An Invitation to a Celestial Feast

Whatever our ideas may be to the contrary, John Chinaman is without doubt a gourmand of the deepest dye. A repast at the house of the wealthier classes is by no means to be despised. The invitation is a formidable document enumerating all the titles of the guest, folded in a silken wrapper. The Chinese code of etiquette is most punctilious; the moment a guest alights from his sedan chair, the host steps forth to salute the visitor with complimentary speeches, bowing the body and joining hands. Inside, the importance of a guest is known by the size of the chair in which he is seated. The table groans with various descriptions of dried spices, preserved fruit, and sweetmeats, whilst pineapples, shaddocks, litchi, and bananas are placed in porcelain bowls of antique shape. Course follows course in rapid succession: broiled ducks, roast pork, shark's fins, and sea-slug, until finally, the bird's nest soup makes its appearance. A mark of extreme good breeding is for the host to thrust some rare tit-bit onto his visitor's plate using the same chop-sticks he has been using himself. When taking wine, the cups are raised with both hands; they toss off the contents, then reverse them and tap them with the thumb nail to show they have been drained dry.