I was floored: here was a vegetarian dish within the ambit of Chinese cuisine, but as far as I could tell, it had never been served in India.
Since getting back, I have harangued all the Chinese chefs of my acquaintance, demanding to know why I cannot order Fen Pi here. To a man, their answer is because Indians do not eat cold starters in Chinese restaurants, and Fen Pi is never served warm. That brings us back to square one.
Of course, the food in China is different from what we eat here in the name of Chinese food. No restaurateur here would serve us congealed duck's blood, but cubes of it, sprinkled with a tangy spice powder akin to chaat masala, are lip-smacking. So are Cold Pickled Rabbit's Head, Turtle Soup, Ducks' Feet, Stinky Tofu (the stuff you get in Beijing pongs more than the apology dished up in Shanghai) and Drunken Prawns.
The last named is brought to the table in a plate sprinkled over with chopped garlic and ginger. The prawns are live and wriggling. The waitress pours a stiff tot of Chinese wine on them and partly covers them with a plate. The prawns gorge themselves on the wine and become drunk, then sink into a stupor and stop moving their tails.
That's when you pluck off the shells and pop them into your mouth. Nobody warned me that consuming three of them is akin to having a wee dram yourself
