I have a special relationship with the white spirits. It's a relationship that has evolved from absolute disgust to total freakdom.
By the time I arrived in Yibin, the Spirit Capital of China in southern Sichuan Province, I had already been introduced to the myriad possibilities for Chinese liquors. I had tried the small green bottles of paint thinner and the more virile bottles of The Big Husband, a dark brown concoction that boasted an aphrodisiac effect via the penises of animals such as sea dog, cow, and wild deer. Hell, I had even plugged a watermelon with a bottle of white spirits. It's a long ride to Wolong Nature Reserve.
But folks here in the Spirit Capital are serious about their drinking. They don't play around. It's strictly "white" liquors (baijiu). It's hard to find penis liquor and paint thinner here. Banqueting, I missed the whiskey-like appearance of The Big Husband. So my only real choices for libations on these occasions were white liquor or Chinese beer. I didn't want to offend my hosts, and so I obligingly sampled their white Yibin liquor. It proved to be rough: By no means was I prepared to eat a whole meal punctuated by frequent downings of cups of the stuff. My libational experiences thus far were motivated by mere curiosity-- natural, innocent.
I'd gag and snort then pound a glass of Sprite followed by a bowl of rice for a chaser. I couldn't understand how somebody could eat food and drink this stuff at the same time. The taste was invasive. I felt violated. But at the same time there was an element of mystery to the whole experience. Were my Chinese colleagues so physiologically different than me that they had happy taste buds when combining Sichuan food with white spirits? I was baffled. I love Sichuan food; I always have. But my mouth would have been just fine with a glass of Pepsi to wash the tasty morsels down.
It was merely a question of time. Approaching one year of living in China I had adapted to the strong, dry taste of baijiu. What I had once described as "Satan's Sweat" in letters home was now a pleasant addition (addiction) to my culinary experiences in Yibin. It was now gin with the ginger and vodka with the viscera.
The curiosity of my first months in China, however, was not yet satisfied. In some restaurants I started noticing big glass containers filled with liquid, small red fruit, and roots. I quickly discovered that this was a medicinal form of the white spirits I had grown to appreciate. I went in. Medicinal date liquor, green liquor made of snake gall bladder, various fruity concoctions. A new level of Chinese culture was opened. But it wasn't until I was traveling with some friends during National Day that I began to appreciate the depth of this new realm.
We ventured to a mountain area north west of Pengzhou. The first night there we rode horses for a while and then climbed a set of stairs to a temple. Our plan was to stay there for the night and climb the main peak the next day. After dropping my bag off in my small wooden room, I expected to meet everybody in the main courtyard so that we could go to the kitchen for some food. I couldn't find anybody. I wandered throughout the temple for a good fifteen minutes. Then I heard English coming from a small room off the main courtyard. I went in.
There, perched on ridiculously small stools, were Rick and Don. "Hey, grab a stool. This guy's going to give us some thousand year old eggs and he said something about white spirits." There was an ancient man crouched in the corner preparing the thousand year old eggs. A big dish of eggs came and then bowls were placed in front of us. I thought that the bowls were for the eggs, but before I had the chance to ask, the man was filling my bowl with liquor from a big plastic jug that looked more like an antifreeze container.
The eggs were pungent and the liquor followed suit. I asked him how strong it was, and he said over 60%. Except for the time I had sampled white spirits from a factory vat, this was the strongest spirit I had ever had in China. The old man then pointed to a collection of forty small jars, which were under his desk. I leaned closer to listen. He told me that every jar contained medicinal liquor. "Are they all different?" I asked. He nodded yes and proceeded to grab the jar closest to him. He opened it; the room was instantly perfumed with ginger. He poured it into his bowl and took a sip. Then he grabbed a book from underneath his pillow. The book was all handwritten and complete with diagrams of the human body. He was writing a health book on medicinal liquors. He proceeded to explain the major aspects of human health. I soon lost him in translation, and just enjoyed watching his body fill with passion while explaining his hobby and life work.
I fancied myself as an old man puttering around a small room placing rare herbs and roots into different containers and then sapping their medicines with white spirits. Through this man I had reached a spiritual plane, a place where all of life's discomforts could be cured by the natural contents of a small bottle. Needless to say, I was shocked and chagrined when three weeks later Don explained the contents of a liquor container he had seen at the annual Mianyang Commodities Bazaar.
His words catapulted every sense of peace I had found in white spirits into left field. "There's a what in it?" I asked.
"A monkey, man. I thought it was a baby, and I asked the guy, and he said it was a monkey," said Don.
"Why is there a monkey in it?" I asked.
"I don't know, but you got to see it."
"I certainly do," I replied. My curiosity was raging.
The next day we cruised around the bazaar looking at all stalls, eating barbecued mutton, and an assortment of fried foods. The whole time there I was keeping my eyes peeled for any other freak show spirits. I sampled a few white spirits from vendors with large white tubs, and thought about buying some dried snakes to start my own home-brew liquor.
Our group split after lunch and it was just Don, Adam, Natalie, and myself. The monkey stall was a long walk, but there was bounce in my step. The cold Mianyang rain wasn't going to stop me from seeing this. "It should be somewhere around here." Said Don. We slowed down and I scanned the area. "Here it is." He said.
There in front of me was a 250-gallon fish tank sitting on a wooden dolly. The tank was mostly empty, but some of the 108 ingredients were floating in about six inches of spirits. When I first looked at it, it was hard to tell what it was. There wasn't really enough liquid for the monkey to float; it just washed up on a beach of strange roots and berries. A dead drunken monkey, as though pitched overboard for stealing the captain's rum.
The man who was in charge of the tank reached in and pulled out the monkey's head. A lip slid off the skull and plopped back into the tank. He put the head back in and Don, Adam, and I agreed that this was the freakiest thing any of us had ever seen in China. Natalie kept her distance, avoiding the powerful odor of the monkey spirit. When I looked back at the cover of the glass tank there was a cup sitting on it, filled to the brim with liquor. It was a challenge. This man was testing us. But here was a chance to experience the pinnacle of white spirit freakdom.
Don decided he wanted a picture holding the head. So the tank man grabbed the monkey's damp, decaying skull and handed it to Don. Natalie quickly snapped a picture and then I reached for the glass. There was no turning back. I went in. Pulling the cup away from my lips I thought I might gag, but I didn't. The sensation can only be described like this: Like a palate cleanser at a fine restaurant, the monkey liquor went straight to work on my taste buds, but this wasn't pleasant. My mouth felt chemically stripped then coated with formaldehyde. My tongue was now a specimen at the laboratory. Don and Adam had their samples and then we left. There was nothing else to do there.
For the next half hour or so we all noticed a certain mental clarity. I felt that I could speak about anything for any length of time. Then Adam pointed out this sensation might just be us experiencing a placebo. I was so hyped up about the whole thing; his placebo theory makes sense. I had built the whole experience up in my mind so much that upon completing the journey to the monkey tank some weird subconscious weight was lifted. I felt very similar when I was sitting in the old man's room listening to him explain his spirits. I can't even begin to imagine where my relationship with the white spirits can go from here.
