Pinings

The year I lived in China, the thing I craved, pined for, missed the most, was – hot chips.

This surprised me greatly. Hot chips?! This was not something I expected to want, particularly, much less crave.

I was quite happy to eat greasy noodles (there seemed to be a lot of these) or yet another rendition of 番茄炒蛋 fanqie chaodan (tomatoes with eggs) or 茶叶蛋 chaye dan (tea eggs) or 鱼香肉丝 yuxiang rousi (literally, fish-flavoured pork slices. More appetising to actually eat than it sounds). I really didn’t mind eating strange new things, even if they didn’t always appeal. Even if it was Chinese food that wasn’t the Chinese food I was used to. All that was fine. I just missed hot chips.

I would imagine the smell of them, that unmistakable fried smell. The golden colour. Their bright crispness. How they would feel in my mouth, their saltiness. Their greasiness, so satisfying and good.

On bad days I would curse every chipless meal I had to have. Rice. More rice. Noodles? Ugh. Just some chips. Chips. Nowhere to get some damn chips in the whole damn country.

And why the heck was I missing chips, of all things? If I was going to spend any time pining for unavailable food, why was I not fixated on something more… culinary? What about… nasi lemak… or bangers and mash… or spaghetti bolognese… or sausage rolls… (well okay, I’m not some culinary genius, am I.)

No. It was chips. CHIPS.

And then of course I finally made it to Beijing. Of course I took myself to the then-newly-opened McDonald’s. I was so excited. I didn’t care about the burgers, or the milkshakes, or anything else. The surly staff didn’t bother me. The hordes of locals just there to gape at the novelty of fast food, I wasn’t fazed by. No, where are the fries?

And oh, the disappointment.

Because I don’t care what anyone tries to tell me: FRIES ARE NOT CHIPS.

They are too thin, too insubstantial, too lacking in substance.

Oh, the humanity! Eating those fries made me even more bereft than before. How could that even be possible?

And you know what the funniest part of all this was? I don’t even remember how it was when I finally got home to Australia, and, I presume, I got my first taste of real hot chips after a whole year. I don’t remember that part. No, all I remember is the year of pining. For hot chips.

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Today’s topic: “Pinings”.

Picture by Daniel Go.