The smell of sang smoke and fresh lamb instantly enveloped us, dispelling the raw stench from before, and she finally felt like she could breathe a little easier.
They took a seat by the door where there were empty spots available.
A woman in Tibetan attire came over, menu in hand, and a teapot—the local specialty, brick tea—in the other.
"What would you two like to eat?" the Tibetan woman asked in less than standard Mandarin.
Wen Xian grabbed the menu with saliva nearly dripping from her mouth, her cravings evident as she ordered enthusiastically, "Braised yellow lamb, hand-grabbed lamb, flag-flower noodles, triple-cream stew, roasted naan, and a bowl of beef offal soup!"
Having said that, she looked over at Lu Xiao.
Lu Xiao's order was much simpler, "A large bowl of spicy noodle soup, please."
"Sir, is just one bowl of noodles enough for you?"
The Tibetan woman, with a long braid hanging down to her chest and a hint of highland flush on her face, was fairly attractive.
