Slurp, Spit and Get Stuck In
Fuchsia Dunlop writing in the FT Weekend.
I saw in the FT Weekend that Fuchsia Dunlop had written an article about why the Chinese love eating all parts of the animal. Most Chinese would be bemused that this is worth mentioning — why wouldn’t you eat the whole animal? This penchant has its roots in historical and practical reasons (poverty, frugality) and a generally un–squeamish nature, as well as innate good taste (in my meat eating days I could inhale chicken feet like nobody’s business!). But what caught my attention is Dunlop’s mention of the joyful, hands-on interaction with food, where in formal Western dining etiquette it’s fair to say that constraints are made on expressions of pleasure.
I thought I might ruminate further on this notion. First is the article’s mention that the ‘spare parts’ (AKA the ‘fifth quarter’) come with a distinctive mouthfeel. These come from the very textures that attract Chinese repel others (coupled with the association of the unclean bits of the animal). What is slimy, gelatinous, crunchy–not–in–the–good–way, glutinous and slithery is gleefully lapped up, often accompanied by something almost performative in the lip smacking, slurping, spitting of bones and occasional belching. While I wholeheartedly love these textures myself, I must caveat that obviously not all Chinese eat like this. I consider myself to have borderline misophonia and am extremely put off by any eating sounds and breach of etiquette (read: my Western-informed sense of decorum) — which makes me all the more aware of the enthusiastic way in which people eat when I visit Asia.
My English friend in HK once remarked to me:
“It’s interesting to watch the Chinese eat. As one thing enters the mouth something is simultaneously falling out.”
He’s not wrong.
Next is this idea of personal space and boundaries. While overall rules of utensil etiquette, social conduct and hierarchy apply across cultures, the difference between a Western and Chinese meal could be said to be one of the individualistic vs. collectivist experience. With round tables, communal dishes, the occasional chopstick clash and a spontaneous ‘help yourself’ attitude, the Chinese meal is undeniably a shared one. This starkly contrasts with the Western dining experience, which follows a set order of courses and individual dishes according to personal preference. You could say that normal ideas of personal constraints loosen up when sitting at the Chinese table — which spill over into the way in which we eat.
My last point is somewhat personal but probably relatable to fellow Asians! Every country thinks they are unique in claiming that food is intrinsic to their culture. But what I’ve observed to be particularly unique is that food in Chinese culture can be a proxy for expressions of affection. Chinese parents famously do not say “I love you”; they say it by cooking you a meal instead. So perhaps it’s natural that eating is imparted with more emotional symbolism.
It’s fascinating that #mukbang and #foodASMR (look it up, welcome to the Insta–rabbit hole) began as a Korean phenomenon and has become extremely popular in Asia but less so in the rest of the world. This performative pleasure in eating, and a loosening of restraints between personal, communal and public experience, could be described as culturally accepted form of self–expression.
