Burger Wang

(Or, Junked Meat and Coronaries)

Today I nearly killed myself. It all started a couple weeks ago, when advertisements for the new Burger King specials began popping up around local subway stations. Riding the trendy Year-Of-The-Ox wave of the punny use "niu" -- homophone for "cow" and the slang for "cool" -- BK unveiled a line of burgers in China that I can only assume was aimed solely at causing heart attacks. They call them the BK Stackers.

One "niu" (just a boring old "cool" stacker single) gets you a regular bacon cheeseburger. No harm there.

Two "niu" (the "hen niu"/"very niu" stacker double) results in a double cheeseburger.

Three "niu" (the "chao niu"/"super niu" stacker triple) is a mammoth triple combo that could sate the hungriest of hungry Jacks.

So far, nothing out of the ordinary. It's the final option that is so perverse I just couldn't pass up the challenge: the mondo quadruple-bacon-cheeseburger, a sandwich so hefty it requires a detachable jaw just to take a real bite.

All hail "bao niu", the aptly titled "explosive niu" (Stacker Quad), King of the Coronary: four flame grilled beef patties topped with four slices of cheese, bacon, mayo and barbecue sauce. Depending on your persuasion, you are either salivating right now or reaching for your nearest trash bucket that may or may not catch your vomit in time.

According to the nutrition index, the quad is 8.8 ounces of goodness (that's over half a pound, if you're keeping track). Perhaps the Chinese thought those lucky 8's were worth the caloric onslaught. Clocking in at 1010 calories, 70g of fat, 30g of sat fat, 3g of trans fat, 210 mg of cholesterol, and 1800mg of sodium, I'm just glad I'm reading about these facts AFTER consuming this evil, evil thing.

Before I ordered the burger, I wondered whether french fries were necessary. Logic told me that I didn't need any further intake of awful, unhealthy doom to exacerbate the day's quota for Things-That-Could-Kill-Me-In-10-Years-Or-So. But I knew I'd get sick of the taste of chopped up, discarded beef bits. So I went with the meal for 42 RMB (single quadro-burger is only 31 RMB) and a whopping total of 1780 calories, which is way over my recommended daily caloric intake. When the BK girl asked if I wanted to super size, I shot her a quizzical look and asked her "Are you serious?" She giggled and entered the standard "Medium" size for my fries and Coke.

And then she smiled and pointed to the glowing advert on the overhead menu. "Your meal also comes with a free sundae! Which flavor would you like? Strawberry or Chocolate?" I inadvertently scrunched my face up in a disgusted quiver. The thought of Crisco-based soft serve with high fructose pink topping almost made me hurl the breath mint that I had downed a few minutes earlier in preparation for the lunchtime onslaught. I politely waved at her, "No thanks, I don't need it." She replied with an urgent, "But it's FREE..." Brushing aside my manners, I just laughed at her and said "Are you crazy? I don't even know if I can finish that burger! I'll pass, thanks." She just shrugged as if it were my loss. My arteries breathed a sigh of relief.

Behold!

Hunkering down at the table, I lifted that holy burger with two hands and watched as the steaming patties glistened with dripping fatty oil, shiny yellow cheese and those flaccid strips of pink, fatty bacon. The smell was intoxicating. Furtively peeking at the people around me, I noticed no one else had the balls to take on this gigantic beast. Lightweights. I opened my mouth and went in for the kill. I admit I felt a little naughty.

Yes, it is the size of my fist. Lord on high!

The first bite was bliss. As my teeth sunk through four burger's worth of processed flesh and an assortment of toppings that would make my primary care physician blush, I could actually hear the squish of the layers condensing in my mouth, entering my mouth in a heap of unbridled goodness. Somewhere out there, I swear I could hear a vegan crying.

Wow, Would you look at that!

Midway through, it started to get a little challenging. I had conducted a similar experiment in December 2008, tackling a triple burger at Wendy's, which I swore would be my last foray into Extreme Burger Sports. My better judgment was laughing at me now. Staring into the heart of this behemoth, I wanted to stop eating, just put down the wretched thing and cut my losses, thus saving myself further guilt and a few kilometers on the treadmill. But I am not a quitter. Taking another bite, my eyes began to well with tears.

It's rough, so, so rough...

With a few bites left, food coma had already begun to set in. Guilt and regret followed the queasiness. I cried out for my mommy to come and save me, but there was no help here. The only way to end the pain was to finish it once and for all.

Totally gonna hurl~

When I was finished, I handed my tray to a smiling BK worker and sheepishly crept away in shame, as if I had just done something extremely heinous, like whacking off into someone's sundae or accidently crapping myself at the table. Walking out of the restaurant (can we even call it that?), I hung my head low and made my way to the subway station.

After that damn burger, I had enough protein in my belly to make a hooker jealous. For a second time in ten months, I make a half-hearted vow never to do it again, no matter how attractive an advertisement for a heart attack on a sesame seed bun may look at the time. For those in the West that fear China will eventually take over the world, you can take heart in knowing that the USA will get the last laugh. If the popularity of this monster burger is any indication, American fast food will see Chinese obesity rates spike and heart disease and clogged arteries should start killing off the Red Threat within the decade. Nothing "niu" about that.

Xinjiangren

(Or, Prejudice and Picked Pockets)

Her eyes were the color of ice. Set into her long, angular face, they were cold, blue and almost crystal clear. She didn't look anything like the child strapped to her chest with a strip of fabric. The infant, a drooling little fat Chinese baby, clutched to the woman, his expressionless face resting against her bosom. They stood out quite clearly in the crowd of commuters at the Shanghai Railway Station.

Behind them, a taller and more masculine female followed closely, briskly shuffling at the heels of the younger woman with the icy eyes. They were covered in a faint layer of dust and dirt, but they moved with a hurried, focused swiftness. The intensity in their eyes was disturbingly frightening. The poor guy walking in front of them couldn't even see them coming.

The cheeseburger waited in my hand, but I didn't take a bite. I stared out the window, mouth agape. The girl with the blue eyes unzipped the outer pocket of this guy's laptop bag, foolishly slung behind the clueless man's back. Delicately extracting her prize with slender fingers, she stuffed it into the crevice between her stomach and the baby's, turned on her heels and immediately hustled in the opposite direction, the mannish woman following closely behind. It was over in a matter of seconds, so fast that I spun around to the tables around me, eyes begging to connect with someone else who had just saw what happened. A pair of older aunties at the table next to me shook their heads with crooked smiles and simply muttered, "Those Xinjiang people..."

It was not my first time witnessing a pickpocket in action. However this was the most fluid execution I had ever seen, so efficient that I was actually a little hesitant to go outside when my burger was done. But what struck me the most was the way the aunties dismissed the whole affair, as if it were perfectly normal for that Xinjiang woman to be a thief. The city is filled with local Han Chinese thieves, but no one seems to notice. These folks from Xinjiang have an especially bad reputation in China.

The Xinjiang Autonomous Region is located at the northwestern quadrant of China, a massive area larger than the size of South Africa, with a population almost double that of Greece. Bordering Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India to the West and Russia to the North, it is symbolic as a significant segment of the ancient Silk Road. Most people here -- the Uighurs -- look distinctly different from the Han Chinese, with fairer Eurasian features that are more akin to the neighboring 'Stans and Middle Eastern brethren, and most are Muslim. Much like its politically hyper-sensitive Himalayan neighbor to the south, this region is highly disputed and a volatile flashpoint that makes headlines fairly often, especially whenever the Chinese government wishes to add a little more fire to the already negative reputation the general Chinese populace hold towards Xinjiang people. Today, the deliberate influx of Han Chinese threatens to squeeze out the indigenous cultures and efforts by the government are also aimed at Han-ifying the area, thereby erasing as much of Xinjiang's culture as possible. Without harming the lucrative tourist trade, of course.

As early as the Han Dynasty (60 BC), the Han Chinese have staked their claim to the area. As any student of Chinese history can attest to, keeping track of the dynastic changes is challenging enough; tracing the dealings of each dynasty and the Xinjiang area is equally complicated. Feel free to read all about it in your free time, for I have neither the energy or qualifications to do it justice here.

In Shanghai, observers have the opportunity to see the fallout of this cultural conflict with their own eyes. To be fair, there are a lot of Xinjiang thieves. But there are also swarms of Chinese ones too. They just blend in better. The locals brush these outsiders off as barbarians from the North who are only here to thieve and grill up delicious lamb skewers at street-side barbecue stalls. In recent news, accusations of AIDS-filled syringe attacks have further fueled prejudice against these migrants.

Last year at the fake market, I was in the midst of a hard bargain session with a shop boss who was trying to swindle me with an absurd price inflation for a few crappy paintings. I was in no mood, so I gave her my final offer, which cut her starting offer by almost 90%. She laughed at me, so I walked away toward another stall. In typical fashion, she chased after me as I left, waving me back in to her store, the universal sign for "OK I give up, you have a deal." As she wrapped up my purchases, she asked me where I was from. Cutting to the chase, I told her I was mixed: dad Chinese, mom American. She scoffed at me and said with a dismissive sneer, "Your father must be from Xinjiang then," implying that my shrewd bargaining was attributed to the assumed genetics of a thieving and tricky race. After correcting her ("Daddy is a money-hungry Hong Konger, duh..."), I wanted to smack her on behalf of my non-thieving Xinjiang brethren.

Back in Burger King, I looked at the two aunties sitting next to me. I asked, "Did you just see that?" and they nodded in affirmation. They probably took one look at me and wondered whether I was in on the swindle too. Finishing my meal, I continued to chat with my buddy who was sitting across from me. The pickpocket tag team appeared again, closing in on yet another hapless victim. My friend got up and walked outside, ever the American hero. Standing on the sidewalk, he waited. When the ladies came back our way, he stared them down with determined eyes, psychically instilling whatever message of justice that happened to be swirling in his brain. The younger girl furrowed her brow, visibly disturbed by my friend's gaze. The older lady just smiled at him.