Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice (Like Salt and Margarine)

I've been getting exposure to quite a few strange tastes in the past few weeks, some of them pleasant surprises, some of them familiar shocks that I'd almost been able to forget from last year.

Returning from his summer trip to Malaysia and other parts, Nersey brought me back a tin of Malaysian-style coffee, with the warning that the first cup might take some getting used to. The tin lists the ingredients as "Coffee (70%) Salt, sugar, and margarine (30%)," and I'll leave it up to coffee experts to explain just what they do with the last three ingredients. (Wiki has this to say about it.) Strange as margarine and salt coffee sounds, the result of brewing (I used my regular perculator instead of a sock) is ... well, the first few cups take some getting used to. The coffee turns out thick and black, and there is a strange aftertaste, which (maybe suggested by the ingredient list on the tin) I'd describe as buttery. By my third pot, I'd cut back on the amount of grounds I used for each pot, and really, the coffee is pretty good. I don't think I'll ever convert from, say, Sumatra Mandheling to this Malaysian variation, but I won't turn down the offer of another cup. (In fact, I'm considering a trip to Malacca during my upcoming vacation time.)

中秋天节 (Zhong qiutian jie, Mid-Autumn festival) was Sunday. This is a traditional Chinese holiday, among the country's most important, during which people take a day of work to spend time with family, eat and gaze at the moon. (Nowadays, moon-gazing has been largely replaced by staring at the television set, as with 春节--Chun jie, Spring Festival.) The moon plays a big part in the 中秋天节 festivities in the form of 月饼 (yue bing, moon cakes). These saccharine, moist and sticky little cakes come with a number of surprise fillings (traditionally, lotus paste, bean paste, jujube paste, yam--of the purple potato-tasting variety--and hard-boiled egg yolk). Most of the fillings have chalky textures, apparently chosen to offset the jelly-like texture of the surrounding, and tastes chosen to offset the sickeningly sweet exteriors. So what you wind up getting inside the mooncake wrapper is the long-lasting and low-tech equivalent of an ipecac-filled chocolate.

What you also get for 中秋天节, if you're unfortunate enough to be a teacher, is a whole lot of moon cakes, usually from children with very fragile egos. This year I got two big, big boxes of moon cakes, one from the grandfather of a serious trouble student (It is my assumption that this gift box was a poorly thought-out apology) and another from the parents of a teenaged student who has been a VIP on and off for the past year. The boxes are flashy, gold and red affairs, ornately decorated and weighing in at about ten to fifteen pounds apiece, while only holding a few moon cakes each. (They're also expensive as all get out, adding a large helping of guilt to the honor of the gift.) I also got single moon cakes from quite a few students who, not content with my most heart-felt thanks, insisted I have a try, so I downed four of the gross little things on Saturday, trying my best to smile. In another week, the experts tell me, I may have finished digesting them. Anyone who thinks my assessment of this traditional food may be a bit harsh should check out an oldie from the blog scene: Noboby Likes Moon Cakes.

In other news, I have discovered Hunan and 客家 Kejia food, both of which now join Sichuan, Xian and Xinjiang food, on my list of 好吃. From Hunan, 红烧肉 (hong shao rou), thick hunks of pork and some small vegetables in a rich red sauce and 农家炒肉 (nongjia chao rou, Farmer's home fried meat), little strips of pork cooked in a heaping helping of edible spicy peppers have become part of my regular routine. I've had a certain kind of tofu a number of times while in China--a yellow, eggy tofu rectangle with a small piece of sausage in the center; it turns out this is 客家豆腐, Kejia or Hakka tofu. The dish tastes a bit like the egg and sausage casserole my family makes for 圣诞节 (Shendanjie, Christmas), and has made for a nice brunch-time treat on my days off. If the self-styled Guangdong/Hakka women I met on Sunday is right, and Hakka should be counted as Guangdong people, then I guess there is such a thing as good Guangdong food.