My Favorite Food is Fungus

When I packed up my things in preparation for the move from parent’s home to apartment, I made sure to box up a few staples from our downstairs food storage treasure trove to take over to the new place: a few cans of green beans, a couple sleeves of spaghetti and accompanying spaghetti sauces, chicken-flavored ramen (which I planned to eat with chopsticks so I could fit in with the guys), and a gargantuan bulk box of granola bars. Of course, Mom was my key accomplice in the heist: “Have some of these too,” she said, thrusting a collection of canned Alaskan salmon into my sagging cardboard carryall.

It was enough to get me through at least a week or two before I’d have to shop on my own. I was ready. Spaghetti was no sweat, ramen, even less, and with the canned veggies to balance the diet, I was all set. Making my first solo-meal at the new place was exciting. With water set to boil, I tore open the spaghetti and readied our wok to use as a saucepan. Grabbing a can of spaghetti sauce, I opened a drawer and reached for a can opener.

I didn’t see one.  I checked another drawer. No dice. I scoured the kitchen—“there’s no way," I thought. "It must be here."  I called out to the ren: "YUAN!!! SHUAI!! YOU GUYS GOT A CAN OPENER?”

They didn’t. They just didn’t. I knew these guys could cook; in fact, I knew they could cook well. I had previously enjoyed some drop-dead delicious dishes at their place so I think my incredulity is justified. Still in disbelief, I then tried using a knife to access the sauce, which failed miserably. I gave up and used the situation as an excuse to meet one of our neighbors. (Nice to meet you Tina! Thanks again!)

It is not uncommon for a Chinese home to be without a can opener. Ask some of your Chinese friends about it and they might not even know what contraption you’re talking about. Fresh food is a big deal, and the benefits certainly show not only with the great taste of the food that comes out of the middle kingdom, but the health benefits the food provides as well. People that have been to China (or people that have been to the Noble Engineering library at ASU, for that matter) tell me. How many morbidly obese—heck, lets just say obese—Chinese people have you seen?

With all this in mind, I went with our neighbor and experienced shopper-chef Amy a couple weeks ago to the Asian supermarket at Mekong plaza in west Mesa. My goal was to shop for a week’s worth of Chinese-style meals that were equal parts tasty, healthy, and easy to make—all on a college student budget. We snatched up bok choy, mushrooms, green peppers, tomatoes, potatoes, broccoli, tofu, eggs, some frozen veggies, and a pound of pork (gotta have that pork). I spent just over twelve bucks.

A couple of days later, I went over to Amy’s house to make sense of my exotic and inexpensive combination of greens. “Teach me how to make a simple dish,” I said. “Whatever is fine—just make my hands do every step of the cooking process." She graciously obliged, instructing me to clean the veggies and potatoes, measure the appropriate amount of water for the rice cooker (“up to here” she gestured, pointing to her index finger), and prepare the meat with soy sauce, tapioca flour, and cooking wine (awww yeah!). I chopped, I diced, I sautéed, I stir-fried, stopping occasionally to add some salt or water to the wok and, much to my surprise, the concoction smelled increasingly delightful as I went along.

The results were delectable. Pork with potato and black fungus (There has GOT to be a more appealing name for fungus. In Chinese we say mùér 木耳 which literally means “tree ear” and figuratively means “highly delicious” Help me out, culinary translators). The whole experience, including preparation, cooking, eating, and clean-up took about and hour and a half. Done.

Amy and I have gotten together a few more times since that occasion for continued cooking classes. The results have been even tastier. I’ve even made some of the same dishes on my own (without help even from Handsome Shuai or the Boss) and managed to whip up something filling and great-tasting. My twelve bucks has since turned into more than 10 meals and I haven’t had to twist a can opener to churn out a single one.

It’s nothing I’m doing. Thank Amy—thank Boss Yuan and Mr. Handsome. Thank China and their mouthwatering, ain’t-gonna-break-the-bank dishes. Fear not, America, I’ll still make plenty of room for hot dogs and apple pie, but meanwhile, I’ll be content with a face full of rice, and a wok full of black fungus. Chi fan le! 囧 

Accidental F-words and Alzheimer's Prevention

Sometimes I wonder whether learning Chinese is shortening my lifespan. They say being bilingual is good for your brain, and being trilingual is even better. Apparently, all that thinking in strange words is the perfect way to scare off Alzheimers. Though I’m in the latter category—having learned Spanish, and now being in the process of learning Chinese, I’m not so convinced.

I’ve had many opportunities here in my hometown and half a world away in China in which I’ve spent an entire evening chatting and having fun with Chinese friends. We’ve gone out to eat, played mahjong, sang karaoke, played basketball, the whole shebang. Each time I have been able to use the Chinese I have already learned as well as pick up a few new phrases. While it can be fun to speak in funny syllables and all  a lot of the time understanding and being understood just doesn’t happen. You’ll be at a table with six guys from Wuhan as they jump from discussions about role-playing video games (a conversation I wouldn’t likely understand even in English) to talking about ancient Chinese customs for addressing elders. All the while I sit, American as ever, trying to hang on every syllable, picking up about 60 percent and tripping on the other 40.

I have half a mind to chime in: “Um… could we please talk about libraries or sports or Chinese New Year or why Gao Wenzhong in lesson 15 was visiting the doctor and what his symptoms were?”

As the conversation ebbs and flows I’ll poke in here and there with comments or questions. Sometimes I'll hit a zinger and the crowd will laugh approvingly. Sometimes I'll totally biff it, and the crowd will laugh mockingly. I'll often ask for clarification on the meaning of a word or phrase, but since this practice has the tendency to totally derail the rhythm of conversation, I try to limit the "what does that mean?" inquiries.

Even when I win, I lose. Earlier this week when I sat eating Hot Pot at a restaurant at Mekong with Shuai, Yuan, and some other friends, I thought I was hot stuff speaking Chinese—getting a compliment from the waiter and glances from the Chinese girls at the next table. As they giggled, my ego inflated, my vocal volume increased, and, naturally, I managed to accidentally swear several times in a confident, zealous tone. So that explains the glances…

The bill settled, we got up and ran into some friends of my roommates seated at an adjacent restaurant. There were more giggles, a few compliments, and me having to ask one of the friends five times how to pronounce his name in Chinese and still not being able to voice it nor being able to remember it. “Nice to meet you… uh... man.”

The setup: touch screen pad for selecting your song,
a TV to supply the lyrics, and a shame-free roommate

囧

The latter half of our evening was as Asian as it gets—a few hours at the newly opened August Karaoke Box in tempe. For three hours we sang our guts out in front of a TV screen displaying lyrics from our favorite songs. It was rather inspiring to see four college guys without a drop of alcohol in them shamelessly use every ounce of diaphragm they had to literally belt along to their favorite tunes. I sang some of the Chinese songs I knew and “delighted” my overseas pengyous with a few of my favorite English language tunes. But apart from those glorious moments confidently crooning Sonny and Cher, it was hours of half-singing along as I half-followed the crazy moon characters swathed across the screen. As we departed August Box, I felt consumed by an inexplicable mix of euphoria and utter confusion. 

Fellow second language learners, I’m sure you can relate. Maybe.

It was an interesting evening in many ways. For one, sober Chinese youngins with no apparent care for singing very off key in front of their bros. Second, spending hours where I understood maybe a maybe half of the utterances from my friends and from the karaoke TV speakers. And third, somehow enjoying it all. I enjoyed it! Immensely!

me trying to fit in 

And how couldn’t I? I tried so hard to sing one particular tune that my voice turned puberty-plastic and cracked when I even thought about singing a high note—and my friends applauded and cheered at the song’s end. They were patient (well, entertained really) with my bad pronunciations and my accidental Chinese f-words. They were willing to sing along with the English they weren’t so familiar with. It was kind of beautiful.

As for the ability of Chinese to stave off brain failure, I suppose the jury is still out. But even if these euphorically confusing nights out with the zhongguo ren cut a few years off my stay here on earth, I'll take it. Seeing The Boss's face when he screams out Jay Chou is compensation enough. 囧

The Boss does not mess around at the August Box

two and a half ren

welcome to two and a half ren.

this is a blog about international relations. it's the story of three guys who live together. these guys come from two different countries. They study different subjects. They look different. They smell different. But they get along.

 ren 人 is a Chinese word which means "person" or "human being." The deeper I get into my pursuit of the Chinese language, the more I feel like half a person--split between two worlds and two cultures. Sometimes I feel like just half good in a Chinese world and half good in an English one. 
Most of the time, being "half" means being half-full. My dream is to fill my empty half. Living with two of China's best is one step in that direction.

however, I don't think it's that simple. I don't think I'm the only half ren. I think that at any given point, each of us three could play the half role. My roommates are thousands of miles away from home, trying to fill their empty halves with increased knowledge of English and of their study path.

Consider this quote from a Chinese guy you've probably heard of: Confucius.

三人行，必有我師焉：擇其善者而從之，其不善者而改之。

When I walk along with two others, they may serve me as my teachers. I will select their good qualities and follow them, their bad qualities and avoid them.

That's us. We are each walking along, sometimes teachers, sometimes learners. Often we're both at the same time. This blog is for the half rens of the world. It's for people that want to learn Chinese as a language or just want to learn what a couple Chinese foreign exchangers and their absent-minded American roommate like to do for fun.

Get to know us:

Wang Shuai, better known as "Handsome Shuai"

Liu Yuan, a.k.a. "The Boss"

me, Jonny D., who humbly submits to the moniker  "DQ," 

the fourth ren, Wan Keyu, "Ms. Wan" our kindly neighbor, 

resident photographer, and fountain of wisdom.

thanks for reading.

check back in tomorrow for the first tale of our adventures

(and every two weeks after that for more)/

you'll laugh, you'll learn, and you'll feel occasionally underwhelmed.

and you'll get to know a lot more than just 

two and a half ren.