noodle soup and friendship

Fall officially fell today.

The morning was cool, if not warm, and thick with the humidity that begs for a downpour. Hours later, that wish was fulfilled, and heavy rain fell from the sky and penetrated strong winds as if to threaten with snow or even hail.

The loyalty of the Beijing summers has disappeared at the first threat of winter, and I fear there is no turning back.

I had decided to bike to my old campus (blcu) and study for tomorrow's oral exam at a café. Where there is a place of interest, smokers are prolific. And so I thought that I'd dare to sit outdoors at a picnic table under a canopied area adjacent to the cafés and restaurants and breathe in the crisp evening air.

But I hadn't counted on the rain that would eventually cause a chill to overcome me and physically persuade me from concentrating on my studies. The coffee had long been sipped to nil, and the following cup of hot water lost its strength too soon.

On my way home, I decided to stop by the Muslims Restaurant on campus to say hello to my friends who had yet to punch out. Hailing from Xinjiang, China's most northwestern province, my friends are not the *Chinese* that most outside China would first imagine. They are Uyghur, one of the Muslim ethnic minorities in China proper. Their land borders Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Russia, and Mongolia - yet is [politically defined as a part of] China.

coworkers and friends of the Muslims Restaurant

My travels to Xinjiang (200807) enabled me to see just a glimpse of today's Xinjiang, where street signs sport both Uyghur and Mandarin alike, as in this Urumqi bus station below:

can you name the bus station?

At any rate, I stopped by to see my friends at their restaurant. The bakers making naan (a type of really tasty bread) had pulled closed the windows where customers usually can watch them work the dough and shape the frisbee-shaped loaves. Winter was on its way.

They pulled the window open for me and we talked for a few minutes. It was close to 10p and time to eat dinner before calling it a night. I noticed they had just sat down with large bowls of broth and noodles, and my good friend pointed out that it was a dish I had eaten in Xinjiang: mampar. MMmmmampar...

mmmmmampar...

And before I knew it, they had dished out a small noodlicious bowl to share with me... leaving me wondering if there would be any troubles resulting from my not eating *on the inside*. Rest assured, they said, the boss would not mind.

Mampar (pronounced: mem•pear'r) is a pulled noodle soup. Fat noodles are literally formed by pinching the dough as it is being stretched and tossed into a boiling broth. Tonight's broth was rather salty and had cabbage, garlic, carrots, and green onions in it.

In Xinjiang, this broth consisted of tomatoes, spicy Anaheim peppers, red onion, a dash of salt, and vegetable oil. No more and no less. In the following video, my friend Raxidan shows how to prepare Mampar:

noodle soup of Xinjiang

There's nothing quite like sharing a bowl of noodle soup with friends to warm you as winter steps up its approach from a hint to a sprint！