Don’t be shy, brothers and sisters. Loosen your belts, let your bellies hang out, eat till you burst. There’ll be no toasting, since we’re all family. Just drink to your hearts’ content. And don’t worry about the bill. Today you can bleed me. ‘Donkey ribs in wine, for your dining pleasure.’ ‘Donkey tongue in brine, for your dining pleasure.’ ‘Braised donkey tendons, for your dining pleasure.’ ‘Pear and lotus root donkey throat, for your dining pleasure.’ ‘Golden whip donkey tail, for your dining pleasure.’ ‘Steamed and fried donkey intestines, for your dining pleasure.’ ‘Stewed donkey hooves with sea cucumbers, for your dining pleasure.’
‘Five-spice donkey liver, for your dining pleasure.’… and so on…
A medley of donkey dishes flows onto our table, filling stomachs that are now stretched taut as drums, and drawing rumbling belches out of the diners. Our faces are covered with a film of donkey grease, through which weariness shows, like donkeys worn out from turning a millstone. Comrades, you must be exhausted by now. I stop an attendant and ask, ‘How many more dishes are there?’
‘Twenty or so, I guess,’ she replies. 'I'm not exactly sure. I just bring out what they give me.’
I point to the friends around the table. ‘They’re nearly full. Can’t we skip some of the dishes?’
With a show of reluctance, she says, ‘You ordered a whole donkey, and you’ve barely made a dent in it.’
‘But we’re stuffed,’ I plead. ‘Dear young lady, won’t you please ask the kitchen to just bring out the best and forget the rest.’
The lady says, ‘You disappoint me, but, OK, I’ll talk to them.’
She is successful. Out comes the final dish.
‘Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together, for your dining pleasure. Enjoy!’
She wants us to enjoy the sight of the dish before beginning our dining pleasure.
One of our group, a sourpuss of a woman – and not very smart, either – asks the attendant, ‘Which part of the donkey is this made of?’
Without hesitation, she answers, ‘It’s the donkey’s sex organ.’
The woman blushes, but, unable to control her curiosity, asks, ‘We only ordered one donkey, so how could there be…’ She puckers up her lips to point at the ‘dragon’ and ‘phoenix’ on the plate.
‘The chef felt terrible that you missed over a dozen dishes,’ the waitress replies, ‘so he added a set of female donkey’s genitalia to create this dish.’
Please dig in, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends, don’t be shy. These are the donkeys’ jewels, as delicious as they are ugly. If you don’t eat, it’s your loss. If you do, it’s still your loss, sooner or later, if you know what I mean. Come on, dig in, give it a try, eat eat eat Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together.
As everyone wavers, their chopsticks raised, my old friend Yu Yichi saunters into the dining room. I jump to my feet to introduce him to you:
This is the famous Mr Yu Yichi, manager of Yichi Tavern, standing member of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference, standing member of the Board of Governors of the Metropolitan Entrepreneurs Association, provincial model worker, and candidate for national model worker. He is hosting today’s banquet.’
All smiles, he walks around the table shaking hands and passing out perfumed business cards cramped with printing in Chinese and some foreign language. I can see that everyone warms to him at once.
He glances at the Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together and says, ‘So, you’ve even been given this dish. Now you can truly say you’ve eaten donkey.’
Expressions of gratitude emerge from around the table, my brothers and sisters, and every one of you has a smarmy grin on your face.
‘Don’t thank me, thank him,’ he points to me, ‘Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together is not an easy dish to prepare. It’s considered immoral. Last year, several renowned people made it known they wanted to try it, but were unsuccessful because they weren’t up to par. So I can say, you have true gourmet luck’
He downs three glasses of Black Pearl (a famous Liquorland drink that relieves indigestion) with each of us. A strong liquor, Black Pearl is sort of like a meat grinder, which produces rumbling noises in our stomachs.
‘Don’t worry about the rumblings down there. Doctor of Liquor Studies is here.’ Yu Yichi points to me. ‘Go on, have some, try it. Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together loses its flavor when it’s cold.’ He picks up the dragon head with his chopsticks and places it in front of the lady who has expressed such an interest in donkey sex organs. Showing no modesty, she gobbles up the head in big mouthfuls, while everyone else attacks the dish with their chopsticks, finishing it off in no time, like a strong wind sweeping clouds from the sky.
He says, with a sinister smile, ‘You won’t be able to sleep tonight.’
Do you all understand what he meant by that?
My friends, ladies and gentlemen, this story has more or less reached its end, but you’re such good friends that I want to chew the fat with you a bit longer.
That night, when the donkey banquet was finally over, we stumbled out of Yichi Tavern and into the late night air. Stars filled the sky and night dew covered the ground; a bluish, moist light was reflected off Donkey Avenue. Some drunken cats were fighting on people’s roofs, causing the tiles to sing out. The cold dew was like a frost, sending leaves floating to the ground from trees on both sides of the street. Some of my friends, who were half drunk, started to sing revolutionary songs. Broken phrases like donkey lips and horses’ mouths, southern tunes and northern melodies, not much gentler on the ears than the cats’ screeches from the rooftops. I won’t even dignify the rest of their ugly behavior with a comment. While all this was going on, we heard crisp hoofbeats at the eastern end of the street. Suddenly, a little black donkey with wine-glass-shaped hooves and lamplike eyes shot down the street and appeared in front us, like a black arrow. I was stunned, and so, apparently, were the others, since the singers closed their mouths, and so did those who were about to puke. Everyone’s drunken eyes stared at the little black donkey, watching it gallop from the eastern end of the street to the western end, and then from the western end to the eastern end. After three complete trips, it stood quietly in the middle of Donkey Avenue, its body like shimmering ebony, but no sound escaped, as if it were a statue. Our bodies stiffened, we stood frozen to the spot, waiting to see if reality could verify legend. And sure enough, following some loud tile clattering, a black shadow flew down and landed on the back of the donkey. It was indeed a youngster whose bare skin shimmered like scales; he was carrying a bundle on his back and was biting down on a willow-leaf dagger that emitted a cold light.