Dogmeat Diaries

As promised, Wang Da Peng called me up and invited me out for a meal of dog meat. Ming Yue met me outside the flat and walked me to the bus stop where we hopped on a crowded #17. Three stops later, we disembarked next to an overpass, in an unpromisingly gritty neighbourhood.

"This way!" Ming Yue grabbed my arm and tottered in some alarming heels across the snice.

"Umm.... Down here! ... I think!" She pointed down a rickety flight of stairs under a sheet of tatty tarpaulin, and I let her lead the way lest we be jumped by a flock of knife-packing children, or a gang of rabid raccoons.

A few steps down, there was a small landing, a set of dirty doors, and beyond, a tiny restaurant, packed to the rafters with punters happily slurping down unidentifiable foods.

There were no tables free, and we were waiting for Da Peng anyway, so we parked ourselves near a group of policemen who looked like they were finished, and eyeballed them until they asked for the bill. I counted fifteen big bottles of beer and two small bottles of 白酒 for the four men. On the other hand, one small glass was still half-full. Wuss.

Da Peng arrived and I deferred to the happy couple on ordering decisions.

"Hand shredded dog meat, one plate; hotpot; and spicy dry tofu strips". He rattled off, barely glancing at the menu.

"Any drinks?"

"Let's start with six Harbin beers".Da Peng replied.

"Six?" I thought to myself, then "Start?" Well, this is going to be interesting.

By six, queues were starting to form. There were only perhaps a dozen small tables in the whole place anyway, but there were at least fifteen people milling about waiting for a table to come free by the time we left.

Back to the food. The dog meat arrived with a saucer heaped with some toxic-looking chilli sauce. It was meatier than I imagined, and looked like duck or turkey. The texture was much like chicken, but tougher, and the flavour relatively bland but not unpleasant. Yue cooed over the lighter-coloured thick strips at one end of the plate.

"That's dog fat" she explained. "The best bit".

Next arrived the hotpot which had chunks of tofu, cabbage, and dogmeat floating in an oily broth. Yue commented that it was too sweet, and it was true - the soup had a definite sugary tang. "It's because it's a 朝鲜 restaurant" Da Peng explained, using the historical shorthand for the entire greater Korean region (In this parlance, North Korea is often called 北朝鲜 while South Korea goes by 韩国). Be that as it may, some concessions had been made for the local market. A sprinkling of parsley topped the layer of chilli oil that coated the whole thing.

While we ate, Da Peng told me a story, apparently plucked straight from the news. Apologies if inaccuracies have crept in, in translation.

"In America, you can't eat dogs. They're only pets over there" he began "but there was a Chinese guy who'd emigrated and liked to eat dog. One day, he claimed that his dog fell in a pot of hot cooking oil, and was fried to death. Well, not wanting to waste the meat, he of course ate it. The police came, and because it's illegal to kill a dog for eating, did an investigation to determine the course of death." Da Peng paused for dramatic effect. "It turns out the dog was killed before it was fried. The police fined the man $10,000. Stupid huh?" I laughed, even though I couldn't tell whose side I was meant to be on. The story had it all - America-bashing, cultural relativity and cruelty to animals.

I'd had a big lunch, so wasn't eating a huge amount. Da Peng misconstrued that as not enjoying the dogmeat, so ordered another dish. This is 粉条 (vermicelli) with 芹菜 (Chinese celery). The vermicelli was made from potatoes, which surprised me somewhat, as I thought it should be made from rice powder. It was more al dente than I'm used to, and is apparently a North Eastern speciality. Not bad.

Late in the meal, Da Peng's colleague and friend 海淘 (Hai Tao) turned up, a young but severe-looking man in bookish glasses. He proceeded to order another six bottles of Hapi, and contemplated getting 白酒 too (because "It goes well with dogmeat"). Thankfully, Da Peng intervened, saying they'd stick to the 白酒 next time.

Bizarrely, perhaps relating to another conversation lost in the restaurant's hubbub, Hai Tao felt it important to tell me repeatedly that "There are no friends at work", going on to explain that business is business, and pleasure is pleasure, and never shall the twain meet.

I looked at Da Peng, who voiced his agreement.

"What about you two? Aren't you colleagues and friends?"

"That's different" Ming Yue reassured me "they're in slightly different departments". I was totally mystified, and will update this post if I ever find out what Hai Tao was trying to get at.