If you can't take the heat

Something hit me smack dab in the middle of the night yesterday. I believe my addiction to honey cakes is over! No withdrawals really, I guess the in availability to readily purchase them may have factored into this "achievement." I am proud of myself but I must admit, before I get all puffed up and pronounce I am a conqueror of guilty pleasures, I have merely replaced the honey cake addiction with a more readily available object. The Preserved Duck Egg! Maybe the reason I am only catching a few hours of sleep is because I wake thinking, "Mmmm - duck egg. I want some more of that gelatinous, black, chewy, translucent duck egg!"

Now I have to tell you, my husband has been a fan of the preserved duck egg ever since our '06 trip to China and I always have a 6 pack of them in my refrigerator. Even though I will eat small bites at home - it hasn't been until this trip that I will venture beyond the captain crunch berry sized piece. Now however, I find myself curiously looking through my morning congee like I am on a treasure hunt searching for bits and pieces of the Queen's Gold. When I do pluck a larger than normal sized piece from the porridge I often audibly cry victory! The little chinese girl in the shop where I eat it must be secretly watching for every morning there appears to be one more piece of egg then the day before.

The food adventure has been fun for me. There is a vendor on the street who arrives with the chill in the the mornings. She works happily kneading and rolling out rice flour 'tortillas" and her husband, equally as happy (despite any weather condition) lays them on the large wok top adjacent to her. They talk and sing and sound like a parakeet cage in a pet store, but they are pleased with what they are doing.

He fry's the bread, make a hole in the middle and cracks open a chicken egg allowing it to fill the hole. Eventually he flips it over and when a hungry commuter stops to get one he can choose to have bacon or a preserved meat placed across the middle. They fold it like a taco, wrap it in a napkin and plop it into the hand of the one who was able to fight his way to the front of the line. They look delicious, smell amazing and are an art form being played out before my western eyes.

Last night I dinned at a restaurant designed for locals. They did have english titles on the menu and pictures, all of this I am sure was non-existent before the Olympics. It is the first time I have seen snake, donkey meat and fried duck blood on a menu. There was intestine, preserved pig face and turtle side meat and claws. The fish head soup looked good but I opted against it. Finally I saw the Fried Fish Bowl. I believe it may have been my guardian angle who tapped me on the shoulder to read the menu just one more time. In doing so I realized i almost ordered a large heaping bowl of fish "Bowel". Whew. Instead I had a lovely dish of hand trimmed fresh bamboo shoots and shredded chicken in a hot pot. Delicious.

The girl showed me the picture and was pointing to the little red peppers that dotted the dish. She waved her hand and said, "Bu hao" meaning NO? I looked at her and said, "Shi" (sure), meaning I wanted them (hellllooo, I am from New Mexico, it's just a little pepper). The dish came and smelled great. I don't think the pepper would have bothered me, it really wasn't that hot. What almost instantaneously did me in though was in the first bite I inhaled, the pepper moved to the back of my throat, lingered for a second and then slid on down my throat leaving a trail of utter pain and chili oil! It felt something like have my tonsils removed without having the anesthesia. The coughing ensued, followed my moments of gasping.

Why couldn't I remember before I put the pepper in my mouth that I had bitten the inside of my lip earlier in the day and that my lips were chapped? I believe the chili oil tried to cauterize the open wound in my mouth and I am now certain that capsasian is not a very good substitute for lip balm. Grabbing the only little napkin on the table I began to dab my running nose. I reached for the only liquid I could find to douse the fire in my mouth, a cup of oolong tea. Maybe had I been in my right mind I would have noticed that picking up the glass nearly removed the outer layer of skin from my fingers. I can't recall, it was a blur of one mistake followed by another. You know that saying, "You can't fight fire with fire?" Let's just say I understand how it evolved.

So today, I wake - Yes, duck egg on my brain, sore lip, clear breathing. I think I may try a hot pot tonight, what could it hurt - my taste buds are fried and I am sure I will not feel a thing!