In polite company, teacups (like business cards) are handled with both hands.

There won't be much lingering after the last course. Your host will say something to the effect of "You must be so tired." That's your cue. Unless, that is, you're moving on to karaoke.

PART II: General Rules of Eating

The Chinese eat at very set hours: Lunch is at noon, dinner at six. So don't stray too far in scheduling a meal. "You don't suggest meeting for dinner at eight or they'd be crawling to the restaurants," says Chris Klein, a diplomat who was posted in China for years.

Klein managed to negotiate in Chinese as part of the North Korea six-party talks but says he still has trouble deciphering menus. McGregor suggests you "feel free to walk around the room and look at what other people are eating and point to it—in a fun, jovial manner." Which brings us to our next point…

Unlike their neighbors across the Sea of Japan, the Chinese don't stand on ceremony. You'll see enthusiastic soup-slurping, bones left on the table, and toothpicks all around. Nevertheless, take care to eat with your mouth closed (not always easy when devouring chicken feet or shell-on shrimp with chopsticks), and don't burp.

In less formal situations, where it isn't necessarily clear who's hosting, expect to have some tussles over the check. Even if you're clearly hosting, you'll have to insist several times, over your guest's objections. A simpler way out is to pull a waiter aside while your host is in the bathroom.

"Always eat what you're offered, but never finish it," says Maarten Troost, author of the recent Lost on Planet China. "If you clean your plate, it will mean the host has not provided you with enough food."

Actually, you don't always have to eat what you're offered, but you might have to wriggle your way out of it—wriggle being the operative word. "The best bit for a Chinese person might be the worst for foreigners, like offal and rubbery pieces," says Fuchsia Dunlop, author of several cookbooks on regional Chinese cuisine and, most recently, Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper: A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China. Tales of rat, civet, and donkey penis are exaggerated, but not as much as you'd think. No one will insist that, as a foreigner, you eat it all, but a bigger problem for Dunlop is ethical: Often the most endangered foods are the most expensive—shark's fin soup and bear claws and such—and your hosts might proudly insist. Gently make your objections clear early on. "I just try and talk about the issues before I even get to the restaurant," says Dunlop. As a last resort, feign an allergy.

Forks are often available, but if you suspect they won't be, don't ask. Your hosts will lose face if forced to concede they can't offer what you want.

PART III: Drinking, or Banquet Fever

For a country with a high number of non-drinkers, China is notorious for bouts of overindulging that can sometimes catch foreigners unawares. This dichotomy has everything to do with the tradition of toasting with every gulp. For a wine drinker surrounded by teetotalers, this might mean never being able to finish a single glass. For someone unaccustomed to hard liquor, it could be shot after shot of something less than appetizing, with all sorts of negative consequences. Dunlop tells of a friend in sales who had to leave China following a diagnosis of "banquet fever"—evidently a common occupational hazard. It's even worse in the provinces, where the travel writer Peter Hessler (Oracle Bones) was quartered with the Peace Corps. Despite frequent admonitions from group leaders, one member was evacuated from a town known for its drinking, after which the Peace Corps itself stopped sending volunteers there. A few guidelines for avoiding their fate: