spinach salad, a plate of crunchy chrysanthemum greens, a plate of cold, firm tofu, and the ubiquitous cold cucumber salad with grated garlic.
The dishes kept appearing after that. Again, unlike in an American restaurant in which the entree dutifully follows the appetizer, in China all the dishes come out as they’re prepared. Just as the gong bao chicken is put on the table the sizzling platter of fish with Sichuan peppercorns comes out. Then, three waitresses in qipiaos bring in over-the-rainbow ribs and the Peking duck.
All of these dishes are placed on the revolving banquet table. Guests push the table gently so that each person has access to the array of dishes.
This is when mad chopstick skills come in handy. I had been mastering mine, eating peanuts in the house with a precise pinch of the chopsticks, picking up slippery cashew nuts between sticks of stir-fried celery. I could sneak in and snatch a piece of passing broccoli before it was lost to my neighbor.
The visiting English department head was not so lucky. She knew, however, how to handle the situation with grace. She asked a Chinese staff member to serve her, and the Chinese woman placed small portions of each dish on her plate. She did a fine job of not making the two major cultural mistakes I’d been warned about: stabbing portions of food with a chopstick, and sticking chopsticks straight up in a bowl of rice or a dish of food.
The soup and rice presented she and I with less possibility for peril. I swooped in with my spoon and served myself each after the main courses had been sufficiently depleted. A small bowl is reserved for rice and another for soup, and I learned by example that it’s important to serve each in its proper place. It’s also critical to hold off until the meal is wrapping up; soup and rice are generally reserved for after a meal, as they’re considered to aid in digestion.
Luckily, this banquet was not one of the alcohol-drenched affairs which end with someone stooped over a bowl of fish soup and others gesturing in flagrant, drunken revelry at the waitresses. But I’d heard stories from enough people about this to know that my situation was the exception to the rule. In the case of drunken abandonment, my friends had advised sipping…sipping…slowly…and if necessary, pretending to pass out at the table so as to avoid further damage.
The banquet ended tranquilly, with the dean paying the bill and all of us pleasantly stuffed, sipping green tea. I was, above all, relieved. I’d survived the first major social experience in China, and I hadn’t dropped anything in my lap or lost face or greatly offended anyone’s honor or the group harmony.
I learned something tonight, I thought. I can do this again.
Each Friday, Matador Abroad features a new learning experience. Want to share yours? Check out how at call for submissions: learning experiences around the world.
Community Connection
Interested in China? Check out Christoph Rehage’s time lapse video about a walk across China. Or read our tales from the road from China and Tibet. And if you’re thinking of moving there, you might want to look into how and why to move to China during the recession.
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