The language of menus

I pride myself on understanding the language of menus. It’s not hard to learn the lingo if you love to eat, which I do. When you are as greedy as I, every trip and expedition opens up another opportunity to eat. And to be well fed in a foreign country, you study every word on your list of options carefully. Food names become associated with countries.

For me, the most memorable word on a trip to Italy was not buon giorno, arrivederci or even grazie but ceci as in pasta e ceci. I had just set foot into the world of legumes and the soupy pasta dish inspired religious fervour on my part.

Buko pie became the Philippines and Molokhaya Egypt. Daube de boeuf was France while Tafelspitz was Austria.

Despite this very specific cursory knowledge of world languages, however, when it comes to China and Mandarin, my mother tongue, my skills are sadly lacking. I knew I should have tried harder at school. But on trips to China, my communication mostly involves pointing and nodding. Sure I understand well enough. It’s just finding the right words to respond when I need them that is challenging.

I was reminded of this flaw, on a most recent visit to Beijing, travelling with my brother for a Mandarin course at Xing Hua. I had seriously considered joining the program myself (you know, to actually remedy my problem) but decided that there were more immediate gains to be had by finding temporary employment back home.

So while my brother focused on preparing for his lessons, I focused on eating. Teahouses became a favourite haunt. With my family, I wondered into many, the most memorable of which was located in Bei Hai Park. We had stopped for a mid afternoon pick-me-up and it was one of the rare occasions where I’ve thought the ambience made the meal.



Situated by a lake, with the White Dagoba visible in the distance, the eatery served little more than Zha Jiang Mian. We ordered a bowlful to share and sat down. A serving of plain wheat noodles arrived with six little condiment vessels on the side. We tossed in the accompanying dishes of bacon-like pork cubes, fresh soy beans, bean paste, scallions, radish and cucumber as instructed. Steam rose from the bowl as we mixed the hot noodles with sauce to coat. It was so pretty. The steamy noodles, the old-fashioned marble tables, the blue patterned porcelain crockery and the park in the background. Everything.

And we didn’t have to say anything but communicate our desire for the dish.

Someday I hope to speak flawless Mandarin and navigate China like a pro but till then I’ll have to be content fooling myself that the language of food is enough. It is when all else fails (cheesy as this sounds), something we can all understand.

Zha Jiang Mian

1 tbsp oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1-cm piece of ginger, minced
½ tsp chilli paste
250g ground pork
1 tbsp yellow bean paste
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp hoisin sauce
1 tbsp sesame oil
1 tsp sugar
½ cup chicken stock mixed with 1 tsp of cornstarch to form a slurry
180g Beijing noodles, cooked according to the instructions on the packet
Shredded or julienned cucumber, to garnish

Heat oil in a wok or large skillet over high heat. Add garlic, stir-fry 30 seconds, then add ginger and stir-fry another 30 seconds. Add ground pork and cook until lightly browned. Add chilli paste, yellow bean paste, soy sauce, hoisin sauce, sesame oil, sugar and cornstarch slurry and simmer for about 10 minutes. Pour the meat sauce over the noodles. Top with cucumber and serve.