how to say takeout (打包)

When you’re speaking Chinese in China you have to not mind blathering on in front of wide-eyed strangers all focused on you like you’re the one monkey at the zoo. You have to not mind because within that group of people is the one person who may eventually figure out the riddle of what you’re trying to say. When it starts happening you can feel the tilt of understanding tip in your favor: she’s crazy… she’s crazy… she’s crazy… wait a minute, I think she means fish-fragrant eggplant! And with that discovery the crazy evaporates and they invite you inside.

It’s a wonderful moment, and you have to work for it – and wait for it – because it doesn’t come easy. But once it does, once that communal light bulb goes on in all of your heads, the butchering of the language and the over-sized pantomime is worth it. You’ve communicated.

In fact, a few days ago I was standing outside a restaurant doing this very thing, and once the group of seven or so restaurant staff finally figured out I was trying to order take-out we were really rolling. It only took five more minutes, along with the help of a translation app on my iPhone and the restaurant's picture menu, to figure out what I wanted to eat. In my personal China this is defined as success – and I say that without a single note of sarcasm.

Once the food was ordered I was invited inside to wait while it was prepared. I’m convinced this is because at the time I was sweating more than anyone else in Chengdu and they were worried I might die. So I followed their suggestion and sat down in front of an air conditioner which they so nicely pointed right at me. I was presented with hot tea and one of the staff talked to me about how much he loves watching American wrestling. I understood at least half of what he was saying which by my current standards of communication is pretty awesome.

And the food… the food was incredible. The top layer of the crispy duck rice (脆皮糯米鸭) was perfectly crisped rice, below that was a chewier rice layer and at the very bottom was the rich bacon-y layer of soft smoky duck, with its crisped skin facing bottom. The fish fragrant eggplant（鱼香 茄子）was all sour and hot and sweet, with ginger, chives, pepper, and garlic swarming over silky eggplant, the flavors building to a molasses-tinged burn.

It’s these kinds of things – the guessing, the wrestling, the eggplant – that can really teach you Chinese.

il migliore di milano : take-out / portare via

Italian take-out is just that. It's Italian food put in little aluminum containers that are given to you so steaming hot that if you don't keep shifting the hand with which you hold them, you risk a searing set of risotto burns.

The bad news is that there aren't many other options for take-out cuisine. But the good news is that once you realize your previous tradition of Friday night Thai food is a thing of the past, you quickly see that your current options will obliterate all memories of the passionate love affair you once had with spring rolls.

Any excuse you can think of - I don't have time to cook; I don't have time to grocery shop; My neighbor's children are practicing the piano and the recorder at the exact same time - is a good excuse to get food from Gambarotta.

This place is excellently normal. There's nothing fancy or luxurious about it but Gambarotta is always full of Italians. Tutti gli italiani eat there: families, young couples, old couples, people alone talking on their cell phones. On weekends it's hard to get a table.



The reason is the food. It's what you expect of dinner at someone's house - that authenticity, that sense of legitimacy that comes from a real meal. It's like rolling up to a relative's house for dinner except that instead of eating there you can take the food back to your house and no one will think that you're rude.

I love the puntarelle with acciughe. Puntarelle are a vegetable that I didn't know existed until I came to Italy. They're crispy shoots that are a sort of cross between celery and fennel, and they go incredibly well with anchovies.

And their bruschettona -- it's so good that certain unnamed family members shamelessly ordered it with three consecutive meals. It's a giant slice of bread piled with tomatoes, basil, olive oil, buffalo mozzarella, and thin stripes of mild anchovies. I dare you to come up with a better bruschetta than this - it can't be done.



The orecchiette with cima di rapa are savory and rich. The ear-shaped pasta snuggles up to the sauteed cima di rapa and there's this delayed kick that comes from what must be red pepper flakes.

If you order these three things you will be ecstatic. And I imagine that if you order anything else off the menu, you'll also be pretty darn happy. The problem is that I keep ordering the same things over and over. It's kind of like what I used to do with Thai food except that now my memories of spring rolls are fading into the distance.

But I can sure tell you about the bruschettona...

Gambarotta, Via Moscova 50, Milano