O, serene one, share your
 savory wisdom with me!
Imagethief announced yesterday that he would be heading to Xinjiang for the holidays. He was not entirely forthcoming about why he is going, and he felt that his loyal readers (both of them) deserved to know more.

I seek the chuan master.

A new, hole-in-the-wall Xinjiang eatery just opened up next to Imagethief's apartment building. With something of a stealth muslim community, Beijing is covered with these restaurants. (Four years ago, in Singapore, Imagethief was stunned to discover that his Mandarin tutor was a Beijing Muslim.) This is not a bad thing. Xinjiang food can be pretty good, and the best of these restaurants are gems. The BLCU campus is famously home to a Muslim restaurant that has fed generations of foreign students.

The more downmarket Xinjiang places that pepper the alleyways of the city tend to share certain things in common. They prominently feature dirt-cheap mutton skewers (羊肉串, or yangrou chuan) and other mutton and bread dishes. The waitresses wear green outfits. They have signs with Chinese and Arabic writing (although I'm not sure why; Arabic is not spoken in Xinjiang). The signboards are also generally graced with images of rolling green fields and the image of a bearded man in a Muslim skullcap.

It is this man who fascinates me. Enigmatic and serene, he is a staple of the signboards of Xinjiang restaurants. A prophet of cheap eats. A sage of savory goodness. Many are the times that I have been munching on a stick or three of chuan while gazing up at this mysterious man and wondering, "Who are you, O chuan master? Would that I could sit at your feet as your humble disciple and learn the secrets to inner tranquility and proper spicing of mutton." Or something like that. Of course I've usually also packed away a few Yanjing beers, which go nicely with Xinjiang food, and which may contribute to my reverent and contemplative frame of mind.

Well, I shall be denied no longer. This is a pilgrimage. I shall forsake all worldly  possessions except for my camera, some sunscreen and a good hat and abandon my ties to this vale of tears in search of spiritual and culinary perfection. Somewhere, at the end of my journey, he awaits, with his bounty of barbecue wisdom.

I am prepared invest however long my quest may require. Or until Saturday week, whichever comes first. If a carry an usual glow when I return, look closely. It could be the glorious light of beatification. Or it might just be mutton grease.