The Thousands

Do it. Go in. The instructions are right there printed across the sign. Go in. Sit down. Eat hotpot from a train. You won’t regret it. Not at all. It’s not like buying a thigh dissolver or ab-twirler or facial hair executioner from an infomercial or something. It’s bliss in broth form.

The process is simple. First one must pick a broth, and highly recommended are the spicy duck feet (delicious zesty sour soup with bits of chewy yum – yes, they are feet and yes, eating them feels vaguely sexual) or the Kimchi soup. Next, one must attempt to select from the scores of menu items available to put in your personal hotpot (best to let one’s assertive friend make the choices if one, like me, suffers from neoliberal anxiety and can be overwhelmed by the dizzying number of edible options a free-market has to offer). One probably ought to get the mashed boiled prawn wah, or a plate of squishy grey material which transforms into pink puffs of prawn happiness while swimming in your broth. Other potential mouth delights include: trays of thinly sliced meats, dumplings, homemade noodles and so many vegetable and tofu varieties that your pot is gonna look like a pool party at a nerd-with-rich-parents’ house.

Finally, you can make your selection from the train itself. This bad boy is like the Trans-Siberian of food locomotives. There are more Asian greens, mushrooms and bean curd skins than you can poke an assassinated tsar’s severed finger at. With this much delicious on offer for this cheap – long live perestroika!