first person

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I am in Beijing, comfortably installed in a Western-style hotel in the eastern part of the city. Around me are foreign embassies and the occasional international brand like McDonalds or Starbucks, which I scorn and dismiss when I get hungry. Despite the contraband Mr. Noodles lodged deep in my suitcase (in case of emergencies only), I decide that I will eat like a local.

And I do. Night after night, dutifully checking with the concierge for advice and directions, I venture forth into the culinary wonderland that is Beijing. One night, I order sweet and sour eel and watch in awe as the cook casually grasps a live eel from the aquariums on dis

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