Confessions of a gourmand

Fresh lobsters bound for the table at Waldorf Astoria Beijing. [Photo provided to China Daily]

that is what the wok fried beef is rich in. If the entire thing could be compared to an aria, then with the consumption of this last dish, the feeling of being pampered strikes a high note, before the stomach gives a gratifying sign.

Having approached the borders of gluttony with all this eating, it is time to stop. But before that I become philosophical and nostalgic, as I always do after some form of guilty pleasure.

In my household when I was a child my father cooked the best beef－so much so that every Chinese New Year's Eve he was responsible for doing exactly that. He always used beef with many tendons, which I still adore.

He always threw a few hawthorns into the pot, too. This was to make the beef more tender, he said, and he boasted of having mastered the delicate art of knifemanship, best evidenced by his treatment of the cooked beef.

"You must cut through the grains of the meat," he said.

Perhaps this is the place to bring Dad, I thought. I could treat him to these taste delights, and after a similar session in which we let our taste buds run riot, let him know that for all the undoubted prowess of culinary masters everywhere, he stands head and shoulders above them all.