“Eat. Go on, have one. Our lamb isn't like anyone else's. Ours has none of that gamey stink. Know why? We use Ximeng sheep. Good lamb needs freezing weather—thirty, forty below—raised on grass out on the steppe. I worked out the exact place myself, longitude and latitude on a map. You call that stuff the Shanghainese eat lamb? I'm asking you. All the sheep in Shanghai restaurants are raised in Wenzhou. Gamey! Be strange if they weren't.

“Every recipe here, I paid for. The pork-rib recipe—I bought it in Dongguan in 2008 for thirty. You think thirty yuan? Thirty thousand! Those lamb chops you're eating, I learned those in Inner Mongolia. This oven here cost me forty thousand to build. Heatproof cement, charcoal underneath. Find another one like it and I'll admit defeat. Why else do you think it tastes so good? Come on. I'll show you the oven.

“Tell me: most baijiu you've ever drunk in one sitting. How many liang? One jin? You think that's a lot, don't you. Huh. Just rinsing your mouth.

“My record? Seven jin. Never been afraid drinking with southerners! The ones I'm afraid of come from Mongolia. Met some Mongolian brothers twice. First time, in Beijing, I didn't dare let loose with them. Then I went to Mongolia. I died there. Not actually died. They took me to hospital.

“Your brother here is pushing forty. Not married. Haven't had enough fun. Lose weight? No. What for? These days all I want is sleep. Lying down feels best. Women? Huh. Boring. If I look for one, she's got to be a Beijing local. Last time I went to Shanghai, this Shanghainese driver picked me up at the airport and started on about everything wrong with Beijing. I said, Fuck off, you fucking cunt! Beat the shit out of him. Didn't actually hit him. Nearly.

“Beijing women have a temper? You mean she'd show me a temper? Three words for her: fucking try me. Didn't hear? Fucking. Try. Me.

“Used to have a place right on the main street. Queue from morning till night. Young masters came too. Because it was good. One day, one of these masters calls me wanting a parking space. Place was busy; I didn't hear the phone. Offended someone. Mate makes one call to the authorities, next day no parking anywhere on the whole street. For two years, we didn't dare open.

“Hang on. Let me see who that new car outside belongs to. Don't you scare me! Oh, you're leaving? One lamb chop still here—you don't want it? All right then. Take care.”