Nanjing salad

In China, with my father, the plane is late arriving at the Nanjing airport—an army-style airfield where we are ushered through a type of bunker and then through immigration. We arrive at the small hotel around 10 pm, hungry and worried that dinner might not be served. We are catered for, but the dinner is very poor. The soup is described as a clear, clean, fresh pork soup. We laugh when one of the guests says it is so clear and fresh it tastes like water. Next day, by way of apology, the m