Fat American Consumes Sweet Feasts in China Land ~ September 2014

I went to KFC today, and if you asked me back home 'hey Drew care to grab some KFC' I'd tell you to bugger off, but it is quite different here. Without the constant source of carb-heavy fried chicken and french fires, things like KFC are more attractive now because fried chicken is a scarce commodity rather than a thing you eat multiple times a week. Tender grease drips succulent apparitions of meals long since consumed...processed into tender cutlets flushed down transcendent wastes. Luckily, I've only been to fast food here three times in the past three weeks, and although I am too negligent of myself to eat properly, I have great mates here to mate to make sure the one and only Drewkowski eats a king's portion.

Enter September 2nd: My mate David brings me round this gal's Marcy, some expatiate cooking curry, and not any old curry, but some Japanese curry. Do yah wonder what that deliciousness looks like? Here's an image, you bastards:

We sat round Marcy's table for quite sometime speaking of our introverted extroversion (or is it extroverted introversion, we don't really know...the folly of such prerogative terminology). She informed me of Amazon China where you can buy cheap liquor and have them deliver it to your place with the payment option being that of cash on delivery. I have yet to follow through with this option, yet it rests on the table when the time comes; the time should be arriving soon with the bah jiu I've been consuming in the past few weeks. I don't drink that poison often, but when you want to have  a quick, steady buzz...the snow beer and other Chinese beers just don't suffice. I felt at ease in our conversation knowing the expat community in Dalian was well connected and growing at a steadfast rate. What was even more soothing in our handing out was the desert that followed dinner...that sweet sweet tart, and not the sweet tart you pay for on a street corner in Thailand.

A great night indeed spending time with new friends and hearing from my friends who have been here for years and have flourished immensely in their submersion into Chinese culture. Fast-forward a week later following a heavy night of drinking with my friend Dustin...

I wake up early...9:30 am after going to bed past 6 am...and David has invited me to a gentlemen luncheon round his apartment.  I assumed it would not be possible to wake up early enough for a lunch at noon, but my body knew there was no taco bell near by and a feast of David's caliber would certainly supplement my need for the American filth. I arrive, explore the content of his apartment, and he offers me a glass of Arnold Palmer...Allah bless that man. The drink stuck in my throat cultivating soothing embraces the Southern Suburbia left behind. Chris arrives, the first time I met this lad, and I must say he may in fact be the most charismatic, hilarious guy I have met in Dalian...which honestly pissed me off because I wanted to be the charismatic funny dude! I guess there can be more than one smmmmmmmmmh

David, a true American capitalist, prepares food reminiscent of our country's standards. He, as I, praises the Velveeta Mac and Cheese, one of those rare things in China as is the fried chicken. Back home you don't think twice about something so awful and ever so great, but here it is treasured as the tomb of King Tut (though that guy wasn't delicious, cheesy goodness...so fuck him I says). We talked, surely, had some great chats about being an expatiate, what brought us here, and yadda yadda, but like the Chinese, food is more important to us than simple chivalry so let us get right into the feast that was and ever shall be.

That looks rather delicious, yet those of you twiddling eager fingers back home are probably wondering just how scrumptious such a meal appears. Well let me supplement ya'll with my film experience. Zoom in, says I:

All that food on top of a couple of Arnold Palmers alongside some good folks was really too much; I promise I can't stomach anymore. Luckily that is all on the table...but wait there's more if you eat now in the next 30 minutes. Chris unveils the divine peach cobbler and the erections reach their limit stiff as a Burroughs-esque figurine.

I cum on command ejaculating on mere memories the Western food I thought had been abruptly stolen from my person now realizing it persistently continues...it is going on and so am I as I travel through this foreign wasteland complete with expatiate culture emerging feasts of feats thought to be discarded and here they rest on plates before my eager eyes and a stomach much smaller than the lenses' perception.

Another week passes, I eat out, enjoy Korean food on the weekend and Ramen noodles and dry fruit during the week, and Mr. Andy has returned from his vacation. Andy: fabled hero of culinary arts, a Chinese man who hath perfected the art of Western cuisine more so than the bastards on the food network and that feces of folly. I go to Andy's place the following Wednesday for a dinner party with a group of our mates and get the chance to meet him and Shannon. Great lads, I could talk about them for a full blog post, but we all know everyone wants to hear and see that food consumed and the presence of peoples is merely background noise. I told Andy I was ever so excited stuffing my fat fucking face with whatever he offers my way, and his modest self says that he is not the cook these fools imagine him to be. Too modest he was, he made a Western feast that would have my Irish ancestors running to their Christ-ridden hills in fear an Chinese lad could prepare a better feast than he. He tells me pot roast is on the menu for the evening and I am left with contempt. I rarely enjoy pot roast, tis a rare thing for me to say 'oi this pot roast has done me a great favor' Normally, pot roast is like the ugly girl you shag where afterwords you still got laid and don't wanna be an ass so you say 'was good' and then never bring it up ever again. Yes, I just compared pot roast to a shameful one night shag. Glad getting a Literature degree helped me with my comparative prowess. I had to eat what was presented because I couldn't be rude to someone I met for the very first time, but what happened next took me by great surprise; when I took a bite into that pot roast I soiled my trousers with juicy jissom and my O-face shined great lacerations. I fell in love with those moist carrots, beef, and potatoes drowning themselves in tempting gravy and the bread/veggies accompanying the feast beckoned a further call of absolute Western nirvana,,,remembering those days at grandma's kitchen table being surrounded by family and feeling a sense of comradeship while filling faces full of godliness. But don't take my word for it, have you eyes do the judging:

Again, the drink and food has done me all to well and I must end my eating for nothing else could fit this meager stomach of mine. The keylime pie materializes before us and I curse myself for not wearing a diaper.

I could go on and on about how much I enjoyed the company and food over these past few weeks, and speak of my bbq experiences and 'eating out'....oh my....but I am drunk so I digress and hope everyone reading this gets sexually stimulated observing the food through their computer screen...I know I did. I end with a pictorial example of being surrounded by good folks while we all know the only thing we are really thinking about is the feast presented before us.