Foodie's Corner - Sep. 25 (Zach)

Shanghai has exposed us to an endless bounty of gastronomic variety. And after three weeks, I can tell you definitively that my taste buds have determined that 95% of the food tastes great (for me at least, for Tiffany see related story "How I lived in Shanghai on rice and water"). However, my stomach/digestive system has decided that 95% of the food is completely disagreeable.

The upshot is that I can tell you that our bathroom has 146 tiles (and don't worry, I've had time to double and triple check), and I've lost about 7 pounds so far. Now it's true, I do walk 4-6 miles a day in 103% humidity as well, but I also walked a fair amount in D.C. without seeing similar results. So I can honestly say that the "Shanghai diet" puts most American programs to shame. And while it'll cost you in extra toilet paper, you'll save a bundle on those prepacked Jenny Craig meals.

Fortunately or not, I have a very short term memory, so that I tend to forget the discomfort and only remember the thrill and excitement of eating a half chicken purchased from the local street market. It is a beautiful sight to have a half chicken cut up and packaged for you with fresh ginger, cilantro and some light, delicious sauce -- and all for under $3. We've sampled 4 or 5 different types of apple/pear varieties, melons that I've never seen in the US, and countless steamed buns filled with god knows what. The native Chinese also display an impressive dedication to the old rule of "waste not, want not". I've never seen a fish head gnawed at with such ferocity, or plates cleaned so completely. Of course, they have the advantage of knowledge, as in, they have some idea of what they're eating. Most of our meals fall under the "mystery meat" or "squishy maybe-its-a-vegetable thing". Our saving grace is that there are a large number of expat-marketed restaurants. So every once in a while when we absolutely can't stand Chinese food for another meal, we'll go get a burger or plate of pasta and a side salad. Which is not to say that my stomach is fooled for even a second, it generates pretty much the same reaction regardless of food ethnicity. But at least for one, blessed meal, we can eat a sandwich which looks like a sandwich, and eat french fries that taste like french fries.

All in all, our epicurean adventure so far has resembled more of a death-defying extreme sport than anything else, but I hope (read: pray) that our bodies will adjust eventually. And if not, hey look, my old pants fit again!