Josh and Molly in Chengdu

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Molly and Josh

Not being sufficiently fat, or sufficiently republican, I left America a disgrace. For a time, I haunted the halls of Europe, but there they found me too American: that is, too fat and too republican. In addition, I have my country’s native good humor, and especially when drunk I love everyone too much. Like a puppy of one of the larger breeds, I think everyone ought to want to like me. Europeans naturally abhor this sort of solicitousness, and almost never wish to play with Americans. The Chinese, though, thank god, love spectacle and have, each and every one of them, a healthy respect for a belly.

Now I am called fat on a daily basis by the Chinese, and it is always with a sense of veneration. "Here is a man," they think, "who has learned to keep a supply of ready energy; here is a man who could survive a snow."

Josh at a New Year's feast

I have added a Sichuan girlfriend to my life, in order to make it spicier. It has appended a blessed rigor and domesticity that was formerly missing. She looks around the corners of my shoulders while I cook Hui Guo Rou (A Sichuan dish). She regularly asks me to bake her cakes and has the metabolism of a small bird, so she can eat as she likes. And she can be a difficulty to read, emotionally, but I am sure that she likes me because she never misses an opportunity to remind me that I am fat. Molly—my girlfriend’s English name, which she hates and we never actually use between us--has a big white Labrador retriever named Hanbao (“Hamburger”) who is exceedingly loving but has some intestinal problems. So to show my girlfriend how much I care for her in return, I never hesitate to clean up the viscous yellow pools of vomit Hanbao tries to hide in the corners of the living room most mornings.

A family of three

Molly is perfectly rational, but we have nevertheless had multiple occasions for cultural misunderstanding between us. At first, I had to confront her desire to keep the windows open for fresh air in the middle of winter. She thinks the staleness is unhealthier than the fact that I can see my breath in the living room when I speak. She also reckons my habit of drinking cold milk at breakfast and cold cola for lunch is likely to kill me. A softer bed is out of the question, because an American style mattress will suffocate us. She grants that I slept in one for thirty years without dying, but is nevertheless unrelenting in her suspicion.

A picture of a picture of chickens

When we attend the market together, we garner attention. Molly is businesslike, ordering her vegetables, or commanding the murder of a fish. I dart away from her side, and she finds me squatting next to a brood of hens, trying to render a handsome photograph, or else engrossed in the dismemberment of a rabbit.

By now I have had many occasions to place orders on my own, and the vendors are happy to guide me through my bumbling Mandarin. At the butcher I can successfully request the meats appropriate to jiaozi (dumplings) or Hui Guo Rou (A Sichuan dish); after I make myself understood the avuncular butcher warmly tells Molly I look very healthy and fat. I always wonder if he is considering how much I would fetch if he sold me by the kilo. A hell of a lot, I imagine.

In the final summation, life in Chengdu is faintly confusing but beautiful, exciting and interesting for a laowai.

Hanbao dreams of cake

About the author(s):

Josh is an American, a former US Marine, a polyglot, a seasoned traveler and Josh's girlfriend Molly is a Sichuan woman.

The opinions expressed do not represent the views of the China Daily website.

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