Those who know me well are aware that alcohol and I do not have the smoothest of relationships. I get along just fine with moderate amounts of wine, and the few times I’ve sampled champagne no severe consequences have shown themselves. However, I have never been able to stomach the fizzy and foamy quality of beer, and my apparently picky belly has a strict and swift rejection policy when it comes to anything stronger. Even a whiff of something like vodka or tequila is enough to start it churning. I have been mocked several times for my sensitivity—and even more for how quickly I reach the state of being tipsy—but no matter how much I try, I have never been able to get over it.
As a result of this queer handicap, I found myself ill prepared for the formal dining scene in China. Drinking is a big part of formal events, and especially honored guests are expected to down quite a lot of alcohol. One of the first new phrases I learned upon my arrival in China was “gan bei,” which essentially means “bottoms up.” When someone toasts you with these words, you are expected to drain your glass in one go, and refusing is considered rather rude. I probably would have been able to handle this with no problem if I had my choice of drink. However, another tradition at formal events is the drinking of baijou, a Chinese alcohol that is quite frankly one of the most foul-smelling liquids I have ever been confronted with. To me, its odor contains hints of very strong cheese crossed with the scent of rotting fruit. I don’t believe its alcohol content is particularly strong, but just the taste is enough to send anyone into a dizzy spell. Most of my fellow teachers avoid it at all costs, and those that don’t tend to adopt very interesting and loud mannerisms by the end of the evening.
Baijou before and after shots
But to continue, I quickly discovered after settling in at Qufu University that my distaste for most forms of alcohol was going to be a problem. At the conclusion of our first week of teaching, all of the foreign teachers were required to attend a formal welcome banquet. Also in attendance were the deans of the English, French, Korean, and Russian departments and the President of the college. I ended up sitting just two seats down from the President, who made it very clear from the start that he did not intend to spare anyone when it came to drinking. I struggled through my first glass of baijou with several rushed sips and what I’m sure was a fascinating routine of odd faces hidden behind my hand or my napkin. Luckily for me, the President noticed my predicament and decided to take pity on me. When it came time to have our glasses refilled, I was given a large glass of orange juice instead.
However, the President and the other guests at my table were not about to let me miss out on the fun. I was directed several times to “gan bei,” and was cheered on with enthusiasm as I downed glass after towering glass of juice. The intake of so much sugar along with the many plates of food I consumed did not make for the best combination. By the end of the two-hour banquet I could actually hear sloshing in my stomach. I felt rather like an upright waterbed, and as I teetered to the van that had been hired to drive us home I wondered if I had actually gotten the better deal. My colleagues were pretty far gone, but at least they all seemed to be exceedingly happy about it.
When our second banquet came around, I decided to strategize. I would politely but firmly refuse the baijou and ask immediately for wine. I definitely wouldn’t mind pounding down a glass or two of wine.
But things never really go according to plan.
This banquet was much more casual. Stella, the Dean of the College of Foreign Languages, was our host. She is a very quiet and kind woman, and announced right from the start that she had no intention of forcing us to drink. We could choose what we wanted and be left alone.
The banquet spread
I, however, was not sitting next to Stella. I was sitting next to Roger, the boisterous Assistant Dean, who upon hearing that I wasn’t much of a drinker decided that his mission for the evening would be to change that fact.
I sensed that I could be straight with Roger. “I’m not drinking baijou,” I told him, with my sternest of looks.
“No, no. You must drink beer!”
“Um…wine? Could I—“
But Roger was already handing me a glass nearly overflowing with beer. “Gan bei!” he cried cheerfully.
I sighed, and I gan bei’d. Just managing to keep from making a rather impolite face, I gave Roger a slightly strained smile.
He cast me a knowing glance. “Three glasses,” he said. “Then you can drink at your pleasure.”
I watched as my glass was again filled to the brim and gave thanks that glasses for alcohol in China are actually quite small. The next time I was asked to finish off my beer, I only made it about half way through. Roger gave me a critical look. “You have obviously not been to the Great Wall,” he concluded.
“No, I haven’t yet. Why?”
“It is said in China that when you have been to the Great Wall you are a real man.”
“I’m not a man at all,” I pointed out.
“No, no, you are a pretty girl!”
I suggested that perhaps this was why he was so eager to get me to drink. Roger laughed. “Finish your beer!” he ordered. I obeyed, and watched as it was once again replaced.
“This is the last one, right?” I asked eagerly. “Three glasses, and then I’m done.”
“No, no, no, you misunderstood! Three after the first one!” Roger grinned in delight. I could tell he was really enjoying this. Fixing him with a frosty stare, I took a big swig of beer.
Roger took my challenge and raised his glass. “Gan bei!”
When my fourth glass was handed to me, I felt it was time to take action. A waitress had recently brought me a bowl of soup, which Roger—knowing I was a vegetarian—had informed me I shouldn’t eat as it contained seafood. The next time Roger gave a toast, I waited until he turned to raise his glass to the guests on the other side of the table. Then I swiftly poured my beer into the soup.
This didn’t work quite as well as I had hoped. The foam from the beer combined with something in the soup caused a bit a of a strange reaction, and I had to stir the soup vigorously to hide the rapid bubbling that had commenced. But by the time Roger had turned back to me I had gotten it under control and was sitting with glass in hand, smiling calmly.
Roger looked surprised. “You drank!”
“Yes,” I lied. “That’s four glasses!” I waved a no-thank-you to the waitress who approached me with a fresh bottle of beer, and cheerfully accepted the replacement of tea.
Roger sighed and shook his head, disappointed in me.
“It’s okay, Roger,” I consoled him. “I’m supposed to visit the Great Wall soon.”
He grinned. “Yes! Next time, we drink more!”
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