chinese

Chinese is not my cuisine of choice. Only Mexican ranks near it. My heart is unglad at the end of a long, long day to see that we dine at the Golden Century somewhere in Sydney’s Chinatown.

About 40 KM and MM national staffers trek along George Street to Sussex Street after our meetings end. As I enter a building that promises little a voice behind me says, “Hello.” I hello her back.

“You don’t remember my name, do you?”

“Jodie from Ballarat.” I greet her friend and colleague Cheryl in the same breath.

“Of course,” says Jodie. “You remember everyone’s names. It’s very impressive.”

We ride an escalator to the first floor. A young woman ushers us to a large alcove at the back of the restaurant. Chinese waiting staff with non-Chinese names like Hanson and Angelique line the walls as we troop past toward the large round tables topped with lazy Susans.

The safe option is to shuffle into a seat beside someone you know and feel comfortable with. The alternative is to park your arse next to someone from other states seen across the room who might be interesting. It’s a crap shoot.

I plonk myself next to no one and take the chance that someone finds me interesting. I end up flanked by Jodie and Cheryl. A waiter pours green tea for Cheryl, offers me none. I pour my own tea. It’s stewed and bitter. I chat with Cheryl, then Jodie, until the crescendo of intercourse makes talk impossible, my throat dries and I have a coughing fit.

I gaze blankly around instead. Reds and whites slake thirsts, wet throats. There’s no water. I summon a trainee waiter and two jugs arrive reeking of chlorine. No food appears, starvation is imminent. I’m thinking badly of this Oriental eaterie and wondering if I’d be missed should I climb out the toilet window.

Then without fanfare platters of steaming snow peas and white fish, prawns and zucchini, scallops and beans are placed on the lazy Susan. I fill my vegaquarian plate knowing that mountains of duck and pork will follow. And inedible broccoli stems. But the fish is delish and I am more than satisfied, especially as the grub is on the company.

The hubbub subsides as mouths fill and teeth and tongues go to work. I converse again.

Just after nine we saunter back to the hotel. I have been awake since 4:50 this morning and will be up early to chase Tracy as we reprise Newcastle’s early morning walk of six weeks ago.

Rock on.