ELIZABETH JACKSON: As part of a television crew working abroad, you can sometimes find yourself in tricky situations.

And our China correspondent, Bill Birtles and his Beijing-based cameraman, Brant Cumming, recently found themselves having to talk their way out of eating a dog.

BILL BIRTLES: When I came back to China to take up the ABC posting 2.5 years ago, I promised myself there were two cliché stories I would avoid: pandas and dog meat.

And while I've managed to steer clear of the former, the recent Lunar Year of the Dog made the latter unavoidable.

A recent trip down to southern China presented a golden opportunity to delve into this issue.

Brant Cumming and I had an afternoon to spare while covering another assignment - and we just happened to be in the right place. Guiyang City isn't the heartland of dog meat in China, but it's not far off.

So we went to the meat market, talked to the vendors and decided to find a restaurant where we could see how they cook this traditional cuisine.

We ended up on the outskirts of the city, in a district that was probably a collection of rice paddies just a decade ago.

China has a lot of these outskirt suburbs, which are completely built with new facilities and infrastructure but still have a very rural feel to them.

Here, down a backstreet, we found an authentic Huajiang dog meat restaurant; and Mr Wu, who warmly welcomed us in.

It was about 5pm, a little early for dinner, so the small restaurant was empty except for Mr Wu, his wife and their twin 10-year-old daughters.

You don't get a lot of Westerners in Guiyang; even fewer on the outskirts of the city.

So for an international TV crew to turn up to Mr Wu's restaurant to learn about his style of cooking was a rare thing indeed.

We set to work, heading into the kitchen as the couple prepared for the evening's customers.

Two small dogs, skinned and gutted, sat on a tray waiting to be sliced.

Dozens of small bowls full of soy sauce, chili and chives sat next to them: condiments for the main course.

As Mr Wu began to mix the meat, herbs and onions in a big wok, he enthusiastically talked us through the distinctive flavours of the region.

He told us Huajiang style is the most popular way to cook dog: involving lean slices of meat, some medicinal herbs and a very fragrant broth.

The first customers began to file in, and we filmed Mr Wu delivering a steaming bowl of freshly prepared dog hot pot to their table.

They were washing it down with - I kid you not - dog penis wine.

Two large vats of it were sitting on the counter top next to the cash register; and as I enquired what it was, the customers and Mr Wu started urging me to try it.

Now, I'm not adverse to new experiences, but I just wasn't quite in the mood for a glass of dog penis wine.

So I politely declined and insisted, as a diligent journalist, I had to crack on with the interviews before I could drink any alcohol.

Sure enough, more customers filed in. The little restaurant began to fill out.

Mr Wu and his wife began to shuttle back and forth with bowl after bowl of hot pot.

Customers described to me the flavour, the culture and their thoughts on the many animal lovers in China who these days abhor the eating of dogs.

It was going very well and Brant and I had more than enough material. It was time to pack up the gear and get a taxi back to our hotel in the city centre and find some dinner.

So I walked into the tiny kitchen and told Mr Wu it had been a great honour to be welcomed into his family restaurant.

He looked very concerned. "You can't leave without me serving you a bowl!," he said. "This is the tradition of this area. You can't possibly taste these flavours anywhere else in China!," He said.

Mr Wu insisted that people from Guizhou province are renowned for being good hosts and it would be bad form if his first guests from overseas left without being served a streaming bowl of the signature dish.

At this point, I looked at Brant and said, "We might have to eat a bit of dog. This is a hard one to get out of."

And this hardened veteran of Middle East war zones suddenly went a bit pale. He told me he had a cold and didn't have much of an appetite.

It looked like it would fall to me to get us out of this one.

So I insisted, with Brant not feeling well, that a whole bowl of hot pot for me would be a waste; and that we really had to rush to a prior engagement.

At this point, some of Mr Wu's customers came over and told me to sit with them.

"You can try some of our hot pot," they told me.

And so, as a compromise, I sat down with them, picked up the chopsticks and dived into the brown-coloured broth.

Brant, of course, turned on the camera to film the moment:

(Audio recording of restaurant)

BILL BIRTLES: The moment of truth.

Sort of like lamb. Yeah, it's like lamb.

(Recording ends)

And so I tasted the famous Huajiang dog hot pot. And yes, it did taste quite a bit like lamb.

And I can understand why the locals are so wedded to it.

Of course, there's a whole other side to the story of dog meat in China, one that paints it as a cruel and crime-riddled trade.

And I can well understand the objection so many people here - and around the world - have to eating man's best friend.

But on this particular night, I was just happy that I did what it takes to get the story.

This is Bill Birtles, back in Beijing for Correspondents Report.

 

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