I was a weird kid. There’s no way I can try to deny it. One of my more
peculiar idiosyncrasies growing up: I loved it when my arms or legs would fall asleep. I thought it was cool that I could touch the “sleeping” appendage and I
would not be able to feel the sensation on my skin. (Looking back, I’d like to
say it was because I had a desire for empathy; I wanted to experience what
other people felt when they touched me. But let’s be real… I was a kid; it was
cool that I could pinch myself and it wouldn’t hurt.)
Even now, as an adult, paresthesia fascinates me (and as an adult, I
know fancy-pants, science words). In China, I find tables are just not an
adequate height for a tall waiguoren.
I often cross my legs under the table, which inevitably leads to the moment
when they fall asleep. The worst is when the pins-and-needles feeling is too
intense, and it crosses that boundary from agreeable to painful. In China, you
can get that exact same feeling in your mouth with the “flower pepper”—花椒 hua jiao.
This oral paresthesia has been one of many firsts for me in China. Those
who have been following my journey since the beginning may remember that I
wrote about the Sichuan numbing pepper after my first
experience with hotpot. Despite the translation and my insistence on calling
them peppers, they are peppercorns that, when you munch on them, create that
same tingling sensation. In my previous post, I describe it as analogous to
putting your tongue on a nine-volt battery.
After PST in Chengdu and my long train north
to Lanzhou, I never got too many chances to enjoy hua jiao. While common and plentiful in Sichuan, unless I order
specific dishes at my site, I will never taste the tantalizing tingle. While
this is a personal woe for me, it should be noted that I am in the minority.
The average PCV dislikes it, with some crazy individuals actively despise it.
The question remains: why am I nattering on
about hua jiao?