Saw Bacchus in Wenzhou

A few days ago our bunch of friends decided to have a Chinese dinner at our home. Everyone loves Chinese cooking. This food of course is not a novelty any more, but since while getting better it keeps being incredibly cheap, we still eat it a lot and like it (a lot). Advised by the youngest of us all I thus went to this Chinese restaurant close by, located at the end of Via Cavour, not far from Via dei Fori Imperiali. I ordered a take-away meal for 8. I never was there before. Wow was I surprised by the place and by the people!

The restaurant was elegant enough, and I admired the professionalism, dynamism and hard working style that reigned in the place, everybody being so serious and dedicated. It was a big family clan, I believe, they all seemed related and all ages were present: male teenagers serving tables; middle-aged women organising all, calculating and pinning small sheets of paper to the wall; young sweet-looking women serving too, clad in traditional silk dresses with fine motifs all over; a man who I think was one of the older women’s husband and apparently the boss; and finally the eldest woman, white-haired, the grandmother definitely, who worked at the counter so hard despite her age, incredibly attentive to all that happened and typing the bills on the counter with solemn vigour.

I smiled at her and she smiled back at me. Romans are good-natured but they have some difficulty understanding these closed-up reserved folk who, nonetheless, when they feel you do not see them as aliens, quickly respond. I told her I met some people from China and asked what town they came from, what type of Chinese language they spoke, if their language was Cantonese- or Mandarin-related. She said their speech was related to none of them, it was a totally different language. The way she said it showed she enjoyed answering to me even though it was not apparent (although I felt it clearly).

She said they all came from Wenzhou, which, I later learned, is a town in the south-eastern Zhejiang province residing “on the Ou Jiang delta, with picturesque buildings and surroundings. The port (…) very active in the 19th century (tea export) was later used for fishing only” (La Piccola Treccani). Thence the emigration to foreign countries of large portions of these active people with “a reputation for being an enterprising folk who start restaurants, retail and wholesale businesses in their adopted countries.” Wenzhou. A difficult word I can remember just because this guy got close - the one I thought was the boss - and was so pleased to write it down for me, and asked me if I was a real Roman, and I said yes, I am a real Roman, and after a while I realised a-l-l of them quickly knew this Roman had an interest in them. They sort of suddenly knew I was sympathetic.

Someone probably overheard the above-said conversation and exchanging quick Chinese whispers all of them were immediately aware of ALL and got immediately hidden-attentive, hidden-agreeable, while two young men prayed me several times to please sit down while waiting (till I finally accepted) and offered me gratis this unbelievable Chinese H-bomb liquor (of which I drank two shots). I felt all this almost imperceptible attention, I felt these good vibes in the air despite their not showing it much. Chinese people are both delicate and steel-strong, intelligent and – I must gather from this experience – telepathic, while most of the people here consider them a totally indecipherable and marble-faced folk (marble-faced is funnier than stone-faced, being a joke I have with some Hong Kong IT students: I tease them, they tease me back), but I felt it so well they all at once liked me.

It was a lovely evening, and my fantasy was flying high, this nitro-glycerine booze being not totally guiltless.
I felt like a sudden cool breeze coming from nowhere … looked at the paintings around … looked at the smiling faces around … and clearly felt the presence of the God, as my sight slightly blurred…

At home our Chinese dinner was a success, and went on as only Roman dinners can go (for hours), mixing both Chinese and Italian food, with an icy Italian white wine this time though, a tuscan Galestro, not at all bad.
I didn’t bring any of the bomb stuff actually. Although I do know that I owe it a brief, intense encounter with Bacchus-Dionysus, son of Semele and Jupiter, in a Wenzhou restaurant, and outside in the open cool air, right at the border of ancient Subura.

While actually my sight slightly blurred inside the restaurant I remember I was kindly given my take-away meal for 8 people.

Moments later, I was driving back home with my motorbike, winding and winding like a crazy birdie, fresh crisp air on my ecstatic face.

Rome, the eternal loose woman, imperial, magnificent, was smiling all around.

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