He Needs Meat

2000 > China

I want a T-bone steak, and make it rare!

You can even get chicken hearts and livers with your rat meat!
No more rat meat on a stick!
They were so pissed about the food, they rode to Hungary for Turkey!
Mongolians ate horses too!
If only noodles were served next to a T-bone steak!
I’m not happy with noodles!

Once upon a time, long, long ago,
in land far, far away, there
was a vegetarian. A man who refrained from all meat, poultry, pork, and
fish products, and once, to attract the attention of a
young lady, even skipped out on dairy foods, going vegan for three
months. He was very healthy, not suffering from anemia, as BB-Q loving
Texans would like to believe, though the young ladies never did notice him,
until, one day, he moved to Russia.

There, in the land of pelmini, shashlik,
and way too much caviar, he gave up
his bourgeois Western ways to assimilate into the meat-mad society. He
welcomed the change, even if his body did not agree to the new addition at
first, for variety to him, was the spice of life. Time passed, and soon he
left that land where the only vegetables were mushrooms,
potatoes, tomatoes and cucumbers, for
its Southern neighbor, China.

It was here, that an odd craving
came to him. Looking around, he noticed that meat in this different land
was never served as a steak. It was never massive chunks of flesh skewered
over a wood flame. And it was not limited to muscle tissue either.

In the capital of his newly
adopted home, he grew accustomed to the small slivers of beef, served in
portions small enough for the odd, stick-like utensils the locals used. It
was there that he accepted the smaller, coarser, meat
bits grilled over coal embers. And it was in the Southern terminus of Hong
Kong that he found rooster testicles
presented to him for human consumption.

He found his craving to be a
desire for a solid, sizable, steak. One that would quench his bloodthirst
better than the frozen, raw strips of horse he consumed in Mongolia.
Or poultry that was more substantial than the Peking Duck, which to his
disappointment was only caramelized skin and light fat, served to him by
important publishers in the capital.

No, he dreamed of his meal in Esperance,
Australia, where the steak was cut with a cleaver, or the BB-Q kangaroo
cooked by his cousin, which
melted in his mouth. He only dreamed of such a meal until he found the
Yabaolu district of Beijing. In this Russian enclave of China’s capital,
his dreams came to reality in two wonderful days of true beef, pork, and
lamb (but no dog!), shashlik at the finest Russian restaurants outside of

Oh, how our traveling man’s
dreams were fulfilled! Oh, how he is happy to laze in the bright summer
sun on the third day of his reality. Such is this life for him.