Etiquette for a Chinese meal

Anyone who has travelled to China will understand how the topic of Chinese meals is worthy of an entire blog entry. My experience at dinner with a local family provides insight into Chinese culture and encapsulates "hao xiguan" - good social practices.

I wish that this could be a How to Survive Guide but as I haven't figured it out myself, a narrative/warning will have to do.

Backgrounder: My friend from Hunan province is visiting me in Beijing, and her family friends have invited us out to dinner.
When we are picked up, I greet my hosts as "aunt" and "uncle respectfully. I can't figure out if their son is older than I am, and I don't want to ask so I remain clueless about how to refer to him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, I'm given the menu and told to choose food for everyone to enjoy. I can never understand this because 1) I can't read the Chinese characters, 2) Even if I could read the words, I'm not at all familiar with Chinese food names, and 3) I don't know the speciality of the said restaurant that was chosen.

I'm still clueless about etiquette and I probably commit multiple faux pas unknowingly. The only thing I know to do is to pour tea for everyone and then myself.

So seven dishes are ordered for five people, not including a large wok of noodles that is cooked in front of our eyes. It seems to be a rule to always order more food than can possibly be eaten.

During the actual meal, food is constantly placed on my plate. Refusing proves to be much more difficult than averting questions about my age, weight or relationship status. I have submitted to trying everything to be polite, whether it's donkey or turtle meat, but there are somethings I come across, like cow feet - an unappetizing combination of bone, silicone textured skin and collagen, that I simply cannot imagine what I'm supposed to do. These strange parts, such as an entire curry of fish mouths, are said to be the best part of the animal. These random animal parts are always the best part.

I have several dilemmas. Do I faithfully consume all that is put on my plate, or should I reciprocate by heaping some food on theirs? (All this is done with personal utensils, there are no serving spoons, there never are.)

I am resigned to eating as slowly as possible, to convey the accurate expression that I'm constantly eating, but since this is a tactic employed by diet coaches, it only accelerates signals that I am full.

Am I supposed to compliment all the food that is served, or will it inevitably earn me more food on my plate? Should I make conversation and ask intrusive questions- Chinese style?

I am trying to maintain balance where no such fine line exists, only an overlapping Venn diagram of options. This is even more challenging than trying to remember which fork to use and which way to pass the bread at a formal dinner.

Unsure, I commit myself to diligent consumption and smiling politely but not too enthusiastically. Food arrives on my plate with the steady rhythm of Beijing traffic that never pauses. There is no way to even know how much I've eaten because the contents of my dinner-roll plate are refilled even before I can make any headway. All the dishes of food surround my place setting to guard against improbably starvation. All observe the foreigner eating Chinese food!

As an added bonus, Beijing cuisine provides a steady diet of oil, as well as a constant overdose of salt. I feel as though my four weeks here have already triggered the early onset of diabetes and high blood pressure.

Even when I'm thirsty, my hand hovers hesitantly. Should I drink the glass of Sprite I politely declined, the cup of Chinese tea I've been nursing, or the canned herbal drink ordered especially for me? Even without wine or beer, I try to drink each one in turn, like a mother who divides her time equally between her children.

I sip some tea, but my herbal drink is looking neglected so I gulp some of that as well, then my Sprite glass looms disproportionately full, so I down a mouth of that too. Have I mentioned my bowl of soup?

I resurrect skills from a stubborn childhood, to rearrange the food on my plate in an optical illusion to make it seem less than it is. Thank goodness for this large pork bone.

At the end of the meal, all the food is passed my way and I'm told to finish it off. All of them.

I've reached my own conclusion that whenever the hosts want to help themselves to more of some dish, rather than simply scoop some onto their own plates, they have to offer some to the guests first. So whenever anyone else eats anything, I have to have a serving as well.

What I don't understand is, with such a facade of politeness, how does anyone know when people are telling the truth or simply being polite?

Sometimes it seems as though we are simply reciting the lines of a well-rehearsed play, where everyone already knows what will happen next. Except me. Instead, I stumble around clumsily on stage, not knowing where and when and how or even what to say or do.

Scene ##: "Uncle" politely scoops a bowl of the most recently arrived dish. He offers it to me as the guest. On cue, I politely decline (at least I think it's polite), and superficially suggest that he give it to his wife first. Without missing a beat, he insists and I give in. All watch as Rhema tastes.

(Repeat as many times as necessary, substituting dishes)