two strings for naught

Tonight, I will bear a bit of soul and shed whatever pride did not already leave with autumn's farewell.

I have a story to share.

But where this story begins is not so clear, for life entwines itself more like an entropic dust-bunny and less like the carefully woven tapestry.


OMINOUS 88-TOOTHED BEAST

In my early years, I recall the upright bureau of an antique radio sitting near a chest hiding the 8-track and LP player combo. My father played the banjo, and my mother the guitar. But where my instrument was calling, I never did hear. And so at 8 years old, I found myself a stranger to the piano, which I courted quite awkwardly for those next few years that I [was forced to take] lessons. It was quite dreadful, actually.

Horrible sounding notes came from the mouth of this fantastic wooden beast. Countless white keys and a few dribbled black keys... my head swirled and fingers fumbled as the beast seemed only to spit back at my vain attempts to coax a sweet sound from her depths.

Who was I kidding? I had no musical talent.


TWO STRINGS FOR 1999

Well, that story did not change much over the next 20 years, although I did have an affair once with a sweet stringed instrument during my first stint in China, back in 1999.

Working as a mechanical engineering intern, my living quarters were situated in the dormitory just behind the factory. All the workers lived here, in fact - except for the top manager. He tried to tough it out, but eventually gave in to the plushness of a villa with leather sofas and guarded gates. We back at the factory had all the more fun!

My room was on the top floor, and the stairwell to this third floor was often filled with an amazing sound of traditional Chinese music.

...the erhu (二胡), a two-stringed Chinese violin, literally means "two-reckless", i.e., the TWO-stringed instrument played by non-Han ethnicities coming from the northwest of what is present-day China. It is said that 'reckless' refers to the 'non-Han' i.e., the 'barbarian', those coming from a lesser cultured people. But none could resist the sweet if not slightly salty sound of this two-stringed beauty, and she is now inseparable from 'traditional [Han] Chinese' culture. Today, few outside of music institutes are learning to play the erhu, with a majority of its fans in their late 60s. Playing music was and is still a part of old village life, while the young city is more keen to sport a flashy mp3 player.

As it turned out, one of the engineers had been a musical phenomenon in his past life, it seemed, and his good karma allowed him to return without losing any of those talents. He could play the flute, the erhu, the drums, the piano, the accordion, oh my. He could play! But he only played the erhu in the stairwell, perhaps just for my ears.

It was unavoidable that one night he would catch me watching him play, and it wasn't but a moment later that he had me sitting in his chair, playing his instrument!

Starting that night, I became his understudy. I practiced by myself for an hour each night. And when my arms were just about to fall off, I played for another hour under his instruction (we did not yet speak the same language).

With his help, I became the proud owner of my own erhu, one that traveled back with me to America and stayed loyal through years of neglect interspersed with months of passion.


FOUR STRINGS for 2006

It took many more years before I remembered a family heirloom, a violin passed down to my father from his uncle, passed down to him from ??? No one is quite sure of its origin, but in the fall of 2006, it was lying helplessly in a wreck. It might have been the saddest violin I have ever seen.

My father bequeathed it to me, and I much delighted, began to understand how much easier the 4-stringed cousin really is to play. Twice as many strings lying in wait. The erhu, however, keeps only two for show, and leaves the notes hidden for the finding. And the most interesting aspect of the erhu is that the horse-hair of the bow is actually situated between the two strings, making it impossible to separate the bow from the body of the instrument. See my picture below...

And so, I began another quest that autumn to get back to my note-reading and befriend the western cousin of a violin.


ON NOTATION

Here in China, the musical notation is quite a bit different than the western 5-line bar. They use an ancient system called jianpu (simplified notation), which uses numbers instead of circles and lines (standard notation). T'is much easier to read and there is no need for memorizing helper phrases such as "Every Good Boy Does Fine" (who can forget?) Below is a sample of jianpu notation (and the song you will hear below):

jianpu, easy as 1, 2, 3!

BACK TO MY ROOTS IN 2008

Alas, I've found my way back to China, and only recently got smart enough and purchased another erhu. I found an incredible street lined with music stores, where [as musicians do] people were jamming on a variety of instruments... guitars and also erhus and zithers and flutes.

Erhus range in quality and price (¥300 - ¥8,000)and appearance, and after a few hours of scouting, I returned to the first store and claimed my prize. There is just too much erhu to fit in one picture and so, I am not including the ornamental extremities of the beaut!

my 2-stringer

TEACHER WU

If one was looking for an erhu teacher, I would recommend going to one of these music shops and simply inquiring within. What I would not expect is to have a gentleman inside playing amazing songs... immediately inviting you to be his student.

As it turns out, Teacher Wu is just shy of 70 and had hernia surgery just a week before Christmas, not that he celebrated. But did call me just two days after the holiday and ask me if today was the day I would come to visit him and take lessons. I accepted.

It would actually be quite a long story if I detailed just how that first night he gave me a 15-minute lesson right in the store, and how he took me to his home that night and gave me a copy of the newspaper stating he went to Germany and beyond at their request. He really is quite the skilled musician, having performed internationally:

吴兴水演奏二胡：Master Wu Xingshui Performs on the Erhu

And so, books and erhu in hand, I took the #609 bus to his stop and walked to his home located in a Hutong on one of the famous lakes of Beijing, Houhai, where he has lived for 30 years.

While I set myself up with a book, he proceeded to dine on pork dumplings. I played a few tunes that I knew, and it must've been more than he wanted to hear. He brought out one of his personal books and opened it to the first page: 田园春色, or Tianyuan Chunse: Fields and Gardens, the Beauty of Spring. Here is a link to the song:

http://v.ku6.com/show/ZRBFw8BZoCUq4Dx7.html

It is a must-play level-one song. I hadn't even counted myself as being in a level yet, as I had not surpassed any of the warm-up exercises in my music book. He said that a song has the same notes as any of those warm-ups, and is more practical, let alone more beautiful; I should forget the simple stuff and skip to the songs. Never mind that my timing is far behind my note-reading at this stage.

In that hour, he took me through this beautiful song, full of half and quarter notes, and even a crescendo or two. With a teacher such as Master Wu clapping out the rhythm, there is no time to fall behind.

After two hours of practice back in the quiet of my apartment, I decided to make a recording... mainly to hear [and watch] myself and log my progress. Watch at your own risk! :)



Curious of my abilities, I asked him how long it would take a student to reach my current level. He leaned in close and said, "Well, if you were really stupid, you'd have been at this for about a year. If you are smart, maybe 6 months." And with that, I let him know that I have been a student of the erhu for more than 9 years (of which, I've put in no more than 4 months of solid practice), to which we both enjoyed a good chuckle.

Next week, he threatened, I'll start on a level 4 song.

bibbee • blue • bbc

Today, I get to share a photo with the world：

BBC Theme: BLUE

Actually, it was *published* on 17-Dec, but thanks to a friend back home in the Keweenaw, I was alerted [today] that my submission had been chosen for 1 of 10 photos selected for the BBC photo theme of BLUE.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7779651.stm

It's the second time I have submitted a photo, but the first time my photo was selected. Sometimes you just get lucky!

Most exciting, is getting to share it with so many people, all over the world.

For more photos from the same trip, take a peek at my photo site:

http://thejadeteaspoon.smugmug.com/2008-07%20July/582886

Enjoy!

p.s. 'spose I oughta comment on the pic itself:

Traveling with my good friend Mathieu, we flew down to southern China (Guangxi Province) and signed up for [my first] ticketed tour. First a 40-minute bus-ride with 40 other foreigners and an enthusiastic tour guide to the Li River, some distance south of Guilin. We boarded a boat that held approximately 100 people and spent the next 4 hours forging down the beautiful river amongst the beautiful and famous Guilin scenery - mountains jutting from the river into the sky.

We stayed at the Galaxy Hotel (recommended) in Yangshuo and spent the next day riding rented bicyles in the rain and getting lost in the countryside. Just gorgeous. More than familiar with foreigners, it had a different feeling than Beijing (where foreigners are still uncommon). The food, the people... everything was wonderful - and very personable.

After making our way back to Guilin (where we would catch a train back to the North), we decided to check out the *scenic* sites... one of which was the Reed Flute Caves. The artificial fluorescent blue lighting, reflecting off a pool of water, made for a rock concert (yes, there was even music played from speakers) like I may never see again.

Mathieu and I chuckled as we listened to traditional Chinese music from speakers and passed up an opportunity (or three?) to take pictures with the giant tortoise that was the celebrity of the underground. It was a cave like I've never seen.

And that is [part of] the story of the BLUE photo you see here....

tawdry New HSK

（考新汉语水平考试还是不考）

monkey business: to HSK or not

There comes a point in every Mandarin student's lifetime when they must brave the ultimate test of notes, ink, and chords. And pay out the pocket for it, ¥500 to be exact. Some call it the Mandarin Proficiency Exam, aka HSK (Hanyu Shuiping Kaoshi , i.e., 汉语水平考试)

For those of you who are not students of Mandarin or have no intention of HSKing, you might want to continue surfing the internet.

Out of 99% curiosity and 1% it-might-be-usefulness, I signed up 2 weeks ago to take the examination. Even mentioning the exam is enough to widen the eyes and wrinkle the face of even the most studious.

I didn't do any special studying for the exam. I honestly wanted to see what my current level of Mandarin proficiency is. And so, I went, as is, on a short night night of sleep.

准考证：my ticket to HSKland

The new HSK is supposed to be new and improved. After taking the exam today, I can only imagine what it used be.

The entire [new] test is broken into three tests, which can now be taken individually at the intermediate or advanced level. Basic Comprehension, Writing, and Oral. Or so the tests are labeled.

I'll detail below how at least two of these tests ought to be described as Written & Oral History, or as most call it "story-telling".

Since there was no post-exam evaluation form, I thought an online, public one would do justice.


monkey listen

The Listening section cannot accurately test or verify listening comprehension, due to its method of delivery. High tech headphones are stationed at paired desks, adjacent to a blue, but listless, flat-screened computer monitor. Dialogues and stories are played over the headphones, and the student can listen clearly. So far, so good. I approve.

The trouble with the listening exam (as is) is that the exam paper is in text. Mandarin text. If you understand 100% of what you have heard -and could even paraphrase it-, but can only read 50% of the characters from the set of possible answers on the page, then your response, accurate or not, is essentially left to luck.

At this point, I was thinking it might have been useful to do a Mandarin dance or perhaps even better I could [still?] buy an HSK-reviewer voodoo doll and give it nice massages and cook it some fancy food, in hopes of increasing my chances. That ought to help my luck too, right?


monkey read

The reading comprehension was fine, almost. Written questions or paragraphs with blanks and A, B, C, D answer sets. Then again, character recognition and material comprehension are two entities in itself, which could also be tested separately. Enough said.


monkey write

The written exam consisted of 2 parts. The first section proposed the first and last sentence of a story. It also provided several vocabulary and clauses for the middle section of the story, in a way that you had to fill in the spaces with must-have words or phrases. By the time I figured out the directions, I had lost 10 minutes of precious time. Still, I was proud to have understood such complicated instructions in Mandarin (or even if they had been in English.) [The 8-sentence story? In summary: went to a store to shop for a jacket, but lost my wallet instead; staff kindly helped me to find it, and I was ever so thankful.]

The second section consisted of 4 drawing blocks: some apple trees, two workers harvesting apples with a ladder, one worker putting apples into a basket, and the two workers carrying the basket -suspended on a pole- away from the orchard.

Perhaps this test would more accurately have been named "written charades". At first glance, I wish I had studied the words for fall, orchard, apples, basket, harvest. Of all the things to test me on, here in one of the biggest cities of the world, at the beginning of winter, the exam wanted to test my knowledge of fruit farm labor practices. This is somehow to deduce my written proficiency level in Mandarin?


monkey talk

Last but not least. The oral exam. How best to test the oral proficiency of a student? If one could close their eyes for a moment and imagine a rigorous and critical exam, would it look like this?:

30 students at desks sitting in a single room. One teacher to read instructions. One teacher to pass out the exam booklet. A third teacher with IT background to run the recording equipment. Students (all 30, all at the same time) don headphones with microphones and speak into the mic when prompted by a bell. Answer 4 questions. You will have just enough time to think about the question after it is asked that you almost forget the question.

Now look at the four pictures (1. Little Johnny with gun in hand approaches a big tree with a little bird; 2. The bird flies away and the branch is snapped in two; 3. Little Johnny chases the bird who is flying away; 4. Little johnny stands over a broken gun next to a big rock while the bird flies away.)

30 seconds to compose your thoughts. Now speak into the mic (and ignore the other 29 students talking away over you) and tell a story. You have 2 minutes. What? Didn't study up on those vocab such as hunting, poor aim, chasing, ranting, raving, bad temper, ignorance...

Why is story telling (in any language) indicative (in any way, shape, or form) of my oral proficiency?

Looking back, I wish that I had the 口才, or eloquence, to ask Little Johnny's parents about letting him run around in the wild with a gun, wildly shooting at anything living, chasing after wildlife, throwing a fit when not pleased, and furthermore throwing weapons around carelessly so that they break against rocks. We can't be sure that Little Johnny unloaded his gun before he threw it against the rock. And if I mistakenly took a grown man for Little Johnny, then I'll save my list of questions for another entry...

And my goodness. I'm in China, of all places. The People's Republic of China do not allow their citizens to own guns here. They don't even hunt (per *official* record). Other than the random waiter who, upon finding out I'm American, wants me to confirm that America is dangerous because we have and like to shoot guns there, I've never had a conversation about hunting or even killing of farm animals for food.

Why this topic of hunting? Unfortunately this scenario put hunters in a bad light (Maybe that is the [local] attitude of anyone with a gun?) Why, Hsk? ...why HSK?


why HSK does not get my vote

In the end, how true it is that I did not participate in the HSK examination to confirm my Mandarin proficiency, which seems it is not truly capable of capturing. It seems I took the test to simply understand the testing method, if that is even possible. Even (and even more so) if I test well, I will not be impressed with the testing or evaluation methods of HSK.

Yes, I took their test. But did it really test my Mandarin proficiency level?

I hope I will not be required (by future employers) to take the HSK exam again. My time is much better spent reading a book in Mandarin, watching (& listening) to local TV, or talking with the local veggie sellers. This tells me indeed how my Mandarin is coming along.

I applaud the efforts to separate the HSK into 3 parts - Comprehension, Writing, and Oral. Yet without critically analyzing the method of separation and testing, it is rendered a failure.

After one of the exam sections, a student exclaimed "And I paid money to take this?"

This monkey couldn't agree more.

roots & fruits

Roots of Communication, Fruits of Language

As a foreigner, learning to speak Mandarin in her very motherland is akin to being born a second time, but this time through the aging eyes of experience. The early stages of learning a second language is more so an exercise in silence; body language takes precedence over the spoken word. It is a powerful experience to transition from having an educated foundation to at once being illiterate and near mute. Listening skills must be honed before the tongue can be tamed. Simple truths in life abound across cultures: A smile is universal. Curiosity is reciprocated. Language is only a framework for communication.

Another language may not translate in full the feeling behind an original thought; each is unique and therein lies the beauty. It is not enough to simply master a language in terms of vocabulary and grammar, for the subtleties of communication lie not only in what is said, but how it is communicated. Learning another language presents an opportunity to graft the wisdom of one onto the voice of the other.

The Chinese language is truly a ripened fruit born from the roots of more than 5,000 years of history. Spoken Mandarin harnesses a thought and tames it for communication. Written Mandarin captures a feeling and liberates it via the joining of ink and paper. The very thought wrapped by humans around an abstract concept was born into a single character. While any language evolves over time, to learn Mandarin is to taste this fruit of bygone days. The wisdom of years past are worn into each character and each formulated thought.

The path to fluency in Mandarin is a journey that reminds one of their own humanity and how their native tongue is but one way to view the world. There is an opportunity to share overseas what is taken for granted at home. There is an opportunity to experience firsthand what many will only read from a book. Each day we live and breathe and learn not only another language, but we have the opportunity to gain this wisdom of the past and apply it to the present day.

While English and Mandarin are natively spoken from two vastly different perspectives, there is a common essence to our humanity that persuades louder than any difference might dissuade. It is a reminder that the real essence of communication is but a common ground upon which both English and Mandarin are deeply rooted.

c.20080621

china's comfort food

Every country has its comfort food - a familiar flavor, a sure bet.

While China has many a comfort food that range from meats to sweets, below are a couple of my favorites - simplicity and affordability underestimate the flavor!

tomato•fried•egg

Tomato and egg join the familiar sweet and salty in an unlikely way, making this tasty comfort food a popular among locals and foreigners alike. The simplicity is surprisingly delicious.

In the campus canteen, the combo is often served over a bed of noodles or next to a bowl of rice.

tomato meets egg

THE RECIPE: TOMATO FRIED EGG

(1) tomato • (1) egg • oil • salt • sugar


THE METHOD: TOMATOES FIRST, EGGS LAST

1. 1 egg and 1 large tomato per serving
   
2. core and wedge tomatoes
   
3. add generous amount of oil* to wok
   
4. reduce the ripe tomatoes over medium-high flame
5. -meanwhile- add sugar and salt, for a balanced taste
   
6. beat eggs separately in a bowl
7. add pinch of salt to eggs
8. add water, approximately 1/3 quantity of eggs, beat
9. remove tomatoes from heat when saucy**
10. rinse pan and reuse for eggs
11. preheat liberal amounts of oil
    
12. scramble eggs in oil (have lid handy)
    
13. add tomatoes back into wok and reheat briefly
14. serve over noodles or rice

NOTES:

*Do no use extra virgin olive oil, aka evoo. In fact, I recommend not using any oil with recognizable flavor - a plain vegetable oil is perfect. The tomatoes and egg, coupled with sugar and salt provide plenty of flavor. I found a flavorful oil, such as evoo complicated the overall taste in a way that ruined the simplicity and made it an entirely different dish.

**If you only have sad, pink tomatoes at hand, the addition of plain tomato sauce (or paste) compensate nicely for the missing flavor and flavonoids alike.

*** While it is tempting for most cooks to add garlic at the oil-preheating stage, here too, I found that garlic complicated the flavor in an undesirable. Which is to say... it is simply another dish.

Feel free to adjust the ratio of egg:tomato as your palette calls to you.

The recipe above yield a pure, simple version tomato•fried•egg:

classic comfort food

fried•rice

Fried rice might be just leftover rice, but it is a second chance for steamed rice to remake itself in yet another wholesome way.

spicy Anaheim accents fresh eggs

THE RECIPE: FRIED•RICE

leftover•steamed•rice
scrambled•eggs
diced•Anaheim•pepper
vegetable•oil
thick•sweet•soy•sauce
pinch•o•salt


THE METHOD: MUSTGO*

1. preheat oil in wok over high flame
   
2. toss leftover rice in wok
3. break up an rice clumps
4. add soy sauce and toss evenly
5. add chopped vegetables and retoss
   
6. salt to taste
   
7. serve!
   

Every grain of rice ought to have a chance to bask in the heat of the oil, continuously tossing for an added depth.

Fried rice dictates very few rules, other than everything must be rice-size or comparably diced. As rice is the dominating component, any competition from the décor renders the rice an invader and the dish weak.

mustgo dinner

Two good friends of mine [back in the US] have coined a phrase for that dinners based on food which 'must go', else be left for a wasteful fate. And as any cook knows, this is often a creative opportunity to create a memorable recipe that might be passed on for generations.

Fried Rice is perhaps the epitome of the "mustgo' concept, and one is free to add a variety of diced vegetables (save, saucy ones!) or meats to the mix.

simply fried rice

Here in Beijing, it is quite common to find corn, ham, bell or Anaheim peppers, and the occasional carrot, all finely diced. And of course, fried rice is not fried rice without the scrambled egg.

staple fillers

Rice is most common in the south, while wheat-based noodles are favored in the north. Common people consume either and or both in the course of the average day, especially when eating at home.

A common custom in China is to dine without ordering any rice; this is particularly popular when taking guests out to dinner or otherwise trying to impress a client, etc.

The finest foods are offered up first, a variety of meats and vegetables, including both hot dishes and cold appetizers eaten alongside the main course(s).

When diners have put a sizable dent into the ordered dishes, soup is often ordered. Chinese culture favors a hot brothy soup to the glass of ice-water that is standard in the West. If, after the main course and soup, a bowl of rice is ordered, it is to appease the last of any lingering hunger.

To order steamed rice at the start of a meal is seen as miserly and can only be safely pulled off amongst the closest of friends. Fried rice, on the other hand, is an exception and can compliment most any meal and please most anyone.

Bon Apétite!

history in the making

According to BBC, electoral college votes now stand at 273 (Obama) and 141 (McCain).

It appears as if history will be made tonight, and I am VERY HAPPY to have been and be a part of that decision.

Hooray for America!

ambassador pie

My matrilineal apple pie recipe may have its roots in Ohio, but it is now budding in Beijing.

the surrogate tart pan

Today's creation began with an invitation to my boss and her husband for pie and tea. I asked if that would be of interest to them, knowing that desserts are not as popular here as in the West.

He really likes apple pie, she says. McDonald's apple pie. She is not such a big fan.

It was actually a relief to hear that she was not impressed with the deep-fried canned-apple-filling of a so-called dessert. It meant that there was still plenty of possibility that she would enjoy a real homemade apple pie.

imports

And so, the proposed apple pie called for the running of a few special errands, if it were to come to fruition. Butter can be found at the local grocery story, but only a Chinese brand and a similar New Zealand brand. My taste buds have not adjusted to either, as they [consistently] taste too much like a block of already souring butter.

And so, I found myself biking to Carrefour, the French supermarket, in search of butter. There, I have choice of not only French, but Danish butter - both of which offer the familiar sweet creamy flavor. Just what is needed for the perfect pie crust.

The tart pan pictured above was purchased at Ikea - one of the few places in Beijing that offers such oddities. I use it for pies here, mainly because its large size allows me to share with a larger number of people.

Shortly after arriving, I familiarized myself with several appliance stores in search of a reasonable oven. It was almost inconceivable to have a kitchen without an oven, and so I made an extra effort to bring one home. Breads, cakes, muffins, dingerators, and rolls are just a few of the goodies born as a result of that quest.

risk à la mode

Anyone who has eaten any of my desserts (or savories) knows that it is all I can do to resist altering a recipe. Once you have a grasp on the essential components of a recipe, it is quite possible and eve more so tempting to substitute or add on to a recipe - even one that is quite perfect in its original form. With the world as a pantry, why limit yourself to the recipe at hand?

Here in Beijing, I have two other excuses. Without my recipe box or favorite books on hand, I am left to an insipid surfing of online recipe collections. Simple hunts for ingredients turn into wild and often fruitless chases to distant and overpriced grocery stores. And so, I often opt for the improvised recipe - one that speaks of days past, but works with ingredients and utensils on hand today.

It is risky.

It is also quite often the most rewarding way to work in the kitchen. Ingredients seem poised in suspenseful support, ready to blend with flavors otherwise taboo. Utensils reinvent themselves and work double-duty in the name of culinary missions. Adrenaline seems to dance in the air like a wand that orchestrates the utensils about the ingredients.

making of a pie

Though I have made many an apple pie, it seems as though each attempt is my first. The making of a pie is as much art as it is skill - an effort that is rewarded sweetly each time.

Every apple pie begins with the union of flour and butter in their simplest form:

step-01. cutting butter into the flour with [pastry cutter(s)]

I begin with 200g of unsalted butter (Présidente, ¥22), 2-3 heaping cupfuls of flour, and a pinch of salt (aiming for a double-crust.) I like to use cold butter, though it does present a challenge in its slowness to blend with the flour. Above, egg beaters substitute for a surprising closeness to a pastry cutter, an essential for ease of pie-making.

Unsalted butter, because the goodness of a crust is in the pure creamy flavor which is enhanced by the flakiness of the crusty. The pinch of salt can be omitted if desired, and its amount can otherwise be controlled.

Back in the US, I would use all-purpose unbleached flour. Here in Beijing, any flour I use is all-purpose as far as I'm concerned, even if it is in fact otherwise.

step-02. pea-sized butter-balls

Cut the butter into the flour until it reaches a somewhat silken and pea-sized texture. A butter knife suffices to clean the pastry cutter of choice should it get clogged up mid-process.

step-03. a fragile step

Water or milk is needed to bring the dough crumble into a workable dough. Using a fork, lift the crumbles as you pour a small amount of water, not exceeding 1/2 cup. The dough should be wet enough to hold together but not so sticky that it feels wet.

Working the dough too much with the fork will result in a chewy crust. No one likes a chewy crust. Crusts are born to be flaky, and that requires a delicacy in prepping the dough. The right balance can often be found only after several attempts at making pie crust. Short-cuts such as store-bought or ready-boxed crust will be obvious to any pie connoisseur.

step-04. forming a dough ball

After adding a bit of water, test the dough by first forming a ball, then flattening it on the counter.

I like to grab half of the dough and pull it into a recognizable mound on the counter-top. Here, pastry chefs would probably interject to say that a cold, stone countertop is best (to prevent the butter from warming as it is worked.) I am lucky enough to have stone countertops in Beijing, my first, in fact!

First push the mound of dough on all sides, and then push down on the center, keeping the other hand firmly at the side.

If the edges do not hold tight and flour falls loosely, be a bit more liberal with the water - the dough is dry. If the dough sticks to your hands, then you should add flour - the dough is wet. Do so cautiously, so as not to overly lessen the butter:flour ratio.

step-05. rolling [out the] pie shell

Only the rolling pin can give an accurate verdict on dough quality. Ease of rolling indicates the quality is good. Difficulty indicates you may not want to turn this loose on company.

Secrets to rolling out a round crust include 1) experience, 2) patience, 3) rolling equally in all directions, 4) rolling from the center outwards.

Dough begs to be pulled and stretched into open spaces, not pushed and forced into closed corners. I believe there is a more profound parallel to life hidden in the desires of dough.

As the dough is stretched into shape, the butter and flour slide past each other, bringing the inside to the out. The dough will thin, and in the process, virgin butter will cling to the rolling pin. Sprinkle flour on the shell before flipping (and you will end up with flour underneath the disk; this is much easier than trying to lift the shell and put flour on the counter.)

step-06. denying flour its reign

Depending on your [or your oven's] speed, you may want to preheat (150ºC or 350ºF) the oven now. To do so without getting flour all over the kitchen, use a plastic bag as a glove, which can easily be donned and discarded as you move between tasks (for example, taking pictures at each stage of the process.)

step-07. scallop away

Apples are needy fruits and require two crusts, top and bottom. Above, I rest the [pie pan] on the shell and scallop around the edge [with a glass] for a perfect fit and aesthetic touch.

step-08. transporting the dough 'seamlessly'

Lifting the dough from the security of the countertop to an airborne state for transferring to the pie pan can be disastrous. My mother and grandmother became experts at folding the shell into quarters and quickly lifting and unfolding into the pan, however non-experts will find this method quick to tear.

A simple solution is to roll the shell up about the rolling pin, allowing it to support the dough in full as it is transferred. Simply unroll the dough starting at one edge of the pie pan.

step-09. shaping the crust

Gently press the pie shell into the pan. The dough ought to be forgiving enough to stretch into shape, but do so with care, else it'll be prone to tear.

step-10. top crust déjà vu

The top crust is usually rolled out immediately after the bottom crust is laid into place, saving the apple prep for last.

step-11. estimating the top crust diameter

Don't throw away that leftover dough! That is what dingerators are made of!

step-12. scrub-a-dub

Once the dough is rolled out and set aside, give the apples a good scrub. I used 7 (Gala-ish) apples of varying size. I paid ¥8, at about ¥5/kg at a local market. Firm, tart/sour apples are recommended, but almost anything (but Red Delicious) will suffice.

step-13. the art of peeling

Peeling apples is no difficult task, at first glance. Maximizing flesh yield by removing as little peel as possible raises the difficulty slightly. Using an old-fashioned apple peeler-corer-slicer is actually a bit more modern than than my trusty method above, and much more fun, if you can find one!

step-14. hard-core

Coring apples is less about taste and more about removing leveling the texture field. Sure, nobody likes the cyanidic seeds, but it is their texture that will first offend. The seed pocket is particularly troublesome if left behind for pie-eaters to discover.

step-15. selective chopping

Peel all the apples first, then quarter and core all the apples. The goal is to minimize surface area exposed to air for prolonged period, which threatens to turn the flesh brown.

step-16. final chopping

My cleaver performs nicely and swiftly in the final stage of apple cutting.

step-17. cinnamon at ¥22

Cinnamon is reserved for salty dishes, mainly meat preparation, in China (and many other parts of the world.)

step-18. make-up for apples

Sugar and cinnamon should be added just to make up for what flavor they do not bring to the pie experience. I admit that I guessed in terms of their portions, and it won't hurt you to try either. A tablespoon of flour will help to absorb some of the juices pulled off the apples by the sugar. Toss lightly until sliced apples are coated.

step-19. together at last

With oven preheated, pour the spiced apples liberally into the pie pan. Stinginess can be tasted.

step-20. tower of apples

As an apple pie has a double crust, an air pocket often forms where the apples soften and settle in the baking process. Adding liberal amounts of apples will ensure that the pie does not look sunken, laden with air instead of apples.

step-21. making a statement

Tradition calls for a design of some shape or form to be cut into the top crust before unrolling over the apples. My attempt at carving '朋友' (meaning "friend") into the crust was perhaps a little too ambitious. Keep it simple, keep it creative.

Generally, the top and bottom crusts are pinched together, but I fashioned this pie to have a scalloped edge from below, with the perimeter of the top crust falling out of sight between the apples and bottom crust.

step-22. final dash of sugar water & crystals

Once the top crust is laid upon the tower of apples, gently massage the apples into a leveled mound, minimizing gaping holes between the crusts. A small gap at this stage will mean a large gap post-baking.

Sprinkle milk or sugar-water over the assembled crust. Tossing a few sugar crystals over the top crust will add to the glisten of the pie as it bakes.

step-23. bake with patience

A pie of this size (10"+) will take approximately 50-60 minutes to bake. Set the timer, but check on it every 15 minutes in the beginning, every 5 minutes towards the end.

step-24. browning... getting warm!

When the crust begins to brown, you are on the home stretch!

step-25. bubbling... even warmer!

Rapid bubbling of juices at the pie's edge indicate a remaining 5-10 minutes bake time. The air should also be heavy with the smell of apples and cinnamon.

step-26. too tempting to wait any longer.

Golden brown, bubbling, and sweet fragrance is an indication that the pie is ready to be pulled out of the oven. I always judge this *moment* by eye.

step-27. stick a fork in it

If you forget to add the tablespoon of flour like I did, you will end up with more juice than you know what to do with, as well as a more visually sloppy pie. But the flavor won't be affected, and as you can see from the above picture, the pie was a hit. I served it with freshly whipped heavy cream.

My mom has honed her pie-making skills such that she can whip up a pie in 20 minutes plus bake time. Well, it's nice to have goals!

Serving apple pie is more than just pie. Though the apple pie existed long before the US was formed, apple pie is now, at least here in China, synonymous with American, hospitality, friendship, and tradition - which is not to overlook the obvious wholesome flavor and delectable goodness!

dreaming in script

My black clothing served as a magnet for the penetrating rays of sunlight that cut through the crisp fall air. Out of the autumn breeze, a park bench seduced me into putting my feet up and letting my eyelids down...

This is an autumn day fit for lore.

It wasn't long before I awoke from my shallow slumber, nor was it from the soft hum of students walking past. It was something that I saw, something that flashed lucidly, whilst my eyes were yet closed.

Dreaming in China comes differently than it did before I came here. I often find myself plotting in a mixture of English and Mandarin, often centering around a newly learned word. It tells me that my 'small' brain is more capable than my 'big' brain, and simply goes to work after the night has conquered me.

Some say you only dream in another language when you reach fluency, but my experience is proof that it can occur at even earlier stages. Learning by osmosis seems to be more efficient (and less painstaking) than what my 'big' brain can accomplish when most alert.

Today I did not dream in tongues; instead, I dreamt in script.

A Mandarin character flashed in irridescent green superimposed upon the blackness of my closed eyes. It shone brightly as as does the back of a great flower beetle.

(traditional) 諒 vs. 谅 (simplified)

COURTESY OF VERTICAL SUN

The fact that I dreamt the above character above is interesting on a couple of levels.

The first question I had to ask is why did this character come to me in my sleep? Not only did a Mandarin character appear, but it's meaning attached is also very intriguing!

Secondly, the character appeared in its 'traditional' form. This form is not found in daily use within mainland China (who uses only 'simplified' characters); it can only be found in places such as Taiwan, Japan, and Korea.

The left and right side of the character each represent a meaning and/or a sound. For example, ‘言’ means "language" (or "words") and ‘京’ means "capitol" (or "great"). Together, they mean 'words that are great or grand'... i.e, trust or forgiveness.

Here is a great site that can provide insight into the geneology (etymology) of Chinese characters, in particular, this character above.

I looked up this character several months ago, but as it is not often I speak of 'forgiving' (thankfully the need is not great!), there is no immediate inkling as to why I thought of this character. In fact, I have never written this character, and have not studied it outside of looking it up [once] for its pronunciation.

So, how has it come to pass that this very character came to me in my sleep, in its ancient form? I may not ever find out, but I will at least simmer satisfied in its revelation for some time to come!

A few more brain blots that spilled after the slumber.

¨ ¨ ¨
A shadow follows not the light.

¨ ¨ ¨
A pen cannot trace its own shadow.

¨ ¨ ¨
The sky is constant, but its weather, not.

'a' for 'ism'

Below are a few ruminations from earlier this year:

A flower blooms not before its time.

¨ ¨ ¨
Where the leaf falls, the wind will carry.

¨ ¨ ¨
The stone laid is no more prisoner than before.

¨ ¨ ¨

Death is not to be forgiven -
for ever stealing souls,
the wisdom of never more.

Neither can be forgiven -
the life that breathes,
but gives nothing more.

c. 20080520

real wheels

this is not my bike, but it could be

cyclic memories

I still remember the day my training wheels came off my pink-flowered, banana-seat, one-speed bicycle.

I was a fortunate kid and grew up in the countryside where we had a long driveway that offered a haven of safety for learning to tame the two-wheeled beast.

From the toddler-terrorizing tricycle to the big-girls' bike, and eventually the mountain bike that was more fit to be called a 'hill bike', as there were no mountains to be found. I somehow skipped the joys of road-biking (yes, I used my hill-bike for the triathlon last year.) and I skipped right [back] to the single-speed that I own now, though it sports not a banana seat or raised handlebars.

a bike for beijing

I live in the city. A very big city. One might think that I might finally choose a road-bike, but in fact... having a nice bike in Beijing is not recommended, even if you have a chunk of secured real-estate to house it overnight. Each time I commute by bicycle, I also leave it locked up at the intended destination... leaving my precious wheels vulnerable to a thoughtless thief.

the loyal bike warden (left)

And so, on 2 wheels, I face Beijing with one speed. Correction: on many days, my speed is less than that one-speed, as the tires seem to be unable to hold a steady air pressure.

Having the bike chosen and tires filled, the adventure has yet to begin.

on road rage

Wudaokou is a busy section of the city. Located smack in the middle of the university sector, it is home to a favored subway stop and the accompanying passengers. Some live here, and others commute from more reasonably-priced districts.

Rush hour is difficult to define, as the lull of one rush is, in actuality, the rise of the next. Traffic lights govern the road [mostly], but the flow of foot traffic and cageless-wheeled commuters is harder to control.

A red traffic light does not mean that bicycles should halt. A green light indeed entices jay-walkers from the curbs. And nothing stops the north shoulder traffic from heading west on the south shoulder. Riding with or against the flow of traffic is perfectly acceptable. Stepping into the path of an oncoming bicycle might be dangerous, but...

...there is [almost no] visible road rage.

Road rage is... negligible. In a city of more than 17 million (as of 2007), I am impressed at how smoothly traffic flows without an eruption of emotions over petty encounters that could only be expected. Rush hour happens... sometimes hourly.

Horns, the cars do honk. It might sound like road rage, but there is more to it. Honking is a form of expression that enables these otherwise boxed-in commuters communicate. There are many types of horns. Short, happy honks. Long, pay-attention honks. Double honks that shout watch-out, and triple honks that say here-I-come.

the hum of [my particularly busy] street corner

Bells, the bikes do ring. Mostly, the ringing of bike bells says coming-up-behind-you or don't-make-any-sudden-moves-I'll-maneuver-around-you. I even was 'rang' at one day as a biker passed me in the opposing direction, nothing short of a flirtatious [foreigner] that wanted to make eye-contact. Only in China would you be 'rang' at before you were 'honked' at!

¥0.30 to park your bike as long as you dare

harmony

Buses, cars, bicycles, pedestrians... all hustle in harmony.

Foot traffic can be found at all hours of the day [and night]. Grandma out with her baby stroller/walker, grandpa out for some fresh air. Students in search of a cheap meal, families out for a grocery getting. They are free souls, going where their feet take them, uninhibited by yellow lines and curbs and traffic lights. Only the occasional traffic warden and scolding tones are able to intercept their meanderings.

[Local] pedestrians are smart, in that they continue on their path without stopping dead in the path of wheel or motor like a squirrel in-crossing might. Foreign pedestrians often stop guiltily in their path and look up as if headlights were blinding them, and this increases danger levels significantly.

Cars and pedestrians seem to have a simple agreement about who has the right of way. The agreement is harder to define, but it appears to be whoever-gets-there-first. And this does not imply that a competition is made where none existed. Simply that when two paths cross, judgment is executed equally on both sides... and often so quickly that you'd think it was agreed upon at a meeting last month.

Buses employ a ticket seller, whose job doubles to hang out of the window on right-turns so as to shout requests for clearance around those walking or on bicycles. The approaching mammoth would otherwise be considerably dangerous to those unaware of its quick approach. Bus drivers even exercise a recorded sound-byte cautioning those who would otherwise absently walk into the path of danger. But there is no swearing, no anger - simple shouts of safety expressed in a warning.

Is it that these situations simply do not trigger anger, as elsewhere? Or are the emotions not expressed at the moment (so as not to lose face?) and simply leak out upon some other undeserving candidate?

my bike behind the bridge

As for me, it is a daily reminder to enjoy the ride and the interaction with [thousands?] of fellow commuters each day. We are all in progress, all with purpose.

skills

All those years of riding tricycles, banana-seats, and mountain bikes seems to be paying off. The brake-hand must be ever-ready, and more so the bell-ringing thumb. A foot must be ever ready to catch your fall or assist the failing brakes. I ride with pinkies protectively wrapping the end of the brake handle, in case I pass too closely an elbow or parked car. I must be prepared to lurch over the handle-bars if it will avoid running over a side-stepping pedestrian.

Navigating from my apartment includes first manhandling it from the hallway to my apartment into the elevator, cautiously out the unit's door, past the elderly pausing and children playing, through the electric accordian gate and finally onto a busy taxi lane that is never without the bustle of three-wheeled worker bikes. I bike against traffic on my way to school, and fall in line with the flow on the way home each day. Construction, workers, and potholes must be navigated around and/or over smoothly. Puddles from mysterious sewer projects lie in deceptive wait. Fruit street-food vendors wait on corners and hope to catch your hungry eye. Buses pull up and passengers exit in a way that they are thrust into the unknowns of the street.

pineapple on a stick, ¥1

A day on the road provides countless opportunities for not only accidents, but also [many] a brief glimpse into another's eyes that would be too easily missed if I was safe behind the [car] wheel.

paving the way

the highways are deserts for trees;
the signs are wizards of safety;
the people are zombies of purpose.

great wall, good times

What is meant for the eyes may not be born of words. And so, I'll keep this posting short.

The last time I camped out on the Great Wall was in the late spring of 2001. I had been craving another night on the wall after all these years, and so gathered a few friends for a 14+k hike in this crisp pre-winter weather.

This section of the wall dates back 400+ or 600+ years ago, respectively in accordance to which local tourist or Wall worker you ask. Some say it is the original wall. Others say it the current wall using old bricks but new construction.

Some would say the current [hikeable] sections of the wall are new in their entirety (and I'm not referring to the cable cars, zip-line, weeeee-slide, or hillside-tram.) What would you say?

the Golden Mountain Ridge (金山岭) to the Ancient North Entrance (古北口)

From the Golden Mountain Ridge (金山岭, or 'Jin Shanling'), we hiked eastwards to a nearby section (司马台, or 'Simatai').

beacon tower at the Golden Mountain Ridge

The latter gives a [50%] student discount; the former does not. The two sections are continuous, in fact, and are merely distinguished by the rate of admission, as one must purchase a separate entrance ticket for each.

a *great* sunset from atop the wall

On the bright [and redeeming] side, *camping* fees are nil... as long as you are willing to suffer the cold.

a * great* sunsat

For just ¥50 + ¥20, you can exercise your soles and stretch your soul all the way from dawn of today's morn until the eve of tomorrow!

[more *great* pics here...]

"A [verrry cold] overnight on the Great Wall at the Golden Mountain Ridge (金山岭长城) with 5 friends from PKU. After hiking 10+ km towards Simatai （司马台), the late October windchill did not succeed in keeping us from bailing out on our plan to camp in a historic 400-600 (?) yr old beacon tower. Camping fees are nil; the price paid is merely the suffering offered up to the winds of the nearing winter. Plenty of humor and a gorgeous landscape to share it in. Good times!"

nutrition and nostalgia

Sitting down to dinner in a cafeteria on the PKU campus, it struck me as odd that the food had me thinking of Michigan and Florida.

The smell of food and the taste of food has the power to teleport one to another land. The feel and texture of food itself is enough to lose yourself in the moment, in the land of another time - as if it were right here and right now.

Something so simple, yet so powerful.

A bowlful of steamed•rice and a scoop of scrambled•egg•tofu•cabbage, washed down with a cup of instant coffee and a juicy tangerine.

The coffee does not remind me of the West. It reminds me of 8 years ago when I lived in Beijing... and would often [attempt to] appease my longing for that something more familiar. That year, I could find only starbuckers coffee (at American prices) and similarly priced (!) instant coffee at local cafés. And so, I turned to the instant 1+2 coffee (+ cream + sugar) that had the added convenience of *brewing* in my own studio. Not exactly coffee, but as close to a cup of the familiar brew as I could hope. Tonight's frothy cup left me with ¥1.5 less on my meal card.

In the States, perhaps this type of tofu would only be found in an Asian grocery store. The outside skin is a soft brown soy color, its surface dimpled from the pressing of the soybean milk. The inside is firm yet tender, perhaps not unlike the tofu back home. The 1/2 cm thick *meat* is julienned and tossed with the scrambled eggs and crunchy chopped cabbage. Accompanied by the trusty helping of rice and all for a price of ¥3.5.

It was the tangerine at the end of the meal that had my thinking back in the West. The Keweenaw Co-op [in Hancock, MI] sells Satsuma tangerines that are not only an easy peel, but are also incredibly juicy and tangy. Wow! Tonight's tangerine of unknown origin was full of juice and wrapped in a soft, supple peel, at a cost of ¥0.5 (now in season, a kilo sells for ¥2 on the street.)

Next came a flood of memories at Grandma & Grandpa's house in Florida. Many a winter I would (and still look forward to!) find myself in a citrified heaven, with sour grapefruits, plump oranges, tangy tangerines, and even the enjoyable, if bitter, kumquat. Hard-earned and freshly-squeezed juice for breakfast [and lunch and dinner and...] I can picture my Grandma in mid-operation - newspapers covered with piles of oranges in wait and the resulting exhausted peels and golden drink.

Time and nostalgia, nutrition and taste. The existential and the extraneous alike are kindled by dining - an act that is a repetitive necessity of daily life, but also is one from which we derive great pleasure. It is not merely an act of matching nutrition to hunger. Or surrendering pleasure to desire.

The power of food is enough to bring the there to the here. The partaking of food is both to revive the past and enliven the present.