Several dwarfs come up to pour tea and alcoholic beverages and to set the table with plates and chopsticks. They whirl around the table as if they were on wheels. The tea is Oolong, the liquor Maotai, no local flavor, but easily state-banquet quality. First to be served are twelve cold delicacies arranged in the shape of a lotus flower: donkey stomach, donkey liver, donkey heart, donkey intestines, donkey lungs, donkey tongue, and donkey lips . . . all donkey stuff. Friends, sample these delicacies sparingly and leave room for what follows, for experience tells me that the best is yet to come. Take note, friends, here come the hot dishes. You, the lady over there, be careful, don't burn yourself! A dwarf all in red -- painted red lips and roughed cheeks, red shoes and a red cap, red from head to toe, like a red candle -- rolls up to the table carrying a steaming platter of food. She opens her mouth, and out spills a flurry of words, falling like pearls: 'Braised donkey ear. Enjoy!'
'Steamed donkey brains, for your dining pleasure!'
'Pearled donkey eyes, for your dining pleasure!'
The donkey eyes, in beautifully contrasting black and white, lay pooled on a large platter. Go ahead, friends, dig in. Don't be afraid. They might appear to be alive, but they are, after all, just food. But, hold on, there are only two eyes but ten of us. How do we divide them up fairly. Will you help us out here, miss? The red candle girl smiles and picks up a steel fork. Two gentle pokes, and the black pearls pop, filling the platter with a gelatinous liquid. Use your spoons, comrades, scoop it up, one spoonful at a time. It may not be a pretty dish, but it tastes wonderful. I know there's another dish for which Yichi Tavern is famous. It's called Black Dragon Sporting with Pearls, The main ingredients are a donkey dick and a pair of donkey eyes. Today, however, the chef has used the eyes to make Pearled Donkey Eyes, so it looks like there'll be no sporting by the donkey dick this time. Who knows, maybe we're eating a female donkey.
Don't be shy, brothers and sisters. Loosen you belts, let you bellies hang out, eat till you burst. There'll be no toasting, since we're all family. Just drink to your hearts' content. And don't worry about the bill. Today you can bleed me.
'Donkey ribs in wine, for you dining pleasure.'
'Donkey tongue in brine, for your dining pleasure.'
'Braised donkey tendons, for your dining pleasure.'
'Pear and lotus root donkey throat, for your dining pleasure.'
'Steamed and fried donkey intestines, for your dining pleasure.'
'Stewed donkey hooves with sea cucumbers, for your dining pleasure.'
'Five-spice donkey liver, for your dining pleasure.'
. . . and so on . . .
A medley of donkey dishes flows onto our table, filling stomachs that are now stretched taut as drums, and drawing rumbling belches out of the diners. Or faces are covered with a film of donkey grease, through which weariness shows, like donkeys worn out from turning a millstone, Comrades, you must be exhausted by now. I stop an attendand and ask, 'How many more dishes are there?'
'Twenty or so, I guess,' she replies. 'I'm not exactly sure. I just bring out what they give me.'
I point to the friends around the table. 'They're nearly full. Can't we skip some of the dishes?
With a show of reluctance, she says, 'You ordered a whole donkey, and you've barely made a dent in it.'
'But we're stuffed,' I plead. 'Dear young lady, won't you please ask the kitchen to just bring out the best and forget the rest.'
The lady says, 'You disappoint me, but, OK, I'll talk to them.'
She is successful. Out comes the final dish.
'Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together, for your dining pleasure. Enjoy!'
She wants us to enjoy the sight of the dish before beginning our dining pleasure.
One of our group, a sourpuss of a woman -- and not very smart, either -- asks the attendant, 'Which part of the donkey is this made of?'
Without hesitation, she answers, 'It's the donkey's sex organs.'
The woman blushes, but, unable to control her curiosity, asks, 'We only ordered one donkey, so how could there be . . .' She puckers up her lips to point at the 'dragon' and 'phoenix' on the plate.
'The chef felt terrible that you missed over a dozen dishes,' the waitress replies, 'so he added a set of female donkey's genitalia to create this dish.'
Please dig in, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends, don't be shy. These are the donkeys' jewels, as delicious as they are ugly. If you don't eat, it's your loss. If you do, it's still your loss, sooner or later, if you know what I mean. Come on, dig in , give it a try eat eat eat Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together.
(from The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan, Penguin Books, 2001)
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