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I%26rsquo;m visiting the Guo-li-zhuang restaurant, a specialist penis and testicle
emporium that caters mainly to wealthy businessmen and Communist party
officials (who, truth be told, are often one and the same).
It offers every conceivable John Thomas you could ever want, which probably
isn%26rsquo;t very many. Nonetheless, the menu is both extensive and impressive.
The place looks like a smart kaiseki ryori (Japanese haute cuisine)
formal restaurant, complete with underfloor stream, separate secluded dining
rooms and hushed, discreet staff. I have come determined to avoid euphemisms
- we%26rsquo;re making a current-affairs programme for the BBC - but I%26rsquo;ll admit the
temptation is strong.
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