Give Me A Dozen, PLEASE!
Although I love China on most days, there are still things that I miss: relaxing with the Sunday paper, driving and barbeque to name a few. But lately I find myself missing something totally unexpected; a dozen. ‘A dozen what?’ I hear you ask. Not a dozen of anything in particular, just a dozen of anything. I miss the concept of a dozen. There is no such thing in China.
This first came to mind while eating my favorite breakfast of baozi, small, steamed buns stuffed with a pork mixture. Wherever you go, the standard order is ten. You don’t even have an opportunity to say how many you want. You want to eat baozi? You’re getting ten. And every single time I feel slightly cheated. I keep looking at the waiter to see if he’s chewing anything.
Lately it’s become even more irritating. With food costs continuing to rise, the standard Chinese reaction has not been to increase prices but, rather, to reduce portions. My baozi keep shrinking. I’m no longer satisfied with an order of baozi. Just sell me a dozen and I’ll be the happiest customer you’ve seen all week. But no, I’m forced to order another batch, which is too much. (Just as an aside, putting the rest in your backpack is a really bad idea, should you ever be tempted to do so. Trust me!)
Everything here comes in packs of ten including roses and eggs. It makes me want to go out and buy a dozen golf balls, followed by a dozen oysters and a dozen donuts. Hell, I want a baker’s dozen come to think of it. There’s a concept they’ll never understand.
However, all of these little inconveniences and irritants are nothing compared to the outrageous violation of my drinking rights. There is no such thing as a twelve-pack of beer and, naturally following, not even a six-pack! Oh, the humanity!
I consider the twelve-pack as one of the greatest inventions of all time. Think about it. You never need spend a moment thinking about how many beers you need. Granted, you need to decide between six and twelve, but that’s just a primitive, gut decision: big vs. small. A cave man could do it. It requires next to no thought at all. In China you are required to plan out your entire drinking evening, down to the very last beer.
You find yourself standing at the beer shelf (few places have coolers) muttering. Hmmm. It’s six o’clock. There’s a good movie on at eight, so that’s about three hours. Four beers ought to do it. Once home, you discover that the late movie is pretty good as well, or perhaps a friend stops by and your entire beer plan has been torpedoed. How convenient, the twelve-pack. I just never thought of it as an anger-prevention device before.
The reason this planning is essential is that since, like most people, I make grocery (beer) runs on foot or on bicycle, there is no really convenient method of transport, which is exacerbated by the lack of a handy twelve-pack container. You must buy single bottles and carry them either in a microscopically thin plastic bag or in your backpack. Neither is a good way to avoid occasional breakage and at least 50% of the time you end up spraying half of your living room with beer. I used to pretend that I had just won the World Series but that got a little old.
Not only does the lack of respect for the dozen leave you hungry, sober and sometimes drenched, it also makes you feel as if you’ve been ripped off, almost as if you had paid full retail at Costco. Everything is cheaper by the dozen. Everyone outside of China knows that. They even named a couple of mediocre movies after the idea. I am fully aware that I only pay 50 cents for a 21oz. bottle of beer and hardly have the right to complain, but if I want to buy twelve I should get some kind of deal, right?
I tried explaining this concept to someone once, and only once. He pulled out his calculator to prove to me that 12 bottles at 3 Yuan apiece truly does come to 36 Yuan. It was like explaining calculus to an 8 year-old. I bought five bottles and left.
Two hours later I was back for more.
Dim Sum
How is it that tofu (slipperier than Jell-O, but without the taste) was invented by a culture which uses nothing but chopsticks, making it virtually impossible to eat?
Chinese online job listing sites can be interesting. One asks the job-seeker to list his/her hobbies. Available options include drinking, sumo wrestling, tea ceremony, karaoke, gambling and business. The same site also asks for astrological sign and blood type.
I’ve often mentioned the prevalence of knock-off products here, but this one has to be my all-time favorite (so far.)
This first came to mind while eating my favorite breakfast of baozi, small, steamed buns stuffed with a pork mixture. Wherever you go, the standard order is ten. You don’t even have an opportunity to say how many you want. You want to eat baozi? You’re getting ten. And every single time I feel slightly cheated. I keep looking at the waiter to see if he’s chewing anything.
Lately it’s become even more irritating. With food costs continuing to rise, the standard Chinese reaction has not been to increase prices but, rather, to reduce portions. My baozi keep shrinking. I’m no longer satisfied with an order of baozi. Just sell me a dozen and I’ll be the happiest customer you’ve seen all week. But no, I’m forced to order another batch, which is too much. (Just as an aside, putting the rest in your backpack is a really bad idea, should you ever be tempted to do so. Trust me!)
Everything here comes in packs of ten including roses and eggs. It makes me want to go out and buy a dozen golf balls, followed by a dozen oysters and a dozen donuts. Hell, I want a baker’s dozen come to think of it. There’s a concept they’ll never understand.
However, all of these little inconveniences and irritants are nothing compared to the outrageous violation of my drinking rights. There is no such thing as a twelve-pack of beer and, naturally following, not even a six-pack! Oh, the humanity!
I consider the twelve-pack as one of the greatest inventions of all time. Think about it. You never need spend a moment thinking about how many beers you need. Granted, you need to decide between six and twelve, but that’s just a primitive, gut decision: big vs. small. A cave man could do it. It requires next to no thought at all. In China you are required to plan out your entire drinking evening, down to the very last beer.
You find yourself standing at the beer shelf (few places have coolers) muttering. Hmmm. It’s six o’clock. There’s a good movie on at eight, so that’s about three hours. Four beers ought to do it. Once home, you discover that the late movie is pretty good as well, or perhaps a friend stops by and your entire beer plan has been torpedoed. How convenient, the twelve-pack. I just never thought of it as an anger-prevention device before.
The reason this planning is essential is that since, like most people, I make grocery (beer) runs on foot or on bicycle, there is no really convenient method of transport, which is exacerbated by the lack of a handy twelve-pack container. You must buy single bottles and carry them either in a microscopically thin plastic bag or in your backpack. Neither is a good way to avoid occasional breakage and at least 50% of the time you end up spraying half of your living room with beer. I used to pretend that I had just won the World Series but that got a little old.
Not only does the lack of respect for the dozen leave you hungry, sober and sometimes drenched, it also makes you feel as if you’ve been ripped off, almost as if you had paid full retail at Costco. Everything is cheaper by the dozen. Everyone outside of China knows that. They even named a couple of mediocre movies after the idea. I am fully aware that I only pay 50 cents for a 21oz. bottle of beer and hardly have the right to complain, but if I want to buy twelve I should get some kind of deal, right?
I tried explaining this concept to someone once, and only once. He pulled out his calculator to prove to me that 12 bottles at 3 Yuan apiece truly does come to 36 Yuan. It was like explaining calculus to an 8 year-old. I bought five bottles and left.
Two hours later I was back for more.
Dim Sum
How is it that tofu (slipperier than Jell-O, but without the taste) was invented by a culture which uses nothing but chopsticks, making it virtually impossible to eat?
Chinese online job listing sites can be interesting. One asks the job-seeker to list his/her hobbies. Available options include drinking, sumo wrestling, tea ceremony, karaoke, gambling and business. The same site also asks for astrological sign and blood type.
I’ve often mentioned the prevalence of knock-off products here, but this one has to be my all-time favorite (so far.)
tsk.. tsk .. tsk (Comment this)