Alone in a dumpling restaurant

Or ... "Down in the dumplings"

It's the last weekend in Jinan. My student has given me a map of an "excellent" dumpling restaurant. The taxi driver couldn't find it and charged me 50% more than he should have. I eventually found it myself. It was noisy, busy and brash. Maybe 50 staff. I was given a table near the door and two waitresses spoke Chinese and waited for my Chinese menu selection. "No Chinese! Only English." I pointed to a dumpling dish on another table. Giggles of embarassment. I produced a specially prepared paper with Chinese translation of my food likes and dislikes. More giggles. The submanager was summonsed. He spoke to me in Chinese. "No Chinese! Only English." He spoke louder Chinese. The girls giggled. The neighbouring tables were beginning to participate in this sport. An employee who allegedly could speak English was summonsed. No joy. More giggles. A more senior manager was summonsed. By this stage there were no less than ten curious staff hovering, plus four neighbouring tables eaves-dropping. I once again showed my Chinese translation sheet showing my likes and dislikes, and mimed that I only wanted one plate of dumplings, just like that one on the next table. He read the sheet gravely, then opened up the sheet to read about my likes and dislikes for hotel rooms, where I needed to get a taxi to return home, and my request for a foot massage. I snatched the sheet back and folded over to the relevant paragraph. But he immediately opened up the sheet again - he was more interested in my life story. I snatched it back and made to leave. "Sorry, sorry!", he muttered. And snapped a few orders at the inanely giggling waitresses. I was also able to order a beer, perhaps unwisely, as I received a whole jug of draught beer. An extraordinary thing: anybody and everybody on staff (I swear even the cleaner did once) would top up my glass after every sip. I was not allowed to lift the jug. Eventually I received the spinach/egg/chili dumplings specially chosen for me by the senior man. I called him back and graciously invited him to read everything else on the translation sheet. He then understood, and we forgave each other. Perhaps it was the beer.

I looked around - some men were only wearing singlets instead of shirts. I watched the groups and families feasting, sharing varieties of wonderful dishes on their table. Hubbub and happiness.

I'm sure that Confucious himself would agree that eating dumplings alone in a Chinese restaurant is not happiness.

(The dumplings were ... excellent.)