A Chinese mother feeds her toddler snacks.

China is all about the food. Restaurants meals, street snacks, and the things in between: Food is everywhere. Life stops at meal times. When the lunch buzzer sounds all work is dropped – it is time to eat.

The night before our wedding reception I sat in the hotel where the event was to be held, waiting for the decorator. Mrs. Stevo called him after he was 20 minutes late. “He eating dinner, he will be here soon,” she informed me. My protests and indignation fell on deaf ears: He was eating dinner, end of story. Meals in my Canadian neck of the woods came after work was done, not in the midst of it.

I have often wondered if Chinese surgeons take a break from operations if they have been scheduled during meal times. Don’t laugh – In China anything is possible.

You probably have a local restaurant or two, maybe even one serves your country’s localized equivalent of Chinese cuisine. There’s probably a convenience store for quick snacks. I said China is all about the food – that’s no understatement. Snacks abound. Convenience stores have a steam table full of hot nibbles, street vendors sell a scores of “on a stick” snacks, fruit merchants sell pineapples, sugar cane, orange, raisins and water chestnuts from the beds of large cargo tricycles.

I have learned to keep my attraction to street food in check. The treadmill penance required keep my mid-life waistline acceptably attractive is difficult – it’s easier not to indulge. Above, a mother feeds her toddler daughter fish balls from a local snack emporium – a very common sight.

From my usual perch at Momo Bar and spied this young lad taking a hearty sip of milk tea. If there’s one thing a growing toddler needs it’s a good hit of sugar and caffeine. Welcome to China.

Grandparents are generally the caregivers of their grandchildren. While mother and father are out making money, granny or grandpa are at home with the kids. An afternoon visit to the playground features a stunning contrast in ages: Wrinkled faces that witnessed the Cultural Revolution chat as wee ones climb, laugh and cry. There are domestics, mostly rural village girls, but they are not as prevalent as the Filipina, Malaysian and Indonesian domestics in Hong Kong.

A year from now I will be able to take this photo of Grandmother Stevo and still-percolating Baby Stevo. Mrs. Stevo’s mother will be coming to live with us. This raises some issues. Grandmother Stevo speaks neither English or Mandarin, only her village dialect that I find impossible difficult to understand. And, Chinese child-rearing is not the something I want to comment on. I’ll hypothesize: If Dr. Spock’s work has been translated it hasn’t been read. The One-child policy has led to a lot of spoiled children but not a sparing of the rod.

Mrs. Stevo returned from the hospital yesterday with a fresh ultrasound pic. I’m not being unkind when I say the 1.5 pound Baby Stevo looks like some sort of bizarre sea creature. Ultrasound images are about as flattering as photos of yours truly.

This image was shot “on the sly” with a Phottix Hero Wireless Live View Remote.

Once in a while I head out after dark with my camera. It’s not the best for night shots. Noise, those evil digital Tribbles, worm their way among my beloved pixels. You can minimize noise with post processing software, but images tend to end up “soft.”

The gate of my community, (Da Men as I say to the taxi drivers) is one of the largest residential gates in China. Every location in China has a claim to fame. Example: Each town has a famous foods which is hawked by savvy restaurateurs. The Guangming district in Shenzhen is famous for fried young pigeon. People come from all over to partake of the delicacy. I’ve eaten it: It’s tasty, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to get it. Changsha, the capital of Hunan province, is famous for Chou Doufu – or stinky tofu. I’ve eaten that too. It’s doesn’t taste as bad as it smells. No famous food in my area – just a very big gate.

But I digress. No, my camera isn’t great for low-light shots. The above is a reflection of the Big Gate in the fountain just inside said gate.

An extravagant dinner is a big part of the recent Chinese Mid Autumn Festival celebration (a much tastier part than the moon cakes). Mrs. Stevo and I were lucky enough to dine with some friends, Kejia or Hakka people. When I heard snake was on the menu I started to highly anticipate the meal. Would it taste like chicken, as I had heard? Frog, another legendary chicken-flavored meat, does taste somewhat like chicken I had discovered.

Snake is much better than Chinese Mooncakes

Mrs. Stevo has a pathological fear of snakes. Not like, “Yikes, a snake!”  More like, a crying fit that requires a sedative. This fear isn’t limited to the live reptile: It also extends to anything that looks like (in her perception) a snake. Toy snakes, the elongated shadow of a moth, gerbils, all cause a screaming fit. Mrs. Stevo was a little hesitant to attend the Mid-Autumn Festival celebration in case live snakes were slithering around. That was not the case, the snakes were cooked.

The yellow-tinted snake wine tasted venomous. It was if the snake was biting the inside of your mouth from the great hereafter. It wasn’t without its charms but not a tipple I would partake of every day.  I did not sample the snake gallbladder wine. I will only go so far in my efforts to culturally assimilate.

An earthen pot held snake and chicken soup. The steamy, light-flavored broth did indeed taste like chicken. I didn’t get to eat the snake meat: Mrs. Stevo’s nerves started to get jittery when she realized the pot was full of snake. The fact the snake was deceased and had been cooked for several hours didn’t matter much.

The giant platter of snake meat looked a lot like fried fish fillets. The skin was a greyish black. As I pulled the meat from the bones I was a tad repulsed. You’re eating a snake, a gross slithering creature, my inner monologue droned. I pushed forward, eating the snake fillet, and then another.

Yes, snake does taste like chicken. The texture, at least of the snake I ate, was chicken-esque.

My next goal, a difficult one, is eating monkey. Yes, the look cute on TV, that’s just good PR. If you have ever dealt with a real monkey (the little bastards) you’d ask for an invite to the feast.

Asians around the world are preparing to celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival aka the Moon Festival. September 14 will be the date for the 2008 festivities. The festival is popular in China, Vietnam, Korea, and other east-Asia nations.

I’ve talked about other Chinese holidays (Seven-Seven and the Dragon Boat Festival). The Mid-Autumn Festival originates from a folktale about a rabbit, an archer and his beautiful wife, immortality, and celestial bodies.

This is no simple holiday, like Christmas. There’s no man in a red suit giving you presents. It’s complicated stuff; you need Cliff’s Notes to keep the characters straight. Luckily, dear reader, you have an intrepid journalist deep in the heart of (south) China, willing to go to any length to get the skinny on this fête.

…there was an immortal named Houyi, part of the court of the Jade Emperor, the King of Heaven. Before they wed, Houyi’s lovely wife Chang’e, had been an attendant to the Queen Mother of the West (the Emperor’s wife).

Houyi the archer and Chang'e the lady on the moon.

The immortals, probably because they had little else to do (and bowling had yet to be invented) liked to squabble. Houyi somehow aroused the other immortals’ jealousy. Being petty, they slandered Houyi before the Jade Emperor. He and Chang’e were banished from heaven. The couple lived upon the earth and hunted to survive. Houyi became a famous archer.

In the days of yor, 10 suns circled the earth, a different one each day. Then: Catastrophe. All 10 suns appeared in the sky the same day. The earth was a mess. Crops were scorched, people received nasty burns (SPF ratings, like bowling, had not been invented yet) and without the invention of electricity there wasn’t a cold Coke in sight.

China’s Emperor Yao commanded Houyi to shoot down nine of the 10 suns, lest The Middle Kingdom be destroyed. Houyi, skilled bow-and-arrow dude that he was, complied and shot the fiery balls of gas from the heavens. The Emperor was pleased and gave Houyi a pill that granted eternal life, but warned the archer to fast and reflect for one year before taking it.

At home, Houyi hid the pill in the rafters and started to prepare himself as instructed. Enter Chang’e. She noticed a beam of light from the rafters and discovered the pill. Houyi returned and she swallowed the pill to mask her discovery. He wasn’t pleased, and berated her for her transgression. The pill had given her the power to fly, and that she did, into the sky. Her husband chased her until a strong wind forced him to return to earth.

Chang’e ended up on the moon. her flying powers spent. She coughed and half the pill fell from her mouth. She lived with the Jade Rabbit, that according to Chinese mythology, resides on the moon.  The rabbit, an apothecary to the immortals, was put to work trying to replicate the second half of the pill so she could return to earth.

The Jade Rabbit, resident of the moon.

Aside: There are many explanations for the rabbit on the moon. Some versions say Chang’e took the rabbit with her, another says the rabbit was already in residence, having been given a place in the moon palace after sacrificing himself for three hungry sages.

Somehow, Houyi built himself a palace on the sun. Once a year, on the 15th day of the 8th lunar month – Mid-Autumn Festival – he visits his wife, thus explaining the moon’s brightness on this day. Houyi was the yang (male symbol) and Chang’e, the ying (female symbol).

Trying to decipher this tale is difficult. In one version Houyi is a tyrant that saves the world from the suns and then takes the throne. He has his court wizards prepare a elixir of immortality so he can be king forever. Chang’e doesn’t like her husband’s despotic rule and steals the elixir so he can’t lord over his subjects for eternity. Another tale is similar to the story of Pandora’s Box.

Mid-Autumn festival is the second most important Chinese Holiday (Spring Festival, or Chinese New Year being the first). It’s a time for family reunions and a celebration of the harvest.

The food of the festival is the Moon Cake: Lotus seed paste wrapped in a thin pastry. Egg yolks or salted eggs are often the center of the cakes. It is a heavy delicacy, often eaten in small portions with tea.

From Wikipedia:
Traditional mooncakes have an imprint on top consisting of the Chinese characters for “longevity” or “harmony” as well as the name of the bakery and filling in the moon cake. Imprints of a moon, a woman on the moon, flowers, vines, or a rabbit may surround the characters for additional decoration.

Mooncakes are expensive and considered a delicacy, and production is labor-intensive and few people make them at home. Most mooncakes are bought at Asian markets and bakeries. The price of mooncakes range from $10 to $50 (in US money).

The holiday can be traced back to 1060 BCE, to the Chinese Xia and Shang Dynasties. It was during the Tang Dynasty (5th to 8th centuries) that it became very popular. With the recent change in national holidays, Mid-Autumn festival is now a day off. Previously it was celebrated but not granted “day off” status.

What do people for Mid-Autumn festival? Simple: Go to a restaurant or someone’s home. Eat a big meal, drink, and consume moon cakes. A less-than-reliable website has a different idea, it lists the following as the activities engaged in:

A mooncake - the food of Mid-Autumn Festival.

• Eating moon cakes outside under the moon
• Putting pomelo rinds on one’s head
• Carrying brightly lit lanterns
• Burning incense in reverence to deities including Chang’e
• Planting Mid-Autumn trees
• Lighting lanterns on towers
• Fire Dragon Dances

I should be Wiki’s man on the ground. That list is not entirely correct.

Happy Mid-Autumn Festival. I’ll be thinking of you while eating moon cakes.

Morning outside the market.

The food deliveries in China come each morning. Chinese Trucks, motorcycles, and trikes pull up in front of small markets. They dump their loads of fresh greens and the market staff goes to work. Sitting on small stools they sort, then package the fresh produce. Monday or Sunday, rain or shine, it’s always the same.