From "Consumption: A Novel" by G.S. Johnston

Martin has written Sara a letter with his first impressions of Hong Kong…

High point of the evening? Two Filipino waitresses ceremoniously brought a huge silver tray displaying a roasted pig, the complete carcass.  With visible effort, they heaved it up onto the center of the dining table, the fat still hissing and spitting.  Evidently it was to be carved by the hostess in situ, like some pagan ritual. 

At the head of the table our hostess, beaming ear to ear, lowered her dark eyes towards the pig, which lay facing her, its teeth snarling. 

“You’ve forgotten the apple!” she shrieked, slapping the table with her hand.  “I told you about the apple.”

A servant winced and walked back through the swinging doors.  A moment later she reappeared with a shiny green apple.  But in the heated confusion caused by Hong Kong’s language soup, the waitress stood with the apple in her mouth and the carving knife and fork held up beside her face.

 

This place is a madhouse.  I wish you were here.