Chinese Food

My colleagues and I have just returned from our local all-you-can-eat chinese restaurant, Yoe-Bo. Before you ask, if indeed you have any interest in this area, I must insist that I ate only sensible portions. Despite the temptation to do otherwise. Eating at a chinese restaurant in London is a curious experience, especially since living in Newcastle aquainted me with what you might call real chinese food.

I can still recall with some horror the first time I was offered a glass of Dandelion Tea. My suspicions began when the word glass was used. I thought this may be a simple translation issue and so was somewhat bemused when a kettle was produced and near boiling water poured in to a set of glass tumblers, the sort you may purchase at Ikea were you so inclined. You can imagine how I felt when two or three freshly picked Dandelions were dropped, stalks and all, into my glass. “What’s this?” I spluttered. Full well knowing, as I watched the colours gently diffusing from the petals and stem, that what I had before me was garden-fresh Dandelion tea.

I have retained much of the caution about Chinese cuisine that I learned in those long months in Newcastle and so it is with relish and indeed relief that I eat at our local, and thoroughly westernised, chinese. There’ nothing direct about this place. Everything suits my palate just fine and I can for a moment pretend to be enjoying exotic flavours and smells.

Perhaps one day I may even make it to China, if McDonalds haven’t taken the place over entirely.