The mission given to me was simple: find modestly priced food on the streets of Shanghai and bring it back to the hotel room in a reasonable amount of time. I was given no limits on type, nor quantity of ration. Finally tucked safely in bed after a miserable day of nasal leakage and wheezing, Sami was in no condition to join me on this venture and set zero parameters to her initial objective. At the time of my departure, I was uncertain if she would be partaking in found goodies at all.
I shuffled across the outdated floor of the narrow hallway and pushed the elevator button down. The door opened and revealed now familiar framed posters advertising menu items from the hotel restaurant. There was shark fin in a pink looking broth and the famous mandarin fish shaped like a squirrel. I didn't think it looked like a squirrel so I stared at it like one of those eye-trick 3-D posters. Out of the corner of my eye I admired the way my Chinese riding companions politely ignored the white lunatic with his nose pressed against a picture of fried fish.
Feeling adventurous, I quickly dismissed the idea of ordering from in house and walked through the double doors. Outside, I was greeted by the sharp scent of stinky tofu and a seated elderly woman hawking an unidentifiable seasonal fruit. She extended one white piece impaled on a toothpick upward. I took it, ate it, and made a face like I had just eaten a lemon's asshole. It actually tasted quite pleasant, but I didn't want to buy it and felt like this was easier than trying to express myself with words. She got the point and turned her head unamused.
As I walked through the alley toward the East Nianxing Rd., I took mental notes of the nearby restaurants and street vendors. Some of the people can get quite aggressive and earlier in the week I let myself get talked into a serving of dumplings which were good, but dry knockoffs of the Shanghai staple I would learn to love. I noticed piles of bright red crawdads, mystery meat skewers and dim sum galore amongst the skinky tofu.
The alleyway outside of our hotel.
When I got to the main road I had a decision to make. A few hundred feet down to the left, conveniently located at the top stairs of a subway exit lay a steamed bun vendor. We each had one of these buns for breakfast our first morning in the city. They tasted like Thanksgiving dinner- seasoned meat and collard greens inside a sticky white wonderbread roll. Somewhere off to the right was a popular Japanese ramen chain restaurant we had heard great things about. I veered toward the right, mainly because I was fairly certain that the small street vendor would be closed.
I found Ajisen Ramen and somehow managed not only to order a tasty looking dry ramen (thought it would be easier to carry than soup) but also express my preference for take-out. I sat, waited for my order, and stared at the Sumo wrestler illustrations on the wall. The customers inside were much less discreet than the elevator riders, and helped themselves to generous glances of foreigner between noodle slurps.
Ajisen Ramen
On my way back I stopped by good ole' McDonald's. This was my safe bet. I knew that if everything else failed, I could fall back on this. I ordered two cheeseburgers and two pieces of fried chicken- a wing and a leg. Laugh all you want about my lack of creativity, but I have eaten so little fast food in the past year that I was actually giddy with anticipation thinking about the greasy gut bomb.
On the way back I used the point and grunt method of ordering some of those bright red crawdads. The man working the wok put a passle of crustaceans in a circular wire net attached to a wooden handle. He then dropped the crawdads in hot oil for a few minutes and then wrapped the greasy gift in (much to my dismay) a plastic bag. By the way, what does it say about me that I despise the use of plastic bags, but would happily chow down on shark fin soup? What kind of environmentalist am I?
A quick stop at the convenience store for a 20 ounce Tsingtao and I was ready to dig in. The crawfish came with plastic gloves (again, not environmentally friendly, but so sanitary!) which I slid on while Sami picked at the McDonald's chicken. I analyzed one, separated the head from the tail and slurped up all of the briny green brain I could. Heaven. The combination of seafood, spicy oil and cold beer had my head spinning in a pleasure orgy of flavor. I sloppily sucked brains and chewed chewy tail with delight. Sweat and hot grease clung to my glistening vacation whiskers creating a phenomenon I later dubbed "flavor face".This was easily the highlight of my trip.
The greasy crawdad, the plastic glove, the glistening smile, this must be love.
Of course, as with all food junkies, I am always looking for the next big hit. Moments after I finished the last crawdad I headed back down the elevator. In my drunkenness I swore the mandarin fish was a little more squirrel-like. Outside I hoped to run into the fruit lady, but she was gone, no doubt humiliated by my insensitive psyche out. I bought another beer at the store and cut my hand trying to open it. With blood dripping between my fingers I walked toward East Nianxing Rd. and took a right.
My mission was simple: Obtain a Shanghainese cruller and soft serve ice cream cone from KFC and consume it before Sami sees me and calls me fat.
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