Expat Staples

Reading back through the blogs I noticed I haven’t written about three of the most important discoveries here, crucial for maintaining our sanity and keeping a firm grip on our laowai (‘foreigner’) identity.

The first is Grandma’s Kitchen, a discovery made very early during our stay. After having some adequate-but-uninspiring mexican at Peter’s Tex-Mex Café (where the all Chinese wait-staff dress in the red, white and blue of the Lone Star state flag), we were a little skeptical about a place that billed itself as “a little taste of home”. But Grandma’s Kitchen has never disappointed. So far, they have the best breakfasts in Beijing: huge omelettes, pan fried hash browns, real crispy bacon. Sounds simple enough, but no hotel we ever stayed in China – and these include two five-star hotels – has ever gotten the trick of seasoning the eggs with salt and pepper. And you can’t get better biscuits and sausage gravy anywhere, yes, even in NC. Further testament to Grandma’s Yankee credibility: sitting next to two Aussies (complete in stereotypical rugby shirts) we overheard, “What’s a skillet? What’s a sausage patty?” And then in mock seriousness, “Waitress, can we have an English menu?” Go Grandma.

Discovery number two is a funny little concept called the Bookworm. It’s an English-language lending library (and not an amateur library either: their website claims 14,000 titles, and a quick browse reveals Carver and Keats next to Grisham and Gore.) The library is spread over three rooms, offers a full kitchen menu, 40-item wine list and a full-service bar. There is cushy comfy chairs or wide tables, and a mess of servers to bring you whatever you’d like while you read or write. Perfect for when you get sick of staring at your own four walls. Also perfect for seeing some very famous writers: Thomas Friedman (he of The World is Flat, among other books) was there last Sunday. We got there three hours early and just barely got a seat. One of my classmates said they arrived at two hours early and were told at the door they weren't letting anyone else in.

Finally, and most recently, I joined some classmates at a little sandwich shop called Sequoia. I was impressed by the egg salad in a pita. Also, so far, the best place to eavesdrop I’ve found (and this is saying something when you consider that 98% of the population speaks a language I don’t understand.) In the heart of the embassy district, I’ve listened in on conversations between a freelance journalist and a reporter for Reuters, listened to a woman who seemed to know everyone who walked in talk about her fellowship and her husband/boyfriend’s so far unsuccessful attempts to get into Darfur, and two very snooty looking Russian women speaking rapidly into cell phones, who didn’t look so snooty when they asked if my egg salad was good. “How do you call it? Ag Salad?” Close enough.