Calling Duck # 271711

Calling Duck No. 271711, Duck No. 271711, please report to the kitchen immediately.  This old Chinese man with some bald-headed foreign guy have an appointment with you.  Thank you.  So begins our saga.

Street Calligraphy in Water

After achieving some partial success with the Beijing bus system, we decided to treat ourselves to the dish that made Beijing famous, Peking duck.  Just a minute, you say.  Why is it called Peking duck and not Beijing duck.  I say, good question.   Let me explain.  According to my source, Peking means "northern peace" which the city was called after the emperor moved the capital here from Nanjing.  It was called northern capital because after many many years of warring with the Mongol hoards to the north, peace descended on China after the capital was moved.  It stayed Peking for 500 years until the communists took power in 1949.  In the 1950's, Chairman Mao started calling the city Beijing, which means "northern capital" so the name of the city changed, but not the dish.  That said, I have to admit that I've seen the dish called Beijing duck on a couple of menus in English.  I somehow think that this is not the last of that issue, but I digress.

Hmmm, I know duck # 271711 is in here somewhere

As previously stated, we were going to treat ourselves based solely on the fact that we had had some public transit system success.  The next thing we needed to decide on was where to have this famous dish.  We opted for Quanjude, a Peking duck restaurant since the mid-1800's, and very much made famous because the Chairman used to come here regularly.  With the destination fixed, we headed out of the hotel with a certain degree of purpose, and though it was near to where we had regularly walked, this time we took a different route.  We walked down Wanfungjing Street, and just outside a brand new hotel that seems to have just discovered neon lights, we found two men with buckets of water and large calligraphy brushes doing calligraphy on the sidewalk in water.  It was absolutely fascinating watching each of the artists wielding their brushed.  There was something otherworldly about the art they were creating because once the water dried on the sidewalk, the art was gone.  Knowing that a duck had our name on it made lingering impossible, so we continued on with our journey.

The Playing Field is Set

The restaurant was a five-floor affair, and we were sent to the 4th floor with the rest of the tourists, but you heard no complaints from us.  Once we were seated, the action started.  Not much action really, except they carve the duck right in front of you.  What I want to know is what they do with the rest of the carcass and skin after they do the initial carving for you?  They just take it away, and it appears that there's quite a bit left.  Number 271211 did himself proud.  He was tasty, and enjoyable, a real credit to his species.  As Ho-Ki and I had gotten a rather late jump on dinner, we obviously finished last.  We looked around and found that we were the only customers left on the 4th floor, and what's more, the staff was busy stripping all the other dining tables around us.  Talk about sending a message.

Nurse, cleaver please

We finished and left, but not before making a pit stop to make sure we wouldn't have to duck (no pun intended) behind a bush on our walk back to the hotel.  While in the men's room, I heard Ho-Ki start to laugh that little laugh known to everyone who knows him.  I chimed in, "what's so funny" and he responded "what's a bumf".  When I said I didn't have the  foggiest, he added, "well, I guess you wouldn't know what a bumf cushion is then either."  Correctomundo was my response.  It seems that in their need to provide translation for everything, they decided that your bottom, or butt, is really a "bumf" and the cushion part is the little piece of sanitary paper that you place over the toilet seat so your bumf is not actually touching the seat, but a piece of paper instead.  I swear, China must have a whole government department whose job is nothing more than thinking up inane translations.

The first cut is the deepest...

After a good laugh, we tumbled out into the night for our half hour walk back to the hotel.  We hadn't ventured more than two blocks before this rather nice looking young lady approached us and went straight up to Ho-Ki and inquired if he would like her services for the evening.  While propositioning Ho-Ki, she paid absolutely no attention to his foreign friend (me), whatsoever.  By now I knew this wasn't an abberation, because this was the fourth or fifth time it had happened, and in each and every case, it was his bod they were after and not mine.  Despite the fact that I'm a newlywed, it was still crushing to the ego.  Soooooo, PeterMichaelSylviaRichard, now you know, your dad is one hot stud muffin (at least in Beijing) and Chuck is not, at least to the Chinese working girls (Note to Linda, I still am one hot stud muffin even if the Chinese can't recognize it).   I can also safely surmise that Ho-Ki didn't take them up on any of their offers, unless of course he snuck out of the hotel room after I went to sleep.  Hmmmm, now that I think about it, there were a couple of nights that I slept so heavily I didn't remember a thing until the alarm went off, almost as if I had been drugged.  Naw, that couldn't be.

Let the games begin

Our tummies full, once again, but this time with # 271711, we settled down at the hotel, and I slept the sleep of the dead.  I only faintly remember hearing the door open and close.  Hey, wait.  No, I must have been dreaming...

Official Death Certificate

When the music's over, turn out the lights