Squalls of God's dandruff fell in thick, trichological flurries, huddling up against walls, then dancing and swirling away again in the lurid orange street lights - deceptively thin clouds of snow-fluff that sucked away at any remaining heat you might have somehow retained, and wriggled past sleeves and collars in a kamikaze raid on what little warmth you could still muster.
I was going to a local restaurant to celebrate the fifteenth and final day of the Spring Festival - 元宵节 or Lantern Festival. I must have misheard Auntie Xiao, or misunderstood, but I thought I was going to her house in the evening for a quick bowl of 汤圆 - glutinous rice dumplings in soup. Confident I wouldn't have very far to go, I'd given my jacket to a local shop to be dry-cleaned. To my surprise, Auntie Xiao called me up at 3pm telling me to come to lunch!So that was why I was trudging through the snow, ridiculous because of, and shivering despite, three jumpers, two t-shirts and a thermal undershirt, with Auntie Xiao and a brace of crazy Russians. Through chattering teeth, I muttered that it was so cold that even my gums were hurting. The comment raised a shivery laugh, but I wasn't joking. With windchill it was -20C.
We arrived, vaulting over snow banks, and sliding on the snice, and went up to a private room. Uncle Zhang was there with his sub-normal intelligence dog Dou Dou, and six or seven members of his extended family. Uncle Zhang called up a waitress with a snap of his fingers and ordered a crate of beers which the Russians and Chinese men ripped through like wet, economy-grade, Chinese toilet paper.
The food came. Broccoli with black-ear mushrooms; crispy battered pork with even crispier green peppers; tofu cubes and fatty pork; tripe in a spicy broth; and a mound of melt-in-the-mouth spare-ribs in a peppery chilli sauce. We toasted each other's health as we ate, the Russians cajoling everyone into drinking with cries of "Won't you give me 面子 (face)?"At some point, someone flicked on a battered karaoke machine in the corner, and Brother Zhang grabbed a microphone to give startlingly accurate renditions of the Righteous Brother's Unchained Melody, then Yesterday Once More by the Carpenters. He nailed every note and every word, despite speaking precious little English, and I marvelled at the power of music's effect on memory. I had a go at the popular standard 朋友 (Friend), then sang my heart out to Elvis' Suspicious Minds, before being welcomed back to the table with a smattering of applause.
Throughout the meal, friends, family and well-wishers turned up for a quick toast and a bite to eat, before leaving again - off to their next dinner and round of drinks. If ever I become localised enough to enjoy the same ritual, I know I'd be tempted to turn up late, stone-cold sober, and toast everyone under the table.
As the evening wore on, Uncle Zhang repeatedly professed his love for one and all, and launched into a series of slurred speeches on family, China, and prosperity. Hand on his heart he addressed me.
"Even though your family left China a long time ago, we are all of the Dragon [the symbolic representation of China]. We are family, you and I, and I'm happy to have met you." He continued on in an incomprehensible mumble, and I nodded and smiled as I raised my glass to his.
We had been eating for hours when Uncle Zhang began a new round of speeches. Auntie Xiao scowled and jabbed at Uncle Zhang in the chest with some chopsticks, annoyed at his verbosity, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if she was joking. The second time, she pushed so hard that the chopsticks snapped. Dou Dou sniffed at the splinters of wood which had fallen to the floor, expectantly, then returned to the table.
Past his tipping point, Uncle Zhang scooped his dog up, and stormed out. Everyone looked at each other, or down at their plates, embarassed for a few minutes, then got back to eating. Family and face are two megaliths towering over Chinese life, but all is over-shadowed by good food.
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