Official Cars

In keeping with Beijing's status as a national capital, and adhering to 20th century mainland tradition, you see a lot of solid black sedans in the city. It reminds you of Henry Ford's famous pronouncement upon creating the first assembly line for the Model T: "you can buy any color you like, as long as it's black."


Some of the cars have diplomatic plates and shuttle important people to and from the embassy districts, some carry police officers, and some are actually driven by ordinary, albeit relatively wealthy, Beijing residents or their chauffeurs. But most belong to powerful Party officials, and in one of the most bizarre tales I've heard in China, young children are taught to actually salute or wave at black cars out of gratitude and respect for the men or women riding inside.


In the disrespectful West, children -- and grownups -- are more likely to shoot the finger at such authority figures and their rolling symbols of superiority. But in China, authority is not just respected, it is revered and not meant to be questioned. And of course, saluted. Literally.


I often imagine a black car with tinted glass windows rolling past with a corrupt businessman or official in the back seat, and a hot young fashion model half his age riding on his lap. As the car passes some young children on the sidewalk, the man is producing a different kind of salute.


To me and many of my fellow foreigners, a black car is just another black car. Unless it's onyx.
I'd be more impressed if an official car glided by with mini-chandeliers mounted above the headlights, like the ride Issac Hayes' character had in "Escape From New York." But for now, I can only guess who is behind the tinted glass, and imagine riding in the Chinese seat of power myself, young fashion model girl included. Like Wesley Snipes' detective character said in "Passenger 57": "...ALWAYS BET ON BLACK!"

Induction Cooker

I have an induction cooker.

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It is a great way to cook stir-fry foods in a ridiculously short amount of time, given that you know how to make it work. The biggest reason I got one was because going out for every meal was getting too expensive. So, to paraphrase President Obama, it was time for Change To Come To My Kitchen.

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Buying the induction cooker at a Beijing department store was predictably tough. I had to dodge nosy sales clerks who wanted to ask me 40 questions in Chinese. Maybe the questions were as harmless as "so, what foods are you thinking of preparing?" To which my joking response would have been, "human liver with a side of fava beans and a nice Chianti." Not that they would have understood the humor, even if I'd said it in Mandarin.

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Fortunately for me, the 5 clerks assigned to this single product aisle were busy interrogating another customer, so I grabbed the merchandise and sneaked it to the checkout counter for purchase. I carried the induction cooker up to my apartment, laid it on the kitchen counter, lowered the lights, put on some sexy music, and prepared to get down to some home-cooking.

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Except that the instructions for operating the cooker were completely written in Chinese.

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After consulting various online sources, I discovered that induction cookers use a magnetic field to generate heat. I am familiar with microwave cooking, but I had no idea I'd need the bad guy from the X-Men film series to help me fix dinner in Beijing. All I could figure out was that the thing would beep for 5 annoying minutes before it finally died.

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Once I purchased the appropriate iron-clad pots and pans, I was finally ready to begin the routine of creating fabulous meals at home. But by now, the magic -- not to mention my appetite -- was over.

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I decided to eat some of the magnetically-heated, stir-fried meat and veggies and save the rest for a microwaved mini-meal. The next day, was starving. I popped open the microwave oven only to discover a rash of Chinese characters on the inside of the door, describing how to use it.

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In my Beijing kitchen, just like in U. S. politics, it seems real change will have to wait.