Food for thought

Even the feast to which we had been treated Ñ at a Chinese restaurant at that Ñ failed to live up to Chinese standards, for when I left the table, there was not a morsel left. I did not stagger, but felt in full control over my faculties.

Actually, I felt more alert and incisive than when I had entered the room. The experience afforded me more than enough food for thought.

When Zhou Zuoren (1885-1967), one of China’s most brilliant writers, landed in Japan in 1906, he observed that Chinese students studying in Japan were often appalled at the Japanese food Ñ simple, light, cold, and much less greasy than at home.

Zhou found that most families would only have a hot breakfast, while lunch was contained in a partitioned bento. The better-off family might have some fish, while the ordinary would make do with a few preserved plums to go with the rice.

The leftovers from the morning would often serve as dinner, and when it was too cold in winter, the cold rice would be simply washed down by hot tea.

Instead of complaining, like fellow Chinese students, Zhou found himself reliving and witnessing ancient Chinese customs lost in China; He felt an affinity for the basic and simple way of life of early Chinese people, and felt deeply grateful for that recognition.

He became critical of those Chinese students who insisted on having table and chairs (rather than tatamis), bedstead, and hot food.