There’s a lot of food in China that visitors consider strange. Fried rabbit heads, pickled chicken’s feet, civet cat, dog hot pot, and a plethora of organ meat-based dishes. From a western perspective, yes, these dishes are indeed strange.

There’s a linkage in between Chinese foods and health. Josh at Far West China recently posted a notice from his local health department on food combinations to avoid. Chinese traditional medicine is an interesting practice. I think it is grounded in the belief that medicine must make you sicker to make you better. Newts, sea horses, root and berries can be combined to restore you chi and make you well.

This gruesome tale combines both Chinese medicine and Chinese food. I guarantee, this is something you don’t want to try.

Lin Zongxiu, from the southwestern province of Sichuan, heard in 2008 that soup made with a man’s head could help cure her daughter who had suffered from psychiatric problems for years, the Chengdu Commercial newspaper reported.

Lin and her husband decided to enlist the help of a man in December who knocked unconscious a drunk 76-year-old passer-by before beheading him, the paper claimed. The couple then gave their 25-year-old daughter soup made from the man’s head, and duck.
Source: The Telegraph

Yikes! I was always worried about waking up in a bathtub full of ice, missing a kidney. This adds an entire new dimension to my travel fears. I could be returning to a hostel, tipsy, and wake up the next morning beheaded. Damn!

The murderer was sentenced to death, with a two year reprieve (which means if he’s a good boy the sentence will likely be commuted to life in prison). Ms Lin was convicted of helping destroy evidence, although some in the culinary community will think the dish she concocted deserves severe punishment.

There was no word on whether the “cure” worked. There is a certain tit-for-tat: An insane act to cure insanity. I didn’t think Hannibal Lecter’s Cookbook had been yet translated into Chinese.

Image: cherishedgiftfavors.com

SPAM, Korean-Style

My life, teaching English in China: What do you do on a Saturday night when your friends abandon you?

Eat SPAM. That’s right. Go the Korean grocery store, buy a can of imported Korean SPAM Luncheon Meat, then return home, make some toast, and grab the mustard.

What? You don’t like SPAM? There seems to be bias in North America regarding canned meat products. For me, SPAM falls into the NCF category: Not Chinese Food. I live in China, and the majority of my diet is Chinese food, but sometimes you need a taste of something different. Comfort food, perhaps.

That’s not to say there isn’t SPAM in Chinese food. There’s SPAM in fried rice, SPAM hot dogs, and SPAM fried noodles. I’m being broad in my interpretation of SPAM. In Chinese food it’s not real SPAM, but a Chinese SPAM-like tinned meat. Sometimes said meat isn’t in a can and doesn’t require refrigeration. I find that both amazing and frightening.

Did the Hormel Food Corporation think in 1937, the year they released SPAM, it would one day graces the tables of China, being incorporated in staple Chinese dishes? Probably not. Could they have envisioned the joy of a Canadian expatriate in China, eating a can of Shoulder of Pork and Ham manufactured in Korea? Probably not. If I had a time machine I’d travel back to shake the hands of those wonderful, SPAM-creating men.

Ya Baby, It's Super Light.

To accompany the SPAM sandwich(es) I ate while watch Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry in Magnum Force, I drank a can cans of Kingway Super Light Beer. How could you not drink something called Super Light? Is it so light as to be good for you? Is it the Chinese beer equivalent of ambrosia?

Kingway is a Shenzhen, China, Brewery, and is fighting for market share with the Chinese beer dragon, Tsing Tao, the national brand.  Heineken International owns a 21% stake in Kingway. The company also produces a beer called Kingway Super Fresh. (aside: that would be a great hip-hop name: MC Super Fresh).

Sorry: Is it the Chinese beer equivalent of ambrosia?

In a word: No. But I am trying to eat healthy. Drinking regular non-super-light beer while eating sandwiches made with tinned meat containing dangerous levels of saturated fat and sodium would not have been especially healthy.

I’m giving serious consideration to translating Monty Python’s Spamalot into Chinese and starting a small theatre company to perform the show. I adapt the script to incorporate Kingway Super Light.

The people that come to teach English in China may have learned a little Mandarin before arriving in The Middle Kingdom. That usually goes out the window: The classroom and the street are vastly different environs.

Ni Hao, they will say (Hello). Or perhaps, Xie Xie (Thank you).  Other than those two key expressions, new people teaching English in China find themselves lost in a linguistic maze. The local accent, the rapid-fire delivery, lead to confusion, bewilderment, and more often than not, fright.

There is one phrase all new ESL teachers learn: Something key to their survival in the high-pressure, crazy, dog-eat-dog world of teaching English overseas:

Pijiu.

Beer. That’s right. Before many learn to say (in Chinese) “My name is Bob, I’m an English teacher,” they learn to say: Pijiu. The scholars may learn to say: Liang ping pijiu (two bottles of beer).

As they learn the magic word they also learn to forget the polite customs of their homelands. A wave at a waitress might result in a wave back, or a smile. Softly calling, “Xiao Jie,” (miss) will not get cold bottles of pijiu to your table. Chinese restaurants at meal times can be a controlled riot. You must be loud to be heard over the din of other diners, the kitchen, and the honking horns outside.

Politeness is forgotten as quickly as pijiu is assimilated into the linguistic psyche. The wave or cleared throat is replaced with the bellowed, “Pijiu,” the English teacher holding an empty bottle over their head like a trophy that is be both feared and admired. Even if the waitress doesn’t understand the pronunciation of pijiu, the dead soldier is a visual cue.

That cultural hurdle overcome, new people teaching English in China can learn more useful Chinese phrases like: How much is this?

Photo: Me and my new Strobist gear.

Bamboo-Not just for Pandas

I wanted to shoot some photos of roses. I thought I would try a few things until my new studio equipment arrives (Buying items from the Chinese version of eBay is easy, except the payment portion of the transaction.)

There is a little stand right outside my building. The woman sells fresh flowers, goldfish, and ready-to-eat pineapple. Alas, when I arrived yesterday she was having an altercation with security guards and the police. No roses for me, or anyone else. Long-stem roses are cheap in China, about $0.45 US each.  Yunnan Province grows a lot of roses, and supplies most of Asia with fresh flowers.

I searched the market next door to find a replacement for the wayward roses. Bamboo, I wondered? Why not. It’s tasty, when cooked with hot peppers and pork.

This was shot against a white wall with a low shutter speed, window light to the left, off-camera flash to the front. ISO 100, 1/3 sec, f/9. Should my stands, umbrellas and flash ever arrive I’ll delve into the world of food photography because:  a) food is very cheap; b) I can eat the subjects when the shoot is over. The same can not be said for portraits.

I found a great site for cheap frugal photographers like myself.  DIY Photography has a great list of projects you can do at home using materials from art or hardware stores. I am considering building this DIY backdrop stand instead of buying one.

I don’t know what this says. Eggs, with Chinese characters? I’m unsure about my feelings on this. Conflicted, perhaps.

Hats off to the people that invented a device capable to printing on eggs. Maybe it’s for Easter, a holiday not even celebrated.

This was shot with one flash and a reflector. After nosing around The Strobist I’m really eager to start working with two flashes, off-camera.  My plan to pay for it all? I have a lot of change. No, really, a lot. Like 30 pounds of it. That should cover the expense, and give me some more shelf space.

edit: I now know what this says, after consulting with my colleagues.  Sheng Di Le (a company name) Enviromental Egg. That oculd mean free-range, or something extremely sinister in Chinglish.

Lily, or Ni Ni, or Li Li (she’s a women of many names, owing mostly to her Sichuan dialect) owns an outdoor noodle stand. The specialty of the house is Suan La Fen, or Sour Spicy Rice Noodles. It is eaten by the multitudes from paper bowls, while perched precariously on plastic stools over tables that have seen much better days.

She opens around noon, and closes when the customers are gone. The back of the stand is covered with a large, open-sided tent. A bare florescent bulb illuminates the tables and diners after dark.

Lily smiles. She laughs. She rhymes off your bill like a human adding machine.

Her stand also has a wide variety of meat-on-a-stick and an always-ready deep fryer to cook said meats.  The greasy treats are popular with the students after class (high school students head home at 10 pm). The cold pijiu is popular with their teachers.

Photo Notes: Canon 40D, ISO 400, 1/2000, f/3.2, with an EF  70-200 f/2.8L