Dry lunch

Something called “dry lunch” is trending on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok.

And I have never felt so seen.

People in China are obsessed with watching a British bloke called Keith make – and eat – sandwiches. A video of him preparing a ham and tomato sandwich has been liked more than 12 million times.

Twelve. Million. Times!

According to Vice, Keith’s sandwiches are “sparking a wave of outrage, confusion and morbid curiosity in China”.

That morbid curiosity has led hundreds of thousands of people to imitate Keith’s sandwich-making efforts. Special sections are even popping up in supermarkets to cater for it.

Chinese journalist Yaling Jiang says there are two key elements to a dry lunch: the temperature—cold—and the presence of some kind of bread.

“Anything can be a dry lunch, as long as it’s in sandwich form, looks healthy-ish, and is seemingly unappetising,” he explained.

Dylan, a teacher from Shanghai, told Vice: “For us, the dry lunch is just too simple, even pitiful.

“We think there should be much more to a meal than just bread and one or two things on top.”

I hear you Dylan.

Who wants to eat purely for nourishment when they can do it for pleasure?

Not me.

Eating a sandwich for feels like giving up. It’s just dull, wasted calories.

(Although I will admit the salami and cheese sandwiches we ate during our three-hour hikes in Cradle Mountain last month tasted like heaven. Hunger and exhaustion will do that.)

It’s not the first time “báirén fàn” (aka “white people food”) has trended among Chinese workers. Last year they flooded social media with examples of “cold, spiceless dishes as a form of self inflicted suffering”.

“The spirit of ‘white people food’ is that it’s supposed to be NOT enjoyable,” one TikTok user explained.

“The point of the white people’s meal is to learn what it feels like to be dead, but I’ve taken two bites and it was so bad it made me realize how alive I am,” another user wrote on Weibo.

As I read those words I felt a deep kinship with Chinese workers. I have spent my whole life disliking “white people food”.

Well, except for breakfast. Dippy eggs with buttered toast soldiers or Vegemite on toast are ambrosial. Breakfast is my least favourite meal to eat out, as I don’t really get the point of paying someone else to put “white people food” on a plate.

Lunch and dinner, however, are a whole different ball game.

I grew up in the era of chops and three veg. And I hated it.

I got to about age 15 and couldn’t take it any more – I started cooking family dinners to add some variety. I was pretty rubbish to begin with – I thought tuna mornay was the height of sophistication – but I slowly improved.

From the moment I made that first mornay, I’ve always tried to pack as much flavour into my meals as possible.

That mission almost ended my engagement to my ex-husband, less than 12 hours after he proposed in Paris.

I said yes, and we set off in search of a restaurant to celebrate. The next few hours were spent rejecting potential venues and tempers were fraying. We eventually spotted bright lights down a laneway and I vowed that I would accept whatever awaited, which fortunately turned out to be Reunion Island curry. Nom, nom.

Moving to Singapore in my early 30s was heavenly. I could eat Asian food for lunch and dinner every day of the week.

Now that’s what I call living.

Coming back to Australia was a bit of a blow to my tastebuds. As was having a fussy child.

And, as my marriage crumbled, my ex knew exactly how to niggle me. I would arrive home from work to dinners so bland that a wave of desolation would sweep over me as I ate them.

(After dumping me he immediately transformed into a gourmet chef who even made his curry pastes from scratch).

Memories of boring meals stay with me as much as exciting ones.

I still remember being invited to a South American woman’s house for lunch about 15 years ago. I was expecting something exotic, but was presented with grilled meat without a marinade, condiment or sauce in sight and an iceberg lettuce salad.

My stomach and brain clenched in collective disappointment.

The scallops in soy butter that I savoured at Bridgewater Mill 30 years ago? Divine.

Yesterday’s lunch: leftover homemade ma po do fu. Yesterday’s dinner: Marion’s Kitchen Thai chicken satay (passable, probably wouldn’t buy again).

Example of yesterday’s increasingly strident lemon ads: