Hallal
This weekend we met some of Randy's friends at a Hallal restaraunt. There are apparently two in (sorry about the spelling if you know the correct pinyin) Sui Wen Tou, and several more by the train station. I knew that the guys frequently refer to this as where they get Lamb. Combine these together, what do you think I was expecting? Yup, North African or Middle-Eastern or Pakistani or Afgan or something like that.
As we walked toward the restaraunt and we were across the street from it, Randy pointed it out to me. I scanned the signs across the street and at first only saw Chinese writing. No Arabic.
"Where?" I asked.
"Right there," he said pointing again, "where it says, 'Hallal'?"
I looked again and focused hard, this time looking for words written in the phoenecian alphabet. It's funny that sometimes I get so used to not understanding the signs everywhere, that intead of zeroing in on ones I can understand, I just group them all together. I saw a little sign that said "Hallal" next to a large Chinese-script sign above the restaraunt.
Once again I had one of my sorry I'm such a backwoods hick moment. We walked in the restaraunt and it looked like every other Chinese restaraunt we've been in. The waitresses were wearing waitress dresses and aprons, not veils. The table was set with tea cups and chopsticks and large ceramic spoons. Some of our party were already cleaning their utensils with the first cup of tea. I looked at the menu, and the pictures looked like Hunan or Shandong cuisine. I told Randy I thought when he said we were getting Hallal we wouldn't be eating Chinese food. Not that I minded Chinese food. I just wasn't expecting it.
I don't know why I didn't make the connection. I knew that Western China is heavily Muslim, like around Kashgar, and that for some time at least some Eastern provinces have had a strong Muslim presence. But when I have heard them talk about getting lamb at the Hallal place several times, I would have guessed we would have had a different lunch experience.
As we walked toward the restaraunt and we were across the street from it, Randy pointed it out to me. I scanned the signs across the street and at first only saw Chinese writing. No Arabic.
"Where?" I asked.
"Right there," he said pointing again, "where it says, 'Hallal'?"
I looked again and focused hard, this time looking for words written in the phoenecian alphabet. It's funny that sometimes I get so used to not understanding the signs everywhere, that intead of zeroing in on ones I can understand, I just group them all together. I saw a little sign that said "Hallal" next to a large Chinese-script sign above the restaraunt.
Once again I had one of my sorry I'm such a backwoods hick moment. We walked in the restaraunt and it looked like every other Chinese restaraunt we've been in. The waitresses were wearing waitress dresses and aprons, not veils. The table was set with tea cups and chopsticks and large ceramic spoons. Some of our party were already cleaning their utensils with the first cup of tea. I looked at the menu, and the pictures looked like Hunan or Shandong cuisine. I told Randy I thought when he said we were getting Hallal we wouldn't be eating Chinese food. Not that I minded Chinese food. I just wasn't expecting it.
I don't know why I didn't make the connection. I knew that Western China is heavily Muslim, like around Kashgar, and that for some time at least some Eastern provinces have had a strong Muslim presence. But when I have heard them talk about getting lamb at the Hallal place several times, I would have guessed we would have had a different lunch experience.
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