French Fries, the Mission

Ordering at KFC was more complicated than I’d imagined right from the start. I figured, (as I must learn to STOP doing), that this fast food joint would be geared towards Foreigners, or at least English-friendly enough that I could point or gesture to get by. The entire menu was in Chinese, and most of it was displayed in lists with no pictures. I managed to order what looked like a special deal, as it was featured on its own panel with what I hoped was the price in Yuan. The cashier asked me a string of questions, which I could only assume meant “original or extra crispy”, and was met with my blank stare and poor attempt at “sorry” (Duay bu tchi), shake head. Eventually, as is often the result of my ordering, she chose some answer for me and took my money.

In my life, this is actually considered a success. Therefore, when the smell of fries from the people next to us somehow sparked a second appetite, I was happy to walk back downstairs to the counter. I decided to go to the same cashier, so that she at least knew that I had no idea what I was doing. While waiting in line, however, I realized that there were no pictures of French fries on the menu. As I inched closer and closer I tried to think of strategies. By the time I was face-to-face with the cashier, I had nothing. How do you mime French fries??

My first attempt was just to say the word and hope that either her or someone around would recognize the word. I gave raised eyebrows to the people trying to order their own meals to the right and left of me. Nothing. I looked behind her to see if there were some I could point to. Nothing. She tried holding some chicken nuggets up for my approval. Nope. My low point was actually trying to draw the shape of a French fry on the counter.

Defeated and embarrassed for myself, I gave up and left the line. On my way to the stairs, ready to climb back to the second floor seating and admit newfound inability to order French fries at a fast food place, I noticed a couple sitting by the window, leaning over a tray of fries. I’d like to say that I hesitated and thought out my next move, but that’s not the case. I went straight up to them and tried to explain myself. It went something like this: “Hi. I’m trying to order French fries (wild gesture towards their fries). Do you know the word for this? How can I order this? Do you know what I’m saying?”

The answer was no. Eventually, the guy just looked at the tray, picked up a single fry, and held it out to me, eyebrows raised, which I interpreted as, “Do you want this fry you crazy stranger?”

My answer was yes. I took the fry and marched right to the cashier girl, holding it up triumphantly from my place at the back of the line. She laughed and placed my order next.

I’d rather not admit this, but after I victoriously paraded my fries back to our table, Kelly asked, “Why didn’t you just use your guidebook?”

And there it was: French fries, jah too-doh, tyow.