Cha Xiu Bao

National Dish for National Day: Scramble eggs with Tomatoes -- Part II

In the last post I left with the announcement that scrambled eggs with tomatoes is our national dish. In the second part, I'll show you the reasons why such announcement was made one by one, like the way Premiere Hu was inspecting the marching troops at the Tiananman Square on October 1st. 

There's so many ways for me to begin the inquisition but first off, I must highlight our penchant for the color red and yellow as a nation -- just in case you've no clue of how our flag is like. 

Red is, to a large extent, in every Chinese's blood. Historically, red is the color we used to get rid of evil spirit, which  explains why the pillars and walls of the palaces are all painted red. Over times, the symbolic value of red gets richer and it equates the color for fortune and joy, to which is why the principle color for lanterns, couplets and jianzhi used in festivals are red. In most parts of China, parents still insist the bride to wear red dress in the wedding banquet (in stark contrast to the West, we wear white clothes during the mourning time). 

Then, ever since the dawn of Chairman Mao and the Communist's reign, red has become the underlying color for the Communist party (and the Red Guards). It is also said that the red color in our flag represents the blood shed by mortars who died in the battles for our country. 

Yellow on the other hand, not only has been associated with wealth and harmony, but it has been the center color for us since the founding of our totem. It is still not uncommon to refer us as the "yellow" people in usages similar to that of the "black" or "white" people from the past. 

At the core of our rapture for yellow, it can also be attributed to the fact we all regard ourselves to the descendant of Yan & Yellow Emperor (Huangdi). Moreover, yellow also unmistakably manifests the color for generations of emperor. Up until the Qing dynasty, yellow clothes was strictly reserved for the imperial uses and commons were forbidden to dress anything in yellow. Each emperor would get a new, bright yellow dragon robe (longpao) on the day of his enthronement; with nine flying dragons embroidered on that. For reason unknown to fashion designers nowadays, the dragons are also painted in yellow [edit: only the dragons for emperor is allowed to be five-clawed; the dragons for the rest are either four or three-clawed so to attest that he's born as the Son of Heaven ] 

And lest we forget, the Yellow River is also said to be the Mother River of China and the cradle of Chinese civilization. 

Second, we shall examine the ingredient itself. 

The reason why so many people fail to see why scrambled eggs and tomatoes deserves to be come to the fore is that they fail to see the mighty collective fixation our race has on eggs through this dish like I do. Believe it or not, we heart eggs, or dan in Mandarin and we heart it no less than a French loves cheese. We love it so much so that we must spell and recite the word everyday to put us at peace. For example, we have huangbadan for son of a bitch; bendan for fool; huaidan for douche; qiongquadan for stony-broke person; and last but not least, if we want to ask someone to fuck off politely, we'd ask him/her to gundan. Putting scrambled eggs with tomatoes to the altar in front of Chairman Mao's portrait would be without a question the ultimate way to honor such collective fixation. 

But semantic isn't the only reason why we love eggs. Chinese mythology has it that, the first living being of the universe, Pangu, was born inside a cosmic egg in the very beginning of time. The upper half of the egg formed the Heaven (yang) and the lower half became the Earth (ying).  

Nay-sayers, by now, would probably be roiled and say my benevolent dictatorship is unjust since for them there's hundreds other dishes like mantou, hand-pulled noodles, Chinese flatbread (xiaobing) or even the Peking duck can give my decision a run for its money. But is there any dish that has diverged better than scrambled eggs and tomatoes, which seemingly bypassed every geographical and ethnical barriers? 

Third, the most cardinal argument from me is, the image of the dish mirrors that of our flag -- as though the margherita pizza mirrors that of a Italian flag and the white-feathered Bresse chicken of Bény of a French flag. Well, whether you like it or not, I'm of the persuasion that the most beautiful thing in China is that patriotism will always go first and you don't need to listen to what people say unless you really feel like it. It's time to kiss the eggs and celebrate the national day with it!

National Dish for National Day: Scrambled Eggs with Tomatoes (蕃茄炒蛋) -- Part I

As everyone get worked up by the parades and fireworks for the 60th anniversary of the People's Republic of China, I can't help but notice that, six decades on, we've actually made zero progress in naming a dish for our nation.  

In a span of six decades, the Communist has managed to transform China from a nation of poverty to one of prosperity. Case in point, every grey-brick courtyard and garden of Old Peking are bulldozed for boxy and uniform high-rises; every prostitute and concubinage -- the so-called the feudal relic of capitalism, are swept from the street to make room for san pei xiaojie (hostess who accompanies clients in drinking, singing and dancing). As a economy that's growing leaps and bound sadly though, there's naught at the dining table to honor the spirit of 1.3 billion people. 

The more I think about this, the more the news of all these jubilations become grated on my ears. In fact, I gnash my teeth just to think how hapless and directionless we are on this. Look around, where's the daizibao (大痣報) for this? We survive the daguofan (big cauldron of canteen food), outlast the Red Guards, and even bar the fabulous Gang of Four, yet we fall short to determine what our national dish is?! Is this the personification of egalitarianism or the art of idling, or altogether a joke?!

Alas, had Chairman Mao still be alive today, he would have echoed my loathing for this too. After all, he is the guy who once said that eating is the greatest problem for mankind.

"A revolution is not a dinner party, pussy-losers!" So said Chairman Mao. Such statement can't be truer today than ever. Taking this discourse by heart, I decided it's time like this that summons a benevolent dictatorship and it's time for me to bombard the headquarters of haughtiness and to reinstall the true nature of my countryman --  just to show how loyal I'm to Chairman Mao. Ah, what's the English term for this endeavor? All this for us to have a say (話"乳"權) at the dining table. 

So mark this the day, my dearest comrade, the eve of Oct 1, 2009, with Chairman Mao's little red book (毛主席乳露語錄) in my hand and my head facing towards the waving national flag high at the Tiananmen Square, I proudly and solemnly, announce, scrambled eggs and tomatoes is our national dish.

to be continued...

Book Extract: "Fortress Besieged" by Qian Zhongshu, translated by Jeanne Kelly and Nathan K. Mao

Set on the eve of the Sino-Japanese War, Fortress Besieged recounts the exuberant misadventures of the hapless hero Fang Hung-chien. After aimlessly studying in Europe at his family's expense, he returns to Shanghai armed with a bogus degree from a fake university. On the French liner back, Fang's life becomes deeply entangled with those of two Chinese beauties -- when he does finally make it home, he obtains a teaching post at a newly established university, encounters effete pseudo-intellectuals, and falls into a disastrous marriage. A glorious tale of love, marriage, war, calamity, disillusionment and hope, this is one of the greatest Chinese novels, combing Eastern philosophy, Western traditions, adventures, tragicomedy and satire to create a unique feast of delights.

For dinner that evening, his mother herself prepared fried shredded eel, chicken wings in soy sauce, stewed chicken with melon and shrimps cooked in wine -- all his favorite local dishes. She picked out the best pieces for his bowl, saying, 'How terrible it must have been for you, living abroad for four years with nothing to eat!'

Everyone laughed and said she was at it again. If a person ate nothing abroad, how could Hung-chien keep from starving to death?

She said, 'I can't understand how those foreign devils stay alive! All that bread and milk. I couldn't eat them if they gave them to me free.'

Hung-chien suddenly felt that in this family atmosphere the war was something unbelievable, just as no one can think of ghosts in broad daylight. His parents' hopes and plans left no room for any unforeseen circumstances. Seeing them thus so firmly in control of the future, he too took heart and thought that maybe the situation in Shanghai would be eased, and there would be no outbreak of hostilities. And if there were, they could be brushed aside and ignored.

Nicolas Sarkozy is a Chinese? Ah-huh.

My heart really skipped a beat when I read such a stunning discovery as I leafed through a local newspapers leisurely just the other day.

Against all odds, a scholar in China has, after 2 years of searching and digging and, equally lengthy time of Mr. Sarkozy's presidency, come to the conclusion that Mr. Sarkozy, the 23rd President of the French Republic, is in fact a man of Chinese ancestry. 

To begin with, the acclaimed scholar points out the fact that Sarkozy is the son of Nagy Bocsay Sarkozy Pal, who's no less a Hungarian aristocrat himself. This one is easy, as our ace historian reckoned: Nagy means big and Pal means Paul in Hungarian, whereas Bocsay means the clan of Bocs in Jurchen (whose link to Hungarian as Tungusic people is strong), which means altogether it sums up Paul of Sarkozy family of the big Bocs clan. To keep up with the Joneses, the scholar goes further to say that such style of naming kids bears no difference to what we do in China -- say, the third son of the Zhang's family of Xidan Hutong. 

As if the discretion level of his oddball elaboration isn't already high enough, the scholar goes on to unveil the background of Sarkozy's granny. The Chinese root of Ms. Csafordi Toth Katalin, he says, can't be more visibly apparent. Not only is there a piece of entry for Toth in Jinshi, the History of Jin as a family name, but also is there a significant nomadic people called Xianbei of whom the Csafordi tribe was belonged to once upon a time. So authentic is Sarkozy as a common last name back in the good o'days of China that he even asserts that Sarkozy family could have emigrated to Hungary from China as recent as the Qing dynasty. 

And if all this stands accurate, then there's only one thing left for Sarkozy to prove that he's not a prodigal son. He should remember the saying about returning home clothed in glory (on Airbus rather than Boeing of course). The way I see it, the only way for Sarkozy to fulfill his filial duties is to return home on the Ching Ming Festival to offer obeisance at his family temple, attend to the ancestral graves and make acquaintances with local notables. 

But before I order my posses to sound the drums and gongs to welcome Sarko boy's homecoming, I'm struck by a pounding question myself, which is, where shall he go to, given the vastness of China as a country? 

Dang, where the hell is the root for the Sarkozys' in the Middle Kingdom? The last thing I want is to let the President of France navigating for his root in China on the off chance. 

Muddleheaded, I pick up the takeaway menu of my favorite chachaanteng, of where I learned much of the geography about China from. 

The first dish I notice is Fujian fried rice. Could the Sarkozys' be the descendent of Fujianese? Yet, my limited culinary knowledge tells me that there's no such thing as Fujian fried rice in Fujian. People living in Fujian knows nothing about Fujian fried rice just the same way alike Bill Clinton was totally in the dark about there's already an authorized translation of his biography selling in China before it was officially released in his home country. 

Next up is a dish called Yangzhou fried rice. Mmm, who's to say the Sarkozys' can't be spawned in Yangzhou in the first place? I have no sooner illustrate this point further than my less than cuddly waitress gives a big scoff at it. Check out the chaxiu (BBQ pork) in it. Yangzhou fried rice was invented here in Hong Kong for sure, and you call yourself a foodie?!

No matter. I go deeper at the menu and flaunt the last entry of page, the Hainan chicken rice to my waitress. Bitch this, bitch! The Sarkozys' might as well come from Hainan. But which style of Hainan chicken rice you're talking about? The ones by Singaporean, Thai or Malay? Once (I) have the best Hainan chicken rice of my life in Bangkok. Yum yum. 

Though I'm this close to a breakdown, I somehow start to get her point. I mean, what's the point of evocative name if it has gotten nothing to do with the place it engaged? To make matters worse, I have had a Hainan chicken rice in Hainan not that long ago (last month to be exact) and it was absolutely one of the worst Hainan chicken rices I've ever had in my life.  Even the Hainanese reckons the same. They have with them what they called the four famous dishes of Hainan and guess what -- none of them is Hainan chicken rice. 

The lesson is simple I think: who cares where it comes from as long as it rules?

Book Extract: "To Live" By Yu Hua, translated by Michael Berry

Fugui, the prodigal son of a wealthy country landowner, squanders the fortunes of his family in gambling dens and brothels. He has little respect for his father and still less for his father-in-law. He neglects his daughter and is abusive toward his wife. 

The following is from a scene where his wife Jiazhen was trying to insinuate Fugui to stop fooling around with a dinner she made.

One day I came home from town and, just as I sat down at the dinner table, I noticed a strange smile on her face as she brought out four different dishes. She poured me a glass of wine and sat down next to me while I ate and drank. Her beaming expression seemed a bit strange. I couldn't imagine what good fortune had befallen her. I thought as hard as I could, but couldn't figure out what the special occasion was. I asked her, but she wouldn't say. She just gazed at me with a strange, elated smile on her face.

Those four dishes were all vegetable dishes. Jiazhen had prepared each one differently, but as I got to the bottom, I started to find pieces of pork hidden in each dish. At first I didn't really pay attention to this, but as I ate the last dish, I discovered that there was again a piece of meat on the bottom. At first I was stumped but then I began to laugh out loud. I understand what Jiazhen was up to. She was trying to teach me that although women all look different on the outside, when you get down to it they are all the same.

The case of vegetarianism in China and Chinese Buddhism

Why is that Buddhist monks in China are the only vegetarians in the world of Buddhism even though they are living in a food culture whose historical antiquity and pluralism that few, if any, from any other part of the world can rival?

Cases in point, monks of Thailand and Japan, bhikkhus of Korea, lamas in Tibet, whether they are Mahayanists (the school of great vehicle), Theravadists (small vehicle) or even Vajrayanists (diamond vehicle or secret mantra), none of them has any monastic rules that inextricably linked to a strict vegetarian diet now being adopted by the Buddhist monks in China.     

But before the reasons for such treachery are unfolded, let me first mark the fine line between vegetarianism as a monastic or ritualistic rules, zhai cai (齋菜) and vegetarianism as a dietary behavior, su cai (素菜). The distinction between the two is well worthwhile to point out to save confusion as we move onwards.

First and foremost, zhai cai is a dietary discretion affiliated to the practice of zhai jie (齋戒), which denotes the desistance (of something, e.g. meat, wine, sex or gamble) before a ceremony or rite. Similar to the practice of fasting in the West, it is meant to be strict and to serve mainly for religious and spiritual grounds. It should be noted however, the existence of zhai jie, and hence, eating zhai cai as a ritual has rooted in China well prior to the introduction of Buddhism. The abstinence of meat and wine before an ancestral veneration, as well as during the mourning period to manifest filial fidelity and respect has been a way of life ever since the Zhou dynasty (1045 - 256 BC). 

Second, the dietary restrictions between the two is also different in the way that a herbivorous monk or nun must also avoid the consumption of the five acrid and pungent foods, as stated in Shurangama Sutra. They are, namely, onions, leeks, garlics, Chinese chives and shallots. The fetid five, also known in ancient times as the wu hun (五葷) are forbidden because their undesirable ability to arouse senses and temperament. Look closer and you will see that the character hun (葷) is a word with the radical "艸" atop, which suggest explicitly the vegetal origin of it. Taoist adepts of yore also try their best to avoid in contact with these five vegetables for a rather varied reason -- for them, anything provocative is undesirable for the physical well-being and spiritual development, and hence impedes their attainment of immortality.  

Third, zhai jie can also be viewed to be a periodical fast, as in the case where Buddhist monks restrict their diet only in the morning. This shows another purpose of zhai jie: a discipline regimen aiding in meditation.

Vegetarianism as a diet, su cai on the other hand, aims to achieve benevolence and ahimsa (Sanskrit for non-violence) in a more liberal and flexible way than zhai cai does. The word "su" itself means plain, pure and simple so in its original sense it means to eat to modesty. This has proved to be popular among lay Buddhists and it is the concept used by vegetarian restaurants in general. One way or the other, it is inaccurate to label vegetarianism in China as simply as Buddhist cuisine since it can be a favored diet for Taoist and Confucianist too. (Edit: equally unfair for hippies and legion of PETA fans living in China as well). 

Now that I've illustrated the difference between zhai cai and su cai, we're ready to survey the why question, that is, why vegetarianism has become the characteristic of Chinese Buddhism.

Eating and Wu Xing, the Five Movements

     Based on observations of the natural world, our ancestors recognized that one mode to apprehending the continuous patterns of transformation and change in the universe is through a concept called the five movements. Note that although wu xing is traditionally and more commonly translated as the Five Elements, it nevertheless, lacks, 'elementarily' the sense of interaction and fluidity of wu xing 五行 in its original context -- the concept of wu xing is anything but static, in fact, the word "xing," was used as a verb to show the how dynamic and interacting the five forces are (行者行也)]. That's why "movements" is chosen over "elements" in the title.

     The first true account of the concept wu xing was found in the Classic of History, from a section known as the "Grand Norm," where we're given the brief list of wu xing: "the first [of these] is named Water; the second, Fire; the third, Wood; the fourth, Metal; the fifth, Soil." 《尚書•洪範》“五行：一曰水，二曰火，三曰木，四曰金，五曰土。The nature of each was further elaborated in the Record of Historians: "Water is to moisten and descend; Fire is to flame and ascend; Wood is to crooked and straighten; Metal is to yield and to be modified; Soil is to provide for sowing and reaping." 

      As the system of wu xing advanced further, it was taken to embrace all substances in the universe* Hence, it was believed that what these five movements corresponded to different aspects of mother nature also interlinked to the human beings. Thus, for an alchemist, wood, corresponds to the spring and wind in the natural world; whereas to traditional Chinese medicine, the same movement is responsible for the liver, gall bladder, eyes and tendons of our body.  A clear picture of these connection can be found at the table below. 

*some time before or around Han dynasty, this concept intermingled with that of Yin Yang, as the case made by Sima Qian in his Records of Historians -- sensible once you realized that they were both originated from the soothsaying circles.

	Wood	Fire	Soil	Metal	Water
Orientation	East	South	Center	West	North
Season	Spring	Summer	Late Summer	Autumn	Winter
Climate	Wind	Summer Heat	Dampness	Dryness	Cold
Yin Organ	Liver	Heart	Spleen	Lung	Kidney
Yang Organ	Gall Bladder	Small Intestine	Stomach	Large Intestine	Bladder
Color	Blue/Green	Red	Yellow	White	Black
Taste	Sour	Bitter	Sweet	Pungent	Salty

      The wisdom is easy to see: try the best to eat according to the divination shown in the table if you want the forces to work complementarily for your body. For example, if you have a weak liver, or a frail gall bladder, you ought to pursue a diet that is rich with green or blue, sour food. Two ready qualifiers are the green grapes and the spinach. On the other hand, for those who have aliment with their stomach or spleen, they should look for food that is both sweet and yellowish, say soy beans and honey for instance. Not only can they provide a much-needed nutrition boost for a strained digestive system, it can also wipe away the excessive dampness within, which is often triggered by an unhealthy spleen. You may want to check out some other lists of a five-element diet floating around the net [here and here]. 

 

Why the best translation for Mapo Tofu has to be "Lady Numbness' Bean Curd"

The best translation for mapo tofu, as most of your Chinese-speaking friends would have put forth to you, should be pocked-face lady's bean curd. Until now, this is the most widely-believed version for the origin of mapo tofu, a simple dish made of tofu, spicy sauce and minced pork. Finely-minced pork hashed with some good use of cleaver, as evident at below.

 

However, I want to make a strong case today to put an end to this mistranslation, which was sordidly crafted by no one but husbands married with ugly pocked-face women out there on the street. 

Oh no, contrary to popular believe, mapo tofu wasn't began that way. There just isn't any Ugly-Betty DNA in mapo tofu.  

Rather, truth be told, it was created by chef married with a beautiful model wife whose face is well enough for facial cream. Mapo tofu was yield once upon a time when one day he was asked by his boss all of a sudden to cook up a pork dish together with tofu on the street. He was worry sick at the very beginning because he couldn't manage to find any cut board for him to chop up the pork meat with. But very soon he realized his worry was totally unnecessary when he saw his wife next to him. It was because his wife's back was, as the idiom goes, flat as board and, totally senseless due to strange and incurable sickness. 

"Darling listen, we'd really need to "bend" the rules here to keep my job. Can I use your back as cut board? It can't feel a thing whatsoever anyway, not even if it's under a knife, right?"

Mapo tofu, better known as lady numbness bean curd. Don't even try arguing.

Peasant food in China: a silent witness that says nothing's changed

"Ha, I wonder has she ever struggled against me during criticism meetings," my mom said it with a shrug after I watched her biding farewell to an acquaintance met on the street of Wuhan last November.

I was quite shocked, to be honest, by the insouciance accompanied the encounter because few words in China share the same level of grievousness with the word pi dou 批斗 ("struggle against"), back then an impalpable sucker punch devised by Mao Zedong solely to emaciate all intellectuals and elitism day to day across China.  In the name of revolutionary fervor, down was the enjoyment of the easy life, and so was the seeking of material incentives. As never seen before in the history of mankind, old customs, old habits, old culture, and old thought were eliminated with a single, immediate expurgation orchestrated by the Great Leader Chairman Mao.

To any chou lao jiu 臭老九 ("old and stinky No.9" -- being the lowest possible in the social class by the order of nine), a derogatory tag for the intellectuals, the agony and upheaval never rested in such tumultuous era. You sign endless letters of repentance just because you are born a zou zi pai 走資派 (the "fraction of bourgeois"); you got spit on the face because you are a landlord who knows no shame. The merciless fates for the creme de la creme, if yo could live it through when the curtain fell were all the same -- shang shan xia xiang 上山下鄉 ("climb the mountains and go down to the villages"). In a purge that swung a decade long, more than 17 million teenagers were sent to communal farms.  What awaited were dire days and poor food.

While this era seems singular, in fact it was not. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Look what we have now. Every kid wants to born rich as a zou zi pai. It is transpired, it's again good to be a chou lao jiu.  Shameless landlords, on the other hand, are rehabilitated to become the happiest and richest people alive in China. People leaving hometown are now moving back. The times they are a changin'.

Thirty years on, in comes the recurring love for peasant food, nong cun cai 農家菜. Nostalgia or health-consciousness, or anything else, the movement is here again.

Market Scene: Wuhan -- Part I, a photo set first

Granted, by almost every measure, rice-throwing, tyre-pushing, seedling-transplanting, sprinting with sandbag-loading with make-believe 'harvest' and etc. are quite the least sports you'd have expected to make the cover of Sport Illustrated, but these highlights from the National Peasant Games held last month in Quanzhou, though at times raking with amateurish falters, still conveniently reflects a nice touch of charisma that's uniquely China.

What other use can these races put to then? A prompt harvest and delivery by the farmers that guarantees fresh buy in the market, if nothing else...

[Pictures above courtesy of Xinhuanet and Mark Ralston of ATP]