On a winter night in Shanghai, I wander down Guangdong Road in the Old City district. A cold rain is hastening my search for a diner, and I dash into one that looks popular. Once seated, I realise it may not be that popular - it's run by a large family who manage to fill up their own joint. Some of them are playing cards at the next table.

A girl brings a menu that's entirely in Chinese. Almost before I can make my apologetic shrug, she returns with a book: 20th Century Chinese Social Idiom Chinese-English Dictionary. It seems I'm supposed to look at the characters on the menu, then look them up in the dictionary to identify the delicacies listed.

The dictionary is rather thick. I open it at random and read an entry, a set of characters translated as the "General anti-Japanese society of Upper Manchu." Can't find that on the menu.

Another set of characters translates as the "Sichuan Punitive Force Against President Yuan." I try a new page. A long string of characters means "new type of ideological education movement in the army by the methods of pouring our grievances and of the Three Checkups."

Sounds good. Can I order that with oyster sauce?

The waitress returns, apparently confident that a few minutes is sufficient time for me to figure out what I'm in the mood for - and to learn Chinese.

I am reduced to pointing at things, cluck­ing like a chicken and playing charades to indicate “noodles.” Through gestures and pointing, I ask about shrimp or vegetables or chicken. I'm hoping for noodles with chicken and vegetables. But one tends to get what one asks for, or about: I get a plate of shrimp, a plate of noodles, and chicken and vegetables. The waitress probably wanted to tell me that these dishes work better together, but hey, let the crazy foreigner have his way.