Doo-doo

The walk on the way to the train station didn't disappoint.  Numerous corner stores had barrels and industrial sized bags full of dried seafood, fruits, and vegetables.  So many foods being sold but I recognized so few... huge, black mushroomw, dried octopus, star fish, dried snail-ish thingies, dried shrimp... This was definitely not the chinese food Im accustomed to in the US.  Hmmmm, no general tsao chicken, no braised wings, no chicken fried anything.  Authenic China is on a whole'nother level.

Dried street food video

http://youtu.be/Usr6syLCI-E

 While all these thoughts float through my head overwhelming all my senses, and my brain trying to label each mystery item, I feel a tug on my arm, it's dude.

"Mommy?", he whispers.
"Yes, dude?" I lean in to hear him a little better.
"Why are they selling doo-doo?"
"Doo-doo?!"
"Yes over there."  He points.

See, look...the "sophisticated traveler" in me wants to have a talk with him about cultural sensitivity and how its always inappropriate to call someones food doo-doo, the curious confused foreigner in me wants to bust out laughing because he's pretty much right.  Whatever that is, does indeed look like doo-doo.  I chose to take a middle ground in approaching the question he has now repeated, thankfully whispering, 2 more times.  He was genuine, he needed to know.

"Dude, that's not doo-doo."

"Yes, it is.  I know what doo-doo looks like... and that's doo-doo!" he was sure and he wasn't taking 'no it's not' for an answer.  He needed a better explanation.

"Dude.  I'm pretty sure its dried cucumber and larvae."

*blank stare* for dude, but no reply.

He gave me that look that only dude can give. He was not convinced, but he was going to leave the topic alone... for now.  I know how to take small blessings (like his silence) with grace, so I kept us moving toward our metro station.