Chinese joke : A village with only one restaurant

[Singh]

Below is a translation of a joke that is currently being circulated widely on Sina Weibo and other Chinese social networks:


There is a village that only has one restaurant. Everyone in the village has to eat at that restaurant. "¨

Villager: Why can't we have more than one restaurant?"¨
Waiter: Our village is in a stage of development where more than one restaurant can lead to chaos, so we only have one restaurant. "¨

Villager: But the food here is really not good!"¨
Waiter: Our restaurant has only been developing for a short time. Even if the food tasted worse than this, at least it's our own food! "¨

Villager: But can't it be a little cheaper?"¨
Waiter: That would not suit the conditions of our village; the restaurant also needs to develop."¨

Villager: But the employees of the restaurant are all driving Mercedes Benz cars!
Waiter: To ensure fair and uncorrupt staff, you need to pay them high salaries."¨

Villager: But last year, you lent all the profits of the restaurant to another village."¨
Waiter: This is the village policy, you don't need to worry about it. "¨

Villager: I heard that the guy in charge of purchasing took all the money for buying vegetables and ran away to another village. "¨
Waiter: That type of employee is very rare. "¨

Villager: What about that time when we found sand inside the steamed buns? "¨
Waiter: Don't worry, we have already fired that chef, he didn't have the right qualifications. "¨

Villager: So when we've got so many problems, why do you still hang up certificates of high quality? Why do you tell oursiders that everyone is eating so well? "¨
Waiter: For whose interests are you speaking? What a waste that the village has raised you!"¨

Villager: The grain was grown by the peasant farmers, the restaurant was built by the workers, and the chef is one of us common people. "¨
Waiter: Look at M village taking advantage of L village! M Village is really hegemonistic."¨

Villager: I can't even get a decent meal, what do these other things have to do with me? Why don't other villages have all these problems we have here? "¨
Waiter: Whenever you talk about yourself, you can only say only bad things, when you talk about others, you say everything is good. You village traitor!

Original Chinese text
有一个村子只开一个饭店，所有人都必须去那家饭店吃饭。
村民：为什么不引进更多的饭店呢？
小二：我村处于发展阶段，多饭店容易乱不适合我们，所以我们要一饭店制。
村民：但是这菜太难吃了啊！
小二：我们饭店才发展多少年啊，在怎么不好也是我们自己的饭店啊。
村民：但是能不能便宜点啊！
小二：这个不符合我们村情，饭店也要发展。
村民：但是饭店的管家都开上奔驰了。
小二：这是高薪养廉。
村民：但是去年你把饭店盈利的钱都借给别的村了啊。
小二：这是个村策，你不需要关心。
村民：听说上个采购员拿买菜的钱跑别的村去了。
小二：那样的员工只是少数的。
村民：上次的包子里有沙子怎么回事啊？
小二：放心，已经把那个没证的厨师赶走了。
村民：那为什么出这么多问题，还要挂上优质称号呢？还对外称人人都吃的很满意。
小二：你是帮谁说话？饭店白养你了！
村民：粮食是农民种的，饭店是工人盖的，厨师也是我们小民出身的。
小二：你看现在M村正在欺负L村呢。M村真霸道。
村民：我现在连饭都吃不好，这些事和我有什么关系啊，那为什么别村的饭店就没这么多问题呢？
小二：一说自己村就是什么都不好，一说别的村就什么都好。你个卖村贼！！

A village with only one restaurant | Danwei

 

[Iamanidiot]

epic......absolutely epic....

 

[H.A.]

nice

 

[Ray]

This line of argument somehow seems so familiar.

Now where did I experience such a manner of obfuscation and deceit?

 

[W.G.Ewald]

A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig by Charles Lamb

Lamb (1775-1834) was an English essayist. Reprinted here is the first part of his essay, the part which tells the story of the discovery of roast pork.

Mankind, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend M. was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, clawing or biting it from the living animal, just as they do in Abyssinia to this day. This period is not obscurely hinted at by their great Confucius in the second chapter of his Mundane Mutations, where he designates a kind of golden age by the term Cho-fang, literally the Cook's holiday. The manuscript goes on to say, that the art of roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother) was accidentally discovered in the manner following. The swine-herd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who being fond of playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Together with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian makeshift of a building, you may think it), what was of much more importance, a fine litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished. China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the East from the remotest periods that we read of. Bo-bo was in utmost consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and the labour of an hour or two, at any time, as for the loss of the pigs. While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an odour assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent which he had before experienced. What could it proceed from?--not from the burnt cottage--he had smelt that smell before--indeed this was by no means the first accident of the kind which had occurred through the negligence of this unlucky young fire-brand. Much less did it resemble that of any known herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin had come away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world's life indeed, for before him no man had known it) he tasted--crackling! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now, still he licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke into his slow understanding, that it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious; and, surrendering himself up to the new-born pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with retributory cudgel, and finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue's shoulders, as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure, which he experienced in his lower regions, had rendered him quite callous to any inconveniences he might feel in those remote quarters. His father might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig, till he had fairly made an end of it, when, becoming a little more sensible of his situation, something like the following dialogue ensued.
"You graceless whelp, what have you got there devouring? Is it not enough that you have burnt me down three houses with your dog's tricks, and be hanged to you, but you must be eating fire, and I know not what--what have you got there, I say?"
"O, father, the pig, the pig, do come and taste how nice the burnt pig eats."
The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his son, and he cursed himself that ever he should beget a son that should eat burnt pig.
Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig, and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out "Eat, eat, eat the burnt pig, father, only taste--O Lord,"--with such-like barbarous ejaculations, cramming all the while as if he would choke.
Ho-ti trembled in every joint while he grasped the abominable thing, wavering whether he should not put his son to death for an unnatural young monster, when the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done his son's, and applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted some of its flavour, which, make what sour mouths he would for a pretence, proved not altogether displeasing to him. In conclusion (for the manuscript here is a little tedious) both father and son fairly sat down to the mess, and never left off till they had dispatched all that remained of the litter.
Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, for the neighbours would certainly have stoned them for a couple of abominable wretches, who could think of improving upon the good meat which God had sent them. Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It was observed that Ho-ti's cottage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. Nothing but fires from this time forward. Some would break out in broad day, other in the nighttime. As often as the sow farrowed, so sure was the house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze; and Ho-ti himself, which was the more remarkable, instead of chastising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent to him than ever. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Peking, than an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious food itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, of which culprits stood accused, might be handed into the box. He handled it, and they all handled it, and burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which judge had ever given,--to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters, and all present--without leaving the box, or any manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict of Not Guilty.
The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the manifest iniquity of the decision; and, when the court was dismissed, went privily, and bought up all the pigs that could be had for love or money. In a few days his Lordships' town house was observed to be on fire. The thing took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen but fires in every direction. Fuel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. The insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and slighter every day, until it was feared that the very science of architecture would in no long time be lost to the world. Thus this custom of firing houses continued, till in process of time, says my manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a discovery, that the flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as they called it) without the necessity of consuming a whole house to dress it. Then first began the rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the string, or spit, came in a century or two later, I forget in whose dynasty. By such slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most useful, and seemingly the most obvious arts, make their way among mankind.--

 

[Ray]

I find the whole thing very amusing.

However, it does show that the Chinese are smelling the coffee and not mere xxx as is projected by the world!

 

[JAISWAL]

this story is looking some what very familier and similar to me.
I had read and shared this type of story over here..