Pinotchio located and captured

 

I linger too long on a street corner, trying to decide where to buy a bottle of Burgundy for dinner, and am spotted by an uncle who conscripts me into family day. Of course I want to see my grandma. This is true. My little cousins/nephews? They're cute! The problem is that a traditional Chinese family meal is a lot of work. When a person at the table who is older than you has a beverage container that is half-empty, you're supposed to refill it. I do not speak of Riedel Vinum Bordeaux wine glasses here. I'm talking about a Chinese teacup, which goes half-empty after like, a sip. Compound it with the obligation to serve others first when a course arrives - in Cantonese meals this is like every 2.6 minutes - and you're simultaneously sommelier and waiter, as well as ungrateful guest who has not made sufficient progress on his rice bowl despite everyone's thumbs-downing your low-carb diet. The conversation goes something like this:

 
"I'm really fascinated about how much Hong Kong has changed since the last..."
"Eat more!"
"I mean, even right after the takeover..."
"Eat more!"
"The takeover..."
"Why are you not eating?"
"I'm full."
"He doesn't like Chinese food."

The other problem is that I'm morbidly hungover. The night before, guys from the trade took me out to dinner where we did a bottle of cru Burgundy each, followed by a non-stop run of cocktails and beers - a marathon at the pace of a 5k. At some point, we began rating and scoring orange jello shots and tweeting the results to Robert Parker.

A few hours later, I get the following advice:
"You need to lower your standards. Find a woman. Lower your standards."

It is my grandma who says this. My hangover gets worse. I pick up a chopstick and consider driving it through my skull.