Amit's World

Select an option ---------------- A Mukherjee World ---------------- Anamika's World ---------------- Amit's World

A Tryst with Chopsticks

By Amit Mukherjee

Chopsticks are like fiddlesticks. You can fiddle with them, tap the two ends endlessly, chase the food on the plate like a hockey player running with the ball, hold them in various different ways, abuse them roundly or jab and lunge with them like an accomplished assassin. The end result is always the same. Some food on the plate, some on the table, some on your lap, a few bits in your suit pocket (which you can dip into later) and the rest on the beautiful carpet on the floor. Hunger and anger are the driving forces in your life at this time. Homicide is a very attractive option.

Eating in a restaurant in China is unique experience. The food is not served the way we are used to in India. The table contains a large rotating disc on which all the dishes are placed. As the disc rotates, you just extend your hand, pick up the food with the chopsticks and dump it on your plate. There are no spoons, forks or serving spoons. Speed and technique are paramount.

My problem started as they say, at the beginning. As the disc rotated, I lunged for the food, desperately trying to pick up anything that would stay between the two sticks. My memory is a bit fuzzy, but most often I grasped at some piece of chicken or fish which would stick for about a second or two, before landing back in the gravy with a splash. Before I could make another attempt the dish moved on. I was left licking my wounds, and a bit of gravy at the end of the chopsticks. The best I ever did was to pick up a bit of spring onion which had draped itself around the chopstick. Meanwhile, my Indian colleagues and our Chinese client were tucking in with gay abandon, exhibiting exemplary wrist work, way beyond my abilities.

The more I tried, the more I failed and the more I failed, the more I tried. Fish, chicken, pork, and vegetables all whizzed past me. Sometimes I even thought the pig or fish in question was giving me an evil smirk, spiting me even in death. Time was getting on, and the food was diminishing rapidly. My hunger was mounting. A quick appraisal of the situation was required. I wiped my sweaty brow with my handkerchief. It allowed me to hide my face and think. Rice. It's the only thing that could save me from going without food for the next five hours. When the rice dish came around, I was waiting. I dug the sticks in deep, right to the bottom of the bowl. I lifted up a huge sticky mound and dumped it on my plate. I did not waste time eating it. I had to be ready for the next assault. Within three rotations, I had all the rice on my plate. I slowly lifted up bits of it and savoured it.

When was the last time I had enjoyed eating plain rice?

I am sure others at the table observed the saga but decency demanded that no rude comments be made. After all, I was not expected to know how to use chopsticks. Some consideration was also due because of all the hard work I had put in. The bill was presented and paid. We all got up to leave. "I am amazed", said the Chinese marketing manager, "You folks really know how to eat with chopsticks!!"

Copyright © 2006 Amit and Anamika Mukherjee. All rights reserved.