In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. ‘I knew I should find you still here. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. He ate of the bread with great appetite, and having drunk as much as he chose of the water, poured the rest on the floor.
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