Oct. 28th, 2002 12:47 pm
More neo-imperialist cultural tourism
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muckefuckI spent another enjoyable weekend dedicated to the idea that the vibrant and unique cultures of the world exist primarily to be commodified and displayed for my transient pleasure. Saturday is the Feast of All Souls in the Catholic calendar (which in Catalan goes by the mellifluous moniker of Fidels Difunts, the "Defunct Faithful"); in Mexico, of course, this is known as Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead. Sadly, I will be in San Luis Rey de Misuri (que contiene, de paso, algunos puentes), which has, que yo sepa, no Mexican community to speak of.
So I planned my trip for this weekend.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu was busy; bunj, welcomerain, spookyfruit were all out of state (though not all in the same state); and I was too lame to call anyone else except my gentleman friend. He recently moved within walking distance of Pilsen, so he was a natural candidate to accompany me. Turns out he had read a review of Moon Palace in the Trib and decided he had to try their xiao3long3tang1bao1.
We set a rendezvous for 12:15 in front of the restaurant.monshu gave me a send-off that reminded me why the hell I keep him around in the first place. I made good time. I don't wear a watch, but I think it was just about high noon when I got there. Fortunately, I'd had the clarity of mind to toss McCawley's fantastic Eater's guide to Chinese characters into my bag and I amused myself by reading the Chinese menu posted in the window. A handsome young Chinese man came along and asked,
"Reading Chinese?"
"Well, I'm trying to."
"That's great!"
I pointed to the first item on the list, Gong1de3lin2 vegetarian dumpling, and asked, "What is Gong1de3lin2? Is that the name of a place?"
"It is the name of the place. It's a place famous for its vegetarian food."
"It's a restaurant?"
"Yes."[*]
He popped in through the door. A few minutes later, I reached that point where you begin to wonder if the party you are meeting is really dull enough to have taken a seat inside without bothering to keep an eye for you and went inside. He was standing next to the bar and offered to seat me, but I merely asked his help with another character (damn commie simplified forms!) and went back outside.
Nuphy got there spot on time and we went in and ordered. That is, we ordered the tang1bao1. The waiter asked if I wanted a Chinese menu, of course I said yes, and that slowed up things considerably as I tried to make sense of it all. In the course of the meal, we had twenty-two dumplings, Shanghai noodles (where better to eat them?), two pots of damn fine tea, and two waitresses. One of them couldn't believe I could read Chinese; she pointed to an entry and asked "What's that say?" I mumbled that it must be some kind of chicken dish. This made her eyes pop. The other one was a bit older and more placid. We asked her about the curious name of the place--in Chinese, it's called Shanghai 4-5-6. (It amuses me no end that the English sign out front says "Mandarin cuisine"; I guess they figure we whey-faces wouldn't eat at a place that said "Shanghainese cuisine".) She replied laconically that she didn't know; they hadn't told her yet.
We caught the 18th street bus and got out in front of Bom Bon. Monshu and I had stumbled on this place this time last year. We were amazed to see such a high-end pâtisserie popping up in Pilsen, but the two owners told us that the Mexicans are willing to splurge for big family events. They know their community well, because the place is doing fantastic business. Last year, it was just the two of them, but this trip they were keeping at least a half-dozen employees busy behind the counter. We were too full to even think about eating anything else, but I came back later in the day to buy cookies, pan de muertos, and find out if they made roscón de reyes for Christmastide. (Answer: Yes. Get your order in early!)
Unfortunately, Nuphy had friends to meet mid-afternoon, so he barely had time to see all the ofrendas at the Mexican Fine Arts Center Museum before tearing off to catch the bus again. The amoeboid school groups got to me, so I ducked into the nearly-empty historical gallery. In the "pre-Cuauhtémoc" section, there was a beautiful mural by Mario Castillo. The plaque explained that he had been heavily influenced by op-art and asked visitors to stare at the centre of it for at least 30 seconds. It was worth it; the colours began swirling as if the painting were shifting before my eyes. Motifs I hadn't noticed before suddenly popped into view, superimposing themselves over the rest of the image. It soon got to be a little too eerie and I had to move on.
At Tzintzuntzan, I deliberated for far too long before settling for two sugar skulls and a candy coffin. The coffin is for the man who cooks most of my lunches[#], the small skull is for me, and the large one is for my father. (My sister-in-law and her husband were good enough to run it back down for me the next day in order to get it personalised for him. I didn't know you could do that!) Then I trekked back to Bom Bon and stopped at the Jumping Bean Cafe for a chocolate. Here I ran into an acquaintance from my previous job, who talked at length about his latest book: A study of a Javanese account of the Mongol invasion that makes Kubilai into a romantic hero!
Once home, I dawdled and looked stuff up for a bit. (Discovering, for instance, that the name of one of the dishes on the Chinese menu had contained the word earthworm. That must be metaphorical, right, like "ants climbing a tree". Right?) I got so carried away trying to come up with an Arabic name for the Marmaduke Empire that, by the time I got out to the market, it was closed; I had no cheese for my quesadillas. Instead, I made a beeline for Rokucha.
Everyone there was in good spirits. I told my chef about my adventures and promised to share some of my cookies the next time I stopped in. He seemed a tad dubious, so after my very filling futomaki, I dashed home and returned with pecan cookies for all. I also showed off the skull I'd bought for myself, explaining the belief that eating it would keep one from dying in the coming year. "This one is for me," I told my chef, "I don't know what you're going to do." The master chef heard this and announced, "I could make you one from wasabi!" He then took a wad of wasabi, formed it into a ball, and reamed out two eyes. The couple closest to him asked what he was making and he said, "Wasabi skull!" He tried to cajole my chef into eating it, but he openly scorned the belief and refused. If my chef should die in the coming year, I accept no responsibility
One of the waitresses was going to a party after her shift ended, but she was stuck for a costume. They seemed to appreciate my jest that my chef could wrap her in nori and she could go as "maki girl". (He complained that this would be too much work, which earned him a grimace from her.) He told me I was "too big" to be a bunny for Halloween and I found out he was born in the Year of the Monkey. (It occurs to me now that, knowing this, I can figure out how old he must be.)
[*] Doing a quick web search, I see that it is the name of the most famous vegetarian restaurant in Shanghai.
[#] He seemed pleased; I guess I'll know for sure next time he does my stir-fry
So I planned my trip for this weekend.
monshu was busy; bunj, welcomerain, spookyfruit were all out of state (though not all in the same state); and I was too lame to call anyone else except my gentleman friend. He recently moved within walking distance of Pilsen, so he was a natural candidate to accompany me. Turns out he had read a review of Moon Palace in the Trib and decided he had to try their xiao3long3tang1bao1.We set a rendezvous for 12:15 in front of the restaurant.
monshu gave me a send-off that reminded me why the hell I keep him around in the first place. I made good time. I don't wear a watch, but I think it was just about high noon when I got there. Fortunately, I'd had the clarity of mind to toss McCawley's fantastic Eater's guide to Chinese characters into my bag and I amused myself by reading the Chinese menu posted in the window. A handsome young Chinese man came along and asked,"Reading Chinese?"
"Well, I'm trying to."
"That's great!"
I pointed to the first item on the list, Gong1de3lin2 vegetarian dumpling, and asked, "What is Gong1de3lin2? Is that the name of a place?"
"It is the name of the place. It's a place famous for its vegetarian food."
"It's a restaurant?"
"Yes."[*]
He popped in through the door. A few minutes later, I reached that point where you begin to wonder if the party you are meeting is really dull enough to have taken a seat inside without bothering to keep an eye for you and went inside. He was standing next to the bar and offered to seat me, but I merely asked his help with another character (damn commie simplified forms!) and went back outside.
Nuphy got there spot on time and we went in and ordered. That is, we ordered the tang1bao1. The waiter asked if I wanted a Chinese menu, of course I said yes, and that slowed up things considerably as I tried to make sense of it all. In the course of the meal, we had twenty-two dumplings, Shanghai noodles (where better to eat them?), two pots of damn fine tea, and two waitresses. One of them couldn't believe I could read Chinese; she pointed to an entry and asked "What's that say?" I mumbled that it must be some kind of chicken dish. This made her eyes pop. The other one was a bit older and more placid. We asked her about the curious name of the place--in Chinese, it's called Shanghai 4-5-6. (It amuses me no end that the English sign out front says "Mandarin cuisine"; I guess they figure we whey-faces wouldn't eat at a place that said "Shanghainese cuisine".) She replied laconically that she didn't know; they hadn't told her yet.
We caught the 18th street bus and got out in front of Bom Bon. Monshu and I had stumbled on this place this time last year. We were amazed to see such a high-end pâtisserie popping up in Pilsen, but the two owners told us that the Mexicans are willing to splurge for big family events. They know their community well, because the place is doing fantastic business. Last year, it was just the two of them, but this trip they were keeping at least a half-dozen employees busy behind the counter. We were too full to even think about eating anything else, but I came back later in the day to buy cookies, pan de muertos, and find out if they made roscón de reyes for Christmastide. (Answer: Yes. Get your order in early!)
Unfortunately, Nuphy had friends to meet mid-afternoon, so he barely had time to see all the ofrendas at the Mexican Fine Arts Center Museum before tearing off to catch the bus again. The amoeboid school groups got to me, so I ducked into the nearly-empty historical gallery. In the "pre-Cuauhtémoc" section, there was a beautiful mural by Mario Castillo. The plaque explained that he had been heavily influenced by op-art and asked visitors to stare at the centre of it for at least 30 seconds. It was worth it; the colours began swirling as if the painting were shifting before my eyes. Motifs I hadn't noticed before suddenly popped into view, superimposing themselves over the rest of the image. It soon got to be a little too eerie and I had to move on.
At Tzintzuntzan, I deliberated for far too long before settling for two sugar skulls and a candy coffin. The coffin is for the man who cooks most of my lunches[#], the small skull is for me, and the large one is for my father. (My sister-in-law and her husband were good enough to run it back down for me the next day in order to get it personalised for him. I didn't know you could do that!) Then I trekked back to Bom Bon and stopped at the Jumping Bean Cafe for a chocolate. Here I ran into an acquaintance from my previous job, who talked at length about his latest book: A study of a Javanese account of the Mongol invasion that makes Kubilai into a romantic hero!
Once home, I dawdled and looked stuff up for a bit. (Discovering, for instance, that the name of one of the dishes on the Chinese menu had contained the word earthworm. That must be metaphorical, right, like "ants climbing a tree". Right?) I got so carried away trying to come up with an Arabic name for the Marmaduke Empire that, by the time I got out to the market, it was closed; I had no cheese for my quesadillas. Instead, I made a beeline for Rokucha.
Everyone there was in good spirits. I told my chef about my adventures and promised to share some of my cookies the next time I stopped in. He seemed a tad dubious, so after my very filling futomaki, I dashed home and returned with pecan cookies for all. I also showed off the skull I'd bought for myself, explaining the belief that eating it would keep one from dying in the coming year. "This one is for me," I told my chef, "I don't know what you're going to do." The master chef heard this and announced, "I could make you one from wasabi!" He then took a wad of wasabi, formed it into a ball, and reamed out two eyes. The couple closest to him asked what he was making and he said, "Wasabi skull!" He tried to cajole my chef into eating it, but he openly scorned the belief and refused. If my chef should die in the coming year, I accept no responsibility
One of the waitresses was going to a party after her shift ended, but she was stuck for a costume. They seemed to appreciate my jest that my chef could wrap her in nori and she could go as "maki girl". (He complained that this would be too much work, which earned him a grimace from her.) He told me I was "too big" to be a bunny for Halloween and I found out he was born in the Year of the Monkey. (It occurs to me now that, knowing this, I can figure out how old he must be.)
[*] Doing a quick web search, I see that it is the name of the most famous vegetarian restaurant in Shanghai.
[#] He seemed pleased; I guess I'll know for sure next time he does my stir-fry
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Of course, that's exactly what -e and I did.
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It hurt.
Possibly what hurt the most was watching one of the Jackass crew go into a Japanese place, request a big blob of wasabi, mix it with soy sauce, snort half of the mixture up his nose, convulse, vomit onto his sushi plate… and then snort the other half, convulse, and vomit some more. What a waste of good wasabi, good sushi, and very minimal brain cells. (It should be noted that the counterman politely ignored the entire thing.)
So if you snort a wasabi skull, are you guaranteed to die of your own stupidity within the upcoming year?
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If only!
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That explains it.
The candy makers at the Mexican Museum of Fine Arts are flown up every year from Mexico. They don't speak any English, and if you want a skull personalized you usually have to write the name down for them. -e chatted with them while they were personalizing our skulls. Seems that during the rest of the year they sell their candy in Puebla. They also just got a grandchild, so yea for them.
Re: That explains it.
Then, it dawned on me I was being a moron and that the whole thing was actually cute. Candidly, I'm a bit embarrassed about having been caught a bit off guard by the Day of the Dead thing. I was fully aware it is that time of the year and (due to the high number of hispanics where I live) the day is actually culturally larger in my area and thus hardly unknown to me. Oh well, insert mouth stick in foot. ;)
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So maybe you know: Do they really serve earthworm?
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(BTW, if you're ever feeling less lame,
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She did introduce me to a number of more standard dishes, though. I'd never tried sticky rice shu mai before she ordered them, for instance. I think the Moon Palace version is just amazing, though
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There were many things I'd've loved to try if the dumpling servings hadn't been so generous. The second dish I asked Mr Waiter about was a sweetish fermented rice soup that sounded very interesting. Plus, they have Eight Treasures Glutinous Rice Pudding, which is far too heavy to eat alone.
Maybe we should consider brunch there some Saturday before the game. Then we wouldn't be tempted to snack as much!
Hmm. I've never seen candy coffins before.