Anthropologists make it a point of pride to eat anything, although Chinese banquets can sometimes challenge the ethic. I have eaten camel's paws and toad's toes, caterpillars and snakes, and even a few dogs. The one meal that lingered in my mind for years afterwards, however, was the night of the living dead fish. The “living dead fish” itself was no greater a challenge to my gastronomic relativism than the others – I have hesitated longer over lima beans – but the event left me puzzled.

The meal took place in the foreigners' dining hall at Nanjing University, where I was living at the time. It was a banquet to celebrate the end of a study abroad program, and I was seated at a table with some of the American students and some of the Chinese administrators and faculty involved in the program. The hosts proudly explained that they had ordered the highest-quality available menu, featuring the chef's signature dish, his claim to fame, “living fish” (huoyu). They seemed quite excited, and described it for me in some detail.

I have asked people about this dish in the intervening years. Some have never heard of it, and others know quite different versions. As this chef prepared it, the result was a large, whole fish with the meat nicely cooked and the nervous system still sufficiently alive to have it twitch and squirm on the platter.