They hail from the Northwest, near Mongolia, and yes, they were every bit as wild as that countryside.

Safely outside the ring, what followed was a feast clearly designed to test both stomach and dignity. Mushroom ears, lotus flower salad, jellyfish (my mom turned a delicate shade of green), sweet pork from Shanghai, South China Sea soy whole fish, mutton BBQ, and sticky rice with porridge to cut through all the grease. I thought we'd reached the final curtain, but no. Out came the Main Act. Peking Duck carted in like a mini clown car barreling straight up to the table, horn honking, confetti falling. My stomach, already at capacity, issued a formal protest: so…much…food…can't…move.

Through it all, my mom valiantly saved face and put the extra napkins to use (she REALLY didn’t like that jellyfish) while I powered through each bite and drank the strong rice wine like a trained pro. By the end, I was full, slightly drunk, and lugging a stack of audition tapes for the artistic director of the Big Apple Circus. Yes, in a past life, I was a clown pimp but that, dear readers, is a story for another day…

As we drove back past the Bird's Nest, Water Cube, and Tiananmen Square, I reflected: my life is absurd, chaotic, and occasionally delicious…but Beijing's smog? That deserves the medal for overachiever. Cough Cough….