Has anyone else been to a restaurant called “Taste of China”? You might be thinking you have, but, and I know this sounds weird, it’s not a Chinese restaurant. Describing their style of cuisine is hard. It was styled somewhat like Chinese food, but the spice profile almost reminded me of Pakistani food.
To preface this event, I’ll start from my youth. Since I was a boy, I have found myself disgusted by shrimp. Not just shrimp but any crustacean in general, save crabs. This didn’t start until at a Chinese buffet my family frequented, I, for the first time, encountered a shrimp with both its legs and eyes still attached. It was a strange feeling realizing I hadn’t been eating just some small part of the creatures before, but the entirety of them. I remember the feeling, looking in the vat of unpeeled shrimp, their cold unfeeling eyes staring back at me. Since then, I’ve seen unshelled prawns many times, but I still have never got used to the feeling of having to peel off their eyes and skin before eating them and for whatever reason crabs being a whole creature had never struck me as strange. Of course, there was a second inciting incident, one that even put me off my beloved crab for a bit, this one ruining my taste for lobster. While I sat and ate a lobster in my childhood home, my older sister came up to me and said “you realize those are basically giant cockroaches right, they’re basically cousins. And as I thought about this, I could no longer bring myself to eat. Not because what she said was simply disgusting, but because the closer I looked at the lobster the more I saw the similarities. Long antennae, a segmented body, but worst of all the legs. The small legs on the lobster looked so like those I had seen on cockroaches in times past. Since then, in my mind, crustaceans and arthropods have been inextricable.
Of course, as the years have gone by, I haven’t let this repulsion prevent me from partaking in the occasional lobster roll or shrimp dish. I love food too much to deny myself those flavors simply because they’re a little gross. This story really begins when I decided to take a gamble in a related sense, trying a seafood stew at a restaurant I had never been to before.
I received an email on august 3rd. The email had not been filtered by my junk folder, so I opened it up. It was from a new restaurant opening down the street from me. The name of the restaurant “Taste of China,” continued a naming trend I had seen in Chinese restaurants near me, of which there were many, in part due to me living close to a historically Chinese area. “Taste of Hunan” and “Taste of Chengdu” were two of my favorite restaurants, so I was immediately interested, despite not having any legitimate reason to be. The body of the message was about a soft launch taking place a week from when the email arrived. It said it was a somewhat exclusive event, which struck me as odd, as it didn’t seem the type of place to be hosting something like that, but more so because I didn’t realize why I had gotten an invitation. Of course, I occasionally reviewed restaurants on yelp and ate at any new place that opened around me, as well as several older ones, but it still didn’t explain why they chose me, or how they got my email. Still, the pictures they had sent as attachments looked downright amazing, which was not the norm for this type of establishment. I decided to go.
When I got there the first thing that struck me was how unlike other Chinese restaurants it was. The decor was dark and modern, something I saw more often in Japanese or fusion fare. Where many Chinese restaurants had large tables and were in big open spaces, this one seemed to be narrow, the aisles next to the booths hardly large enough to allow passage. Also, the booths were an unusual choice and were also a bit small and cramped. I thought I’d leave this as feedback, maybe asking them to scoot the booths back a foot or two, or even consider some tables, but in the end, I decided not to. Anyway, the menu was a little weird too. Where I was used to a litany of different items and sections this place had only two sections: Appetizers, with 3 choices and entrees, with an additional three choices. At the time I assumed it was just because of the soft launch, but now I realize it’s strange how finished the menus seemed.
Of the choices the one that seemed the best to me was one called “seafood stew” this had been shown on the website and looked delicious, a beautiful dark red dish, with tempting pieces of white flesh poking out of the liquid. I ordered this along with two appetizers and a drink, I think dumplings and a bun, though they could hardly be described as such, so I only ate a bit of them. The stew came out in a large pot, still boiling. To say the stew was phenomenal would be an understatement.
The shrimp and lobster were good, but whatever fish they had added was amazing. Even as an avid connoisseur of food and someone who had tried many dishes this one was a cut above the rest. It exceeded even the two Michelin star restaurants I had visited, the crowns of my restaurant visiting experience. The flavor was savory in a way I hadn’t known seafood had to be, and the sauce was excellent as well. I wouldn’t compare it to any other type of Chinese I’ve eaten, traditional or American. But the thing that kept me eating was that fish, the white meat, a flavor unlike anything else I had ever eaten. The only thing I disliked was the shells. Either some of the shrimp or lobster shells had been added into the stew, and their appearance was off putting, they had a dark color I had never seen in a shrimp or lobster before, and they also had long twisting spines. Inside of the shells there was some sort of gooey, black material that seeped into the broth and reminded me of the fact I was eating something that had once been a living organism. Still, even with this small caveat it remained the best meal I had ever eaten, bar none.
When I finished up and paid the check, I got up to head to the bathroom. I asked the waiter where it was and he told me where it was, gesturing with his arms as he did so, his motions slightly stilted. The waiter was a tall man, thin and gaunt with pasty white skin, if I had to guess I’d say he was from Ireland or Eastern Europe. He talked in a weird way that I can’t properly explain. It wasn’t an accent, as much as he was using strange enunciation, like he was reading a book out loud and didn’t know what he was going to say next. I passed through the narrow corridors, which seemed to be slightly too long and passed other guests as I did, many with bliss on their faces. Going further than I thought the building stretched, I reached what I assumed was the bathroom I entered. I realize my mistake now. I thought he had said, “the door right at the end of the hall” rather than “the door on the right at the end of the hall.” This slip-up may have saved my life.
What greeted me was a sight I’ll never forget. First, I saw the tub. The wall was lined with similar tubs, but this one sat open, near a counter. It was full of water, but still, underneath something could be made out. The wriggling of a large mass of creatures. I stood there transfixed for a moment, before remembering that some restaurants do use live ingredients. Then I saw a middle-aged man, with almost blindingly pale skin reach in and pull one of the creatures out. As he pulled it out, I saw its black chitinous body, shining in the light. He continued to pull, and it continued to come out, its segmented body now visible to me. The thing was some type of centipede. It looked to be slightly wider than a lobster and had hundreds of long multi segmented legs, all wriggling in the air as the man pressed its head on the cutting board, eliciting a strange high-pitched shriek, and then brought his cleaver down with a sickening crunch, cutting the screech off entirely. The legs continued to wriggle for a moment before falling still. The man pulled the rest of its body out of the tub. What I assumed was a mass of wriggling creatures had actually been one long organism. The thing had to have been 20 feet long, the way its body kept coming out as he pulled more and more out. Next to him I saw the same pot and dark broth I had been served for dinner. As I felt the dish, I had eaten for dinner rising in my throat, I turned quickly and ran to the door across the hall, this time correctly finding the unlabeled bathroom. I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet, disgusted and scared by what I had seen. I went home after that. After paying my bill. I asked the waiter what the seafood stew had been made of. He gave me a puzzled look, before replying, “shrimp, lobster, and fish,” the same thing it had said on the menu.
When I got home, I started researching. There was such a thing as an aquatic centipede but nothing so long, and nothing with legs nearly as long as the one I had seen. A few days later I drove by the place, hoping to catch a glimpse of that too-pale worker had seen in the kitchen, but when I drove by it all that I saw was an empty storefront, the sign and furniture all removed.
I couldn’t keep it off my mind and continued looking for information about the place, and found several other restaurants with the same name, but none that shared any similarities. These places were all very nominal Chinese restaurants, with menus to reflect this. None had the same black interior and confusing, tight seating arrangements. It struck me around this time that, aside from the name nothing in the restaurant had been Chinese. Every staff member I had seen had been a white man, save for one, who may have been a Desi man. Even the dumplings had been more reminiscent of pirogi than any shumai or similar fare. The buns too lacked the delicious spongy texture commonly found in a bao. For some reason I got the feeling the name was just a cover. I continued looking into the name every day.
About a week later a related post appeared. By a self-styled TikTok influencer who frequented many local restaurants. His name was FoodJohn. Apparently, he had gone the same day I had, but had not been allowed to film in the restaurant. Instead, he posted a couple days later, saying they told him wait to post and ranting and raving about how great the food had been. He was right, though I hated to admit it. I continued perusing his profile looking for more information before I decided to send him a message. I told him I went to the same restaurant, and he basically insisted we met up. He said something like he wanted to talk to someone else “who had experienced it first-hand.” We arranged to meet in two weeks at a restaurant, though now I regret I didn’t make time for him sooner. A few days after we made these plans he sent another message. This one was simply an address, which I presumed was his home.
I went to the address he gave me. It wasn’t too far away. Maybe a 20-minute bus ride. I remember debating whether I should tell him about what I saw in there, but ultimately, I decided against it. “Ignorance is bliss as they say.” I knocked on the door but there was no response. I texted him, called him, nothing. Finally, I just tried the door. I had never entered a stranger’s home like that, without permission, but I was getting a bad feeling. The door creaked open, and an awful smell seeped out of his house. I knew what it was before I went in. I had heard that the smell of rot or death was unmistakable but now for the first time I experienced it. I thought maybe I was mistaken, but it was just so pungent. I debated calling the police, but a morbid curiosity drove me onward.
The room looked uninteresting, his living room average if not a little messy. That thick disgusting odor filled my lungs as I entered the room. I could no longer appreciate the average appearance of his living room as that sickly smell permeated deeper and deeper. Next, I checked out his bedroom, again, nothing of note except for a rather impressive computer and a weirdly large bed for the size of the room. I realized the smell was weaker in that room. The kitchen next, I noticed he had almost no food in his cabinets, but a ton of water bottles, or at least empty ones. I opened the fridge, and a new aroma was introduced, a pungent, fishy smell. It looks like he had cleared out a fish market. He had so many kinds of fish, but more than that there was every type of seafood imaginable: Shrimp, lobster, prawns, scallops, sea urchin, sea cucumber, snail, octopus, squid, and more things I wasn’t completely familiar with. I slammed the fridge shut and was alone with the disgusting smell of death again.
I continued wandering around, looking for what I could only imagine was FoodJohn’s dead body, but as I acclimated to the smell it was clear that it was stronger the closer I got to a locked door on the far side of the living room. I should have just stopped there and called the police, but I just couldn’t stop my morbid sense of curiosity. It was one of those bathrooms with pinhole locks and after looking about for about ten minutes I found a paper clip in his desk, which promptly unlocked the door. The bathroom was in a state of utter disarray. The counters had been cleared, the floor strewn with random objects and a notable number of water bottles. Pieces of paper towel and toilet paper also lined much of the floor, saturated with some dark, almost black liquid. I found a path that avoided the soppy, dark mess, and made my way over to the shower.
I opened the shower curtain, a wave of condensed rot hitting me like a whiff of ammonia. FoodJohn sat there, looking up at me lifelessly. The first thing I noticed about FoodJohn’s corpse was the state of his lower body. His legs were basically gone, not even bone remaining, and his pelvis was completely opened, like something had made its way through his stomach and out of his perineum. His skin below the chest had been stained black, as if he had been sitting in a tub of the stuff all over the bathroom. I opened the toilet and threw up, realizing too late that the toilet was also full of the same black liquid. I threw up in the sink instead, which was thankfully empty, though at this point I hardly felt like the bathroom could be further soiled.
I turned back to the tub. He wore a pained expression with fear clear on his face and I felt a profound sadness knowing he died like that, especially knowing he was an avid food lover like me. His eyes streaked with that same liquid, he almost looked like someone who had cried while wearing a lot of mascara. I remember thinking that to myself in that moment and then feeling sick again.
How easily it could have been me in that tub, my eyes streaked with whatever the hell that stuff is. This was not the time for levity, I continued inspecting the tub. The drain was ringed with a black liquid that looked sort of like coffee grounds. There was more of it in the corners and sides of the tub, clearly some kind of sediment. Then I saw it. Near the drain, there was one roughly 4 inch long, dried-up black centipede, just like the one I had seen in the restaurant, only so much smaller. Then I noticed two more on the side closest to me. Then another in the far corner. I think that made me call the cops finally. Or I guess maybe I was just done, there was nothing else I could do.
The police asked me some questions, but they seemed more confused than I was. The younger of the two especially seemed shaken after looking in the bathroom. When I started trying to explain the restaurant and the centipedes, I saw the older of the two cops shoot the other one a look that said, “This guy’s crazy.” Not crazy enough to be a real suspect in FoodJohn’s death though,as after a quick visit to the station and another cop taking my statement they let me go.
It’s been a few months since then, and for the first couple weeks I was completely against seafood of any kind, but I’m starting to come back around. I still love eating out and trying new places and I have started to eat crustaceans on occasion again. Recently though, I have found myself looking up “Taste of China” on an almost daily basis, hoping to find a new post about it. I tell myself it’s to warn unknowing patrons, but sometimes I wonder if it’s not so I can try that delicious seafood stew again