What could be more tempting that menu item 101…

Bees.  I probably won’t order them again.  Honeybees; those treasured pollinators and honey producers appearing on a food menu inevitably pulled the right curiosity strings.  That they came with portions of grasshoppers and bamboo worms was an added bonus.  Pre-shelled, de-striped and similar to small peanuts in appearance, eating them felt very, very wrong.  The grasshoppers were as crunchy as you would probably imagine, their tiny bodies disintegrating the moment they come into contact with teeth.  The worms were pretty much tasteless (although I have to admit trying to just swallow them whole).  Photographic evidence after the meal reveals the preference for bees.

Bees, grasshoppers and worms to accompany your cucumber.

What the hell are we doing!

An empty (insect) plate…

We’re eating bees – and from I understand, actually bee pupae!

Bron goes for yet another grasshopper

Unless someone can point out a mistranslation and they were actually soft, white beans…

Aprons all round…

Wednesday night with the Brainchild Gang (“Brainchildren”, suggests Heather) took us to a nearby Hot Pot restaurant famous for its customer service, with the staff providing headbands for the ladies, plastic bags for mobile phones and of course great big aprons to protect oneself from the inevitable mess.  Friendly service indeed, with Summer (our waiter) giving us his mobile number to suggest we call ahead directly to check he’s there next time we visit.  The noodle acrobat (not sure what else to call him) softens the noodles by whizzing them around akin to a rhythmic gymnast, as close to your head and the floor as he can get.  Sadly, we had trainee noodle acrobat.  Three attempts later and three broken sets of noodles later, he gave up trying.

Internations, the organisation either acting as a business networking or social blind-dating organisation for ex-pats depending on your perspective, had arranged a get-together at De Refter on Thursday night.  Impossible to resist due to being 1 minute down the road, we had another good night with a good few Belgian beers (but very little food).  There’s either an abundance of Germans in Shanghai or we’re inexplicably drawn toward them; regardless, an entertaining evening with a few German co-drinkers including me feeling compelled to staunchly defend my position on Princess Diana (“Yes, I know it was incredibly sad she died so young, as it is for anyone.  But since I didn’t know her personally, I have no idea why everybody else felt they did”).  I have no recollection of why this topic came up.

Craig, me and Rachel prior to Rachel’s absinthe snorting attempt.

As Helke was so keen to point out in her wonderfully German way, I’m not as young as I used to be: “You’re the oldest person I know apart from my parents”, a phrase uttered so seemingly out of the blue we had Rachel almost snorting absinthe up her nose from laughing so much.  This at around 3am on Saturday morning in Bar Constellation, a cocktail bar we’re getting to know a little too well.  A friend of Rachel’s was intrigued enough about the absinthe cocktail to give it a go, and so peer pressure forced (subjective use of the word) me to join in.  This after visits to Dr Wine and Dr Beer earlier in the evening (perfectly named, although as mentioned in a previous post, Dr Beer isn’t a real doctor – he’s a bit plastic).

I can’t interact with young children at the best of the time, and I’m sure they can sense the fear.  Chinese children exacerbate the problem, since language provides an additional barrier.  A co-worker of Rachel’s had brought his 3-year old son along to Dr Beer, who for the most part sat quietly and amused himself.  He quickly discovered a new game – pick up pieces of discarded food and attempt to rub them into the arm of the uncomfortable Brit.  When the Brit can only say things to him in Chinese such as “Would you like a beer?”, and “You do what?” this was obviously an invitation to continue the game until he got bored (which was well beyond my boredom threshold).

2am to bed on Sunday morning wasn’t the early night I’d been hoping for, following our insect-laded meal in Southern Barbarian with Jo, Elouise, Haydn, and Ryan.  Largely down to our ill-fated trip to the Big Bamboo to see Liverpool lose 3-0 to West Brom.

Alcohol artificially keeps me awake – I hit the pillow and drop to sleep like Usain Bolt running a 100m sprint (that’s quickly, not making lightning symbols).  The problem for me isn’t the socialising, which is of course thoroughly enjoyable and stops us missing home; it’s the next-day tiredness which if we’re not careful will mean our exploration of Shanghai happens between 9pm and 4am and not 12 hours the other way.

The continued exploration of the “Gourmet Zone” nearby isn’t helping – since it’s one of those too convenient 2-minute-away sort of places.  Full of restaurants (and bees), we’ve been there three times this week.

You know it’s hot when (an occasional series, parts 1 and 2):

1. The hot tap in the shower becomes superfluous (and a cold shower is an impossibility)
2. Toothpaste melts

I have no idea why (an occasional series, part 1):

1. Toilet rolls in China come individually wrapped

Olympic canapés, Olympic mini-pizzas and Olympic fish & chips (well, calamari to keep up the circular/ring theme) – the culinary genius of Mr Seed provided the undoubted gastronomic highlight of our short trip back to the UK.  Complete with Olympic Spatchcock Chicken to represent the four nations making up the UK, joined as they are by one solid tasty chicken body.

Scepticism comes to me as naturally as bewilderment comes to Boris; I can freely admit to being convinced we (speaking on behalf of the nation) would cock-up the Olympics.  From sponsorship deference to missing security guards, I was fully expecting a disaster.  But, apart from the organising committee seemingly forgetting Brits like to drink (and hence huge queues being a constant theme at the Olympic Park bars) everything ran smoothly, from the friendliness of the volunteers and ever-present army (no doubt preferring to be in London than elsewhere) to the newly built rail line, taking us from Kings Cross to Stratford in about 6 minutes (not quite Maglev speed, but not bad).

Bron and I had perfect seats in the Olympic Stadium to see Jess Ennis compete in 6 out of 7 events of her Gold medal winning heptathlon performance.  And I just about caught Usain Bolt run his first heat of the 100m after my panicked Olympic sprint from the bar to back to the stadium.

The ensuing mini-tour of the UK was tiring but excellent; great to see so many friends and family in such a short space of time.  And a special thanks to Diane for putting us up in Peterborough for 3 days; the Wills household becoming our temporary Olympic lodgings.

8 days back in the UK just hasn’t been long enough.  Even though I’ve probably managed to get through 4 month’s worth of ale in the space of just over a week (making up for the lack of a decent British pint in Shanghai), it’s felt incredibly rushed. We’ve been looked after by friends and family alike, and (whisky kicking in now) we’ll miss them all.  Heading back to Shanghai with mixed feelings – will be great to be back, but the UK in the height of summer just about beats anywhere on the planet (that I’ve been to anyway).  And from the riots of 12 months ago to this year’s Olympic medal haul, this little island appears to have risen from the despondency and gloom caused by its current beleaguered, misguided government to compete and entertain on a world stage.

Several bottles later…

Publicly ackowledging a dislike for cheese generally produces a look of abject horror and disbelief matched only by the sheer bewilderment shown when I disclose I’m also not particularly fond of wine.  It’s as if my taste buds were somehow poorly educated, or that I must simply be mistaken.  With this in mind, I head to a wine tasting event on Friday evening with more than a little trepidation (it’s not oenophobia by the way; although I am slightly scared of wine snobs).

Not a sight seen very often… With Flo tasting red wine.

Organised by Juliane, my attendance was more of an attempt to be sociable rather than an attempt to become a wine convert.  I lasted roughly ten minutes of hearing tales of wines smelling of plasters (or “Band-aids”), excessive tannins and appellation aberrations before coming clean and revealing my wine ignorance.  It didn’t stop me trying out a few different selections though, with Flo (Nicole’s other half) helping to keep the wine flowing.  Despite still not knowing the first thing about wine, a great bunch of people made for an excellent evening.   The considered expert conclusion from two hours of wine drinking: I really don’t like white wine but the red stuff isn’t too bad.  It’d be far better cold though.

At Nova in the Cool Docks with Kelvin, Heather, JB and Kong

It was back to the Cool Docks on Tuesday night (imagined Shanghai committee discussion: “I wonder what we can call this transformed dock area to make it sound really cool?”) for a meal with JB and Heather, Kelvin and Kong from Brainchild at the Nova restaurant.  Great setting, great company, but French cuisine at its fattiest.

After discovering there are other Westerners working up in Yang Pu, on Wednesday lunchtime we met up with Nicole and Flo along with Lea, a British colleague of Nicole’s.  Walking to a restaurant in work attire in 35 degree heat is not a pleasurable experience.  Walking back to the office stuffed full of far too much food even less so.  A thoroughly enjoyable lunch, although the habit of putting the cooked chicken’s head on the serving dish to prove the full chicken has been served really isn’t required.

A subtle way of displaying loyalty at a Man Utd game

Another of those “one to chalk off” experiences on Wednesday evening – seeing local football side Shanghai Shenhua play Manchester United at the Shanghai Stadium.  Manchester United’s team of castouts, newcomers and fading stars scraped a one-nil victory in a pretty appalling game.  Inevitably most of the local support was not for the local team, with countless Rooney and Scholes shirts on display.  A few strange looks for me and Tim, but we’d never get away with wearing t-shirts emblazoned with LFC crests at a Man Utd game anywhere else.  An interesting use of police at the stadium; in the UK the police spend the entire match watching the crowd.  In Shanghai the police sit motionless in uniform rows of plastic chairs entirely focussed on the game.

We met up with Carmen and her husband Danny on Thursday night in Shintori, one of several Japanese restaurants near to where we live.  Fairly pricy but always tasty, its cavernous, industrial interior provides a perfect counterbalance to the intricate detail of its food servings*.

Bron, Carmen and Danny at People’s 7

Next door to Shintori lies People’s 7, a bar requiring its visitors to know a particular code combination to gain entrance.  Nine arm-sized holes into which guests must place their arm in the correct sequence.  That, or just continually sticking your hand in different holes until something happens, which is what Bronwen and Carmen did.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the elaborate method to open the door seemed to imply the interior would be equally imaginative.  Alas, we were greeted with a fairly standard bar with the staff dispensing cocktails perfunctorily.  With the toilet rolls outside the cubicles, Bronwen and Carmen pointed out that the ladies loos offered a different sort of challenge (although I’m told this happens in some other bars too).

So after a night of Japanese food and cocktails we finished Thursday night with Japanese darts, electronic style.  Apparently a big fan of darts, Danny insisted (although I didn’t take much convincing) on visiting the Japanese bar near our house that specialises in huge interconnected electronic dartboards (allowing people to play against opponents in other locations).  I have a natural British aversion to anything other than “proper” darts, but there’s a lot to be said for having the scores automatically calculated for you.  Especially after a few drinks.

Following Friday’s wine tasting experience, the 12 of us still standing hopped into three taxis and headed to another Japanese restaurant, Fount,  for an outdoor meal.  I have little memory of whether the food was palatable, but great to spend time with Juliane and several others we’re getting to know (Helke, Simone, Nicole and Flo).

3am in a Japanese sports bar… Looking tired entirely justified…

And in an effort to hone my darts skills (since it’s obvious I need more practice), following the wine tasting and Japanese food, we’d arranged to meet up with Carmen and Danny back at the darts bar at 11.30pm.  Carmen’s Dad was also here visiting, and will no doubt think again before taking on a Brit at pool (my pool skills being similar to my darts skills – pretty lousy, but the law of averages says I’ll fluke the odd game).  Over three hours later, we let the staff close the bar and went home.

Bed just after 3am.  Five hours sleep.  Back in a cocktail bar on Saturday night at 7pm.  A less frenetic but equally enjoyable evening with Jo and Bron; a good old fashioned roast (although I’m sure they’d call it modern) at Mr Willis and a quick nightcap in Closless (who seem to have lost chairs – I’m sure they could seat 14 the last time we were there – this time only 10) to end the night.

It’s now Sunday.  I need to rest.

*(sorry, not tying to be pretentious, just trying to paint a picture!).