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September 16th: Warehouse Food, From a Field

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Sugarcane

Tasty sugarcane near the warehouse

“Do you know what this plant is?” asks Anny, our local Finance Director.  I didn’t.  Anny speaks to one of the warehouse blokes accompanying us; he disappears and returns with a cleaver.  Plant is chopped.  Plant is stripped with teeth.  Plant is eaten.
I’ve never eaten raw sugar cane before, so didn’t know to expect a large residual amount of plant matter to remain in my mouth despite frantically chewing it for ages.  Eventually Anny tells me you’re not supposed to swallow it.

The sugar cane picking (/slicing?) was in a field at the back of the Argos warehouse, a 90 minute drive from the office.  The field is bordered by a row of old-looking houses, one of which we visited for lunch.  There’s apparently a specific Chinese word for this type of establishment (which I’ve already forgotten) that allows travellers (or warehouse staff) to eat, sleep and play card games/Mahjong but it’s neither a hotel nor a restaurant.   Cooked from scratch by the friendly chef/owner, our food on Friday lunchtime was far tastier than that served in many “proper” restaurants here in Shanghai.  And far cheaper.  I’d go so far as to say “Probably the best food in a field near a warehouse I’ve ever had in my life”.

Friday evening’s promised meal of “street food” was tasty enough, but didn’t quite live up to its billing.  As Haydn observed, the restaurant was on a street, but that’s about it.  I think we’re obviously missing something here, but to order, the customers seemed to have to leave the building, walk down the street a little, point to some food through a window (being barbecued) then go back into the restaurant.  An entertaining evening with Haydn, Bronwen, Alex and a few of the marketing team; we learned several new Chinese swear words that won’t be appearing on the blog anytime soon.

Pedal Power

Pedal Power

Out to a big park on Saturday daytime with Rachel and her friend.  Shanghai has several of these parks tucked away in its nether regions, all offering something slightly different.  This one featured very sinister looking Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse copies, and a pedal powered mini-roller coaster type thing.  I’m told these sorts of rides are available in the UK, but it was new to me.   We also had a ride on the world’s shortest scary roller coaster.  Scary because Chinese roller coasters aimed at kids aren’t sized for Western men (yes, my fault, I know).  The barrier that holds you in holds you in.  Very snugly.  Very, very snugly.
We needed the excitement after zooming around the park’s lake in our turbo-powered speedboat.  Zooming at 7kmph max speed.

All week, barriers, hoardings and mini-grandstands have been appearing on one of the main roads near our house.  All the signage has been in Chinese with no mention of the event in any of the usual ex-pat magazines, other than to say the road was going to be closed on Saturday night.  So, early Saturday evening, I dragged Bronwen, John and Alex down to see what was going on.  The friendly policeman understood my flaky Mandarin question of “What is this festival?” but inevitably the response was a stream of Mandarin I couldn’t understand.  Ever helpful, he phoned a friend, chatted for 5 minutes and then, beaming with pride and in beautifully spoken English, said “It is China festival!”

China Festival

Alex, John and Bron watching the floats go by

So on Saturday night, we saw several floats go by, a few dancers dancing, crowds of people watching and all we really know is that it was a festival in China.

September 11th: Clare Balding

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I don’t believe in fate.  If your life has already been  mapped out, then each decision you think you’re making has already been preordained,  leaving you with absolutely no control over your life.  There is no “decide”, “choose” or “select” (at least not by you).  You’re a character in a computer game with a spotty 14-year old choosing whether you follow the white rabbit or go to work in Shanghai for 3 years.

But then I read the wise words of Clare Balding: “Fate is what happens to you; destiny is what you do with it.”.  Darth would have been proud.

So, Clare, fate deals you the hand?  Destiny is deciding whether or not to play it?

The finality of “destiny” still implies a single course; I don’t have one of those either.  No fate; no destiny.  Just me and Bronwen, floating through China.

Apologies if this philosophical rambling is expected to go anywhere.

Sunday was supposed to be an alcohol-free day.  But if fate led to a mid-afternoon game of pool going on in Masse (1 minute away) and fate introduced a “buy one get one free” deal on the beer,  it was surely my destiny to partake?  And if our meal out on Sunday evening was in a restaurant where the only draught beer on offer was fated to be Guinness, what am I supposed to do?  (And Alfie’s is a strange old restaurant – a bit like finding a kitchen and some leather sofas in the middle of Moss Bros or Suits You.  I’m convinced the suits for sale at the back of the restaurant must by now have acquired the delightful aromas of food and smoke.).

The intent for Monday evening was a few quiet drinks with people from work, but fate offered the opportunity of meeting Rachel, Andrea and Craig too.  So our destiny was to have all 13 of us meet up in an Indian restaurant  on a (usually quiet) Monday night, scaring the staff into insisting we collate our orders into one handy list (“3 chicken tikka massalas, 2 lamb biryanis, etc, etc”) before the bemused waiter could enter the order into Lotus Land’s antiquated computer-based ordering system (think of a 1990’s mobile phone connected to a 1990’s PC).

I think I’ve laboured this for long enough.  Like I said: I don’t believe in fate.

I’m too much of a control freak.

Karma though – that’s another story.

September 9th: Gothic Karaoke Swimming Pools

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Meal at Haven

Bron, Rachel and Grace at Haven

“Shanghai’s first gothic restaurant” (and only, I think), claims Haven’s website, “and we will close our doors forever after 666 events”.  Gothic in architecture, not in music (with creepy jazz rather than creepy Cure being played in the background), Haven offers its patrons a unique, vampire-esque experience in a city of copycat, overcrowded eateries.  Our table was in the middle of the huge dining hall, with high-backed chairs and only candles for lighting to continue the theme.   Sadly, the food during our meal with Grace and Rachel on Wednesday night wasn’t spectacular; I guess we were paying for the setting rather than the cooking.

Vampire Karaoke

The bar at the end of the Haven swimming pool

So what do vampires like to do once they’ve finished eating?  In Haven, they obviously climb the grand, sweeping staircase and enter the mysteriously lit door at the top of the stairs.  Behind the door lies a small swimming pool, complete with TV display in the ceiling for bathers to sing karaoke.   Vampire Karaoke.  Again, only in China.

 

Duck Blood

Duck blood

An impromptu Hot Pot meal on Friday night with Andrew and Richard saw yet another new addition to my list of “Foods to try once only”: duck blood.  Congealed and served like meat loaf.  Possibly a delicacy, but probably never again for me.

 

Shanghai is split on two sides by the Huangpu River, with Puxi – where we live – to the east, and Pudong to the west.  We rarely venture over the other side of the river, since to us it largely seems to be made up of huge ex-pat compounds, multi-lane highways and more importantly: a lack of taxis.  Early Saturday evening, we met up with the work gang at an Internations barbecue at a bar called “Face” over in the dark side of Pudong.   A well-attended event, with free drinks all evening long once we’d paid the initial £15 entry fee.  Followed by a taxi back to the normal world for a few more drinks and games of pool.
Only four of us left at the end of the night; a new temporary addition to the late-night gang; Alex, our HR representative in the UK, over here for a month to help out.  So 9 hours after meeting up, we called it a night.

* Hot pot: A communal pot of hot soup into which you put raw ingredients.  Usually thinly sliced pork, beef, etc.  But sometimes duck blood.

September 5th: Knives and Bikes

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The Handle Bar

Carmen, Bron, JB & Heather at the Handle Bar

In true Ronseal style, it turns out the “bicycle themed bar” we’d read about had been accurately described.  Bicycles on the walls, bicycle seats alongside the bar; The Handle Bar didn’t let us down on Monday night.  A great selection of beers too, and ideally positioned just down the street from Sailors, our favourite fish and chip restaurant (Australian owned, but definitely British in feel).  Since Carmen and Heather from Brainchild had treated us to a wonderful seafood restaurant whilst in Hong Kong a couple of months’ ago, we thought it only fair to return the favour.  Can’t beat a bit of cod in batter.

A knifeIt’s “Restaurant Week” here in Shanghai; not entirely sure what that means, but a lot of restaurants are taking part.  I think it’s to do with “tasting” menus, or getting a meal in a posh restaurant at a cheap(er) prices.  Regardless, Tuesday night with Heather and the Bradfords, gave me a first in a restaurant: “Would you like to select a knife for your steak, sir?”.  Sure enough, a selection of knives was presented.  Naturally I (and Tim) went for the biggest (although I don’t the photo really does it justice)*.  I’m not sure if the steak was any better as a result of chopping through the meat with a huge blade, but Jimmy’s Kitchen gave us the best service we’ve had in a restaurant in Shanghai so far (“No sir, please don’t pour your beer, that’s my job”).

Complaint corner then: Shanghai is a city of over 20 million people, and so tends to be very crowded.  When it’s raining, you do not need an umbrella that is wide enough to cover the two people on either side of you.  Unless, of course, you are offering to shelter those next to you from the rain, which would be extraordinarily altruistic of you.  Somehow, I don’t believe that’s the case.  PUT IT AWAY, GOLF BOY.

*Must.not.say “that’s not a knoife, THAT’s a knoife”.
Dammit.

September 2nd: Healed by Curry

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A day of rest for Bronwen on Wednesday as advised by the Doctor followed by a medicinal curry in the evening and she was back at work on Thursday.  The magical healing power of Indian food.  And a shedload of antibiotic cream.

The lump on the head has pretty much subsided but the huge bruise on the knee more than makes up for it.

As to why nobody showed any concern as Bronwen lay face down on the pavement, our Chinese friends and colleagues have re-emphasised the cultural differences and compensation culture that led to last year’s news story about the toddler being ignored having been run over twice by a van.  Not that they’re saying they think this is acceptable; their point being most people are so worried about being held responsible or made to pay medical bills that they daren’t intervene.  That and the language barrier that prevents a simple “Are you OK?”.  China’s a tough old place sometimes.  Ironic to think some people in the UK don’t value the NHS.

Closless

Tequila cocktail.  That’ll just be tequila then.

Normality resumes at the weekend; Friday night back at De Refter saw a free round of beers from the landlord (and a replacement meal) after playing spot the Mozzarella on Andrea’s “Mozzarella Salad”*.  I think each time we’ve been there, a small problem or other has been rectified graciously by Nick the landlord (technically, he’s the manager, and it’s a bar, not a pub; but “landlord” makes it sound more, well, pub-like).  Nick tells me the recent acquisition of a huge fridge in said establishment may result in extra capacity to stock a few “off-menu” beers (subject to his supplier’s range of stock) if I would agree to visit regularly enough.  I told him if he’s looking for a reference for this type of arrangement, The Bull in Olney would be happy to oblige.

After a bit of a late one in Closless (“What base would you like for your cocktail sir?”.  “Tequila”.  A shot of tequila is poured.  “That’s not a cocktail!”.  “OK sir, I’ll give you a double for the same price”.  More tequila is poured.), we just about made it to lunch on Saturday with Tim, Sarah and JB.   The plan being to go to a random park or visit a local cultural sight.  The reality being a gentle, relaxed walk through the northern Jing’An area, stopping off at a few bars (well, three in total).  Back home at around 7.30pm, we jumped at the chance of a quiet-night in.

A late Sunday brunch over at Masse (of “We can see our house from here” fame) with Isaac and a few of his co-workers; a rare opportunity to get a reasonable bit of bacon with (late) breakfast.

The Big Bamboo beckons this evening for Liverpool v Arsenal.  Hopefully we can end the weekend on a high.

Crisps on a stick

Why can’t we get crisps-on-a-stick in the UK?

The picture, by the way, is of a Qingdao street-food delicacy; crisps on a stick.

* This, I think, is referred to by readers of The Guardian as a “1st World Problem”.

August 28th: Laowai

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And so tonight we experience some of the worst aspects of China.  And maybe one of the best.

Bronwen falls head first (literally) after tripping over a cable left outside a busy Metro (underground) station, landing on her forehead (feet caught under the cable).  Lying on the floor with me trying to sit her up, nobody, and I mean nobody, offers to help.  Or even looks concerned.  The security men stay fixed to their stools.  The commuters pass by with small glances at the commotion.  Some of the construction workers look on expressionless.  Some of them… laugh.

Bronwen sits up and has somehow managed to avoid knocking herself out.  I realise Bronwen is not as seriously injured as I feared and start looking for the guy in charge.  A construction worker with fetid alcohol breath takes charge and begins shouting at me in Chinese.  I start gesticulating at the cable being stepped over by the passers-by and they hastily withdraw it.  Bronwen, now on her feet, demands to speak to the laoban (boss).  The construction workers laugh a little more.   Bronwen is bleeding from the cut on her upper lip and the huge graze on her knee.  A lump is forming on her forehead.

I call our friend Rachel (who is not a native Mandarin speaker but is near-fluent) to see if she can speak to the man who appears to be in charge, but he refuses to take the phone.  Another guy speaks to her, but offers no help.  Rachel works nearby, and offers to come and meet us with her Chinese co-worker and we gratefully accept.

Meanwhile, I call the number listed on the back of our health insurance card.  A recorded message informs me the number is not in use.  I call twice more, checking the number carefully, with the same result.  The construction workers gather in number.  Alcohol-breath guy begins shouting at us again.  The cable appears once more with bunting wrapped around it.

Tim texts me the number for International SOS, our travel insurance company, and they quickly get a doctor to speak to Bronwen on the phone.   Bronwen’s lump on the head continues to grow.  The doctor on the phone recommends a local hospital with English spoken; we agree to go.

Rachel and her co-worker Ashley arrive.  Ashley takes control and identifies a different construction guy in charge and translates for us.  The construction workers want to know why we just don’t go to the nearby hospital and just disappear.  She explains that because we’re foreigners, that isn’t going to work out for us.  She gets the guy to agree to take us to our preferred hospital and to pay for any treatment.  Now worried that we haven’t just quietly slipped away into the night, they seem to just want the problem to go away.

They organise a driver and head off to the hospital with Bronwen, Rachel and Ashley; I follow-on in a taxi.  At the hospital, the construction company guy waits nervously as he realises Ashley won’t let us do the normal British thing and attempt to shrug it all off.  After an hour or so, Bronwen is discharged with mild concussion (huge lump on the head), a number of bruises and a big limp.  The construction company guy pays the bill contritely and bids his farewell.

Rachel – you are a true friend.  Thankyou again for helping us out.

Ashley – thank you for taking time away from your family to travel with Bronwen to the hospital, negotiating with the construction company and explaining the problem to the hospital staff.   So much appreciated.