OPINION
Page 6 n THE ASIAN REPORTER
July 3, 2017
Volume 27 Number 13
July 3, 2017
ISSN: 1094-9453
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MY TURN
n Wayne Chan
There is such a thing
as MSG withdrawal
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’ve heard that the symptoms of withdrawal can
be dramatic, but it’s only recently that I
witnessed the effects in person. Just to be sure,
I searched online to better understand some of the
symptoms.
The typical signs I found were depression,
insomnia, irritability, social isolation, and anxiety.
Did these match up with what I noticed? Let me see
… check, check, check, check, and check.
Let me provide a little background. The person I
observed going through withdrawal was my
brother-in-law Remington, who travelled from
Beijing to the United States to attend a training
course. The withdrawal he suffered wasn’t due to
what people normally associate with withdrawal.
No, it was Chinese food.
You might say, “That’s ridiculous! How can
anyone go through withdrawal just from a lack of
eating Chinese food?” Look, I agree with you. But,
the fact of the matter is, I saw it with my own eyes.
The first couple of days after Remington arrived
were easy. In fact, he didn’t even want Chinese food.
After all, he lives in Beijing. Why on earth after
flying 14 hours would he want to eat Chinese food?
When we asked him what kind of cuisine he
wanted to try while he was here, his eyes lit up and
he said “Mexican!” We proceeded to a place teeming
with Mariachis, overflowing bowls of chips and
salsa, and a seemingly endless supply of refried
beans. Now, before anyone starts schooling me on
the fact that it isn’t really “authentic” Mexican food,
in my defense, number one, I knew that’s what he
was looking for, and number two, we can save that
for a future column.
After polishing off a taco, burrito, and enchilada,
we went back home. Remington laid down on our
couch with a rounded belly and an expression on his
face as if he had just sat through a marathon
viewing of the movie Manchester by the Sea.
“That was a lot of food,” Remington mumbled.
“I’m going to skip dinner.”
The next morning, I drove Remington to the hotel
where his three-day training course was held.
The hotel, which will remain nameless, is in a
part of town I’m pretty familiar with. It’s an area
with a lot of hotels and convention halls, and it’s
primarily geared toward people travelling on
business. Since he didn’t have a car during the three
days, his only dining options were those within
walking distance.
Basically, what that meant was that no matter
which restaurant he decided on, the only question
the server asked him was, “What else would you like
with your hamburger?”
I
Three days later, I picked him up from the hotel to
bring him back to my house before he headed back to
Beijing the next morning. I could tell immediately
when I pulled up that something had changed. He
was not the same person.
Remington wasn’t the “happy-go-lucky guy who is
up for anything.” He wasn’t even the guy thinking
“I’m engorged with food so just leave me alone.” He
was another person altogether.
He was standing next to his suitcase right outside
the lobby. His eyebrows were furrowed. His lips
were pursed. His left foot was tapping the ground
anxiously.
“How was the training?” I asked, foolishly.
Remington replied, “It was awful!” He seemed
irritated I had even asked.
After a few more minutes of tense conversation, it
became clear what was going on. In fact, the
training went well. He learned a lot and the
certification would help him with his work back
home. But the food …
Three days of hamburgers! I can’t take it anymore!
Every place I went, all they had were hamburgers!
The one meal that wasn’t a hamburger was lunch,
when the hotel brought food for us during the
meeting, and that was a sandwich, which is
basically just a cold hamburger! If I have another
hamburger, so help me!
At this point, I decided that jokingly offering to
take him to the Hamburger Factory in our
neighborhood likely wouldn’t go over well, and
probably wouldn’t be good for his health, or mine,
for that matter.
I headed straight for a restaurant nearby called
the Tasty Noodle House. It’s one of my favorite
Chinese restaurants. I drove there like I was
rushing him to the emergency room.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I saw an
immediate problem — no parking. I glanced around
the lot to make a beeline for anyone walking out who
looked like they were about to leave. After a few
minutes, a group came out — just in the nick of time.
I was afraid Remington was about to get out and
pull one of the other cars out of a spot on his own.
So we finally sat down to order. To give you an
idea of how much food he ordered, I was seriously
considering whether we would qualify for the
banquet discount of 15 percent after he was done.
The only thing left was waiting for the food to be
served.
What is taking so long?!? It doesn’t take this long
in Beijing! What do I have to do? Go back there and
cook it myself? What is going on?!?
Continued on page 7
Opinions expressed in this newspaper are those of the authors and not necessarily those of this publication.