New foods in a new land

Today is Thanksgiving day and in the states we typically identify this day by the traditional foods eaten on it. This thanksgiving I will commemorate some not so traditional foods I have come to like while in HK.

First on my list is a British staple, the digestive. Now some in the US may relegate these tasty snack to the cookie category but this is simply not true. Digestives are baked, sweetened, wheat crackers and I love them. I routinely go through two packs of them in a week.

And don't think me a colonial; I have taken to another very typical Hong Kong food as well. The name translated into English means "little chicken eggs" but that only describes it shape. These are made in a round pan that resembles a waffle iron except that the cavities are oval not square. The vanilla piqued batter takes only 30 seconds or so to rise into two dozen bite-sized mouthfuls of happy. The best part is that this snack is available throughout Hong Kong for about 1 dollar US.

Next on my list of favorite foods is Vitasoy's sweetened lemon tea. I seriously think the company is kept afloat by this one product. If I didn't love it so much, I would encourage their management to try to direct customers into other products in their line because this must account for a good 40 percent of revenue. This one is a simple as it sounds: Ceylon tea with lemon and sugar.

Back on the western side, I have come to have a profound appreciation for milkshakes in the last month or so. I guess I was not surprised to find myself craving something western a few weeks in. I was definitely surprised to crave McDonalds-style milkshakes. Strawberry, to be specific. What am I pregnant? (N.B. That was not a veiled revelation.)

Everybody here says this town is filled with foodies and so it stands to reason that I would discover some new food loves while here. Tonight, however, I hope for exactly the opposite. Heleina and I let Thanksgiving sneak up on us and so we have no idea what to do to celebrate and so we chose the Christmas Story option - a Chinese restaurant offering a traditional American meal. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Bleach-Added Mats

SARS and avian flu hit Hong Kong between 2003 and 2006). Almost 3 years later, you can still see the psychological effects. Asian cultures traditionally have a thing for cleanliness but what you see as you walk around Hong Kong is something entirely different. In the estate where we live, the buttons in elevators are covered by a thin plastic sheet and there is a note above it that reads, “Sterilized every 2 hours.” I guess if I were to live in an upscale high-rise in New York or someplace like that I might expect the same, but it is interesting to note that the building managers chose to acknowledge their constituents expectations and post the note in addition to providing the service. It’s like going back to your hotel room and finding a note saying, “Your toilet was cleaned twice today.” When you enter a private area from a public one you will often see a distinctive red mat covering the entire entryway. One of the newest ones I saw still had the factory tag covering one corner. “Beach-added mat,” it proudly announced. During the 2003 SARS outbreak, major news outlets frequently associated facemasks with Asian capitals. Living here, the only places one routinely sees masks are hospitals and behind food service counters. I asked an aunt for clarification of why only some people wear masks even now, and she said most people do it if they have to be out in public while they have an illness. She explained that after SARS, people are worried about getting unknown diseases and so if you are on the subway and someone sneezes, that car will be empty 2 stops later. I thought it was hyperbole when she first said it, but the next time I sneezed in public, I thought I saw my personal space growing. So if you’re thinking about coming to visit, please do. If you’re in Hong Kong, at least you can sanitize the bottom of your shoes and eat off of the elevator buttons.

Taken by the Wind: 'Engrish' T-Shirts are Hirarious

Taken by the Wind: 'Engrish' T-Shirts are Hirarious

I found the picture for my post on the blog and I could not pass up the opportunity to direct you to this excellent sampling of what I have been talking about

T-shirts

The import export business in Hong Kong is a major source of revenue for the city. An uncle drove us by the shipping terminal, which is one of the 3 busiest in the world in terms of containers handled. Most major Asian economies have made their money by exporting goods to other markets and importing less. I have noticed one exception to this typical import deficit. Stylish Hong Kongers have a strong appetite for t-shirts with English on them. These shirts take a variety of formats.

One of the items worn by more the more fashion-conscious is a black shirt with what appears to be a dictionary entry. The definitions seem to have come out of the Oxford English Dictionary. These lengthy definitions are of the type of words I would have used a thesaurus to find when I wanted to replace small words with big ones while writing high school papers.

I have also seen the distinctly less-cultured frat-boy t-shirts. While walking to a local park last week, I passed a middle-aged man who looked prematurely aged from spending the majority of his walking years on manual labor. What did this man wear? A t-shirt with a stenciled drawing of a tractor and the phrase, “Farmers do it in the dirt.” The women are not left out in their pursuit of tasteless t-shirts; the Playboy bunny logo can be spotted in a variety of neighborhoods.

One of the less surprising models I often see is the athletic t-shirt. People sport the Nike slogan, “Before Nike, people walked.” You see a variety of shirts supporting companies with American and European brands and trademarks. This is also reflected in the widespread attention given to European football leagues.

One of my favorites, and, admittedly, one of the most stereotypical examples of importing western t-shirts is a shirt I saw on Tuesday at a doctor’s office. In the waiting room a woman and her small child waited for the doctor to write the prescription. The woman’s shirt indicated her apparent English abilities, as it was a mere collection of characters in different fonts arranged in some sort of pattern.

My t-shirts simply cannot keep pace with the haute couture here. I have resolved that I will have to pick up a few select items to bring my wardrobe up to speed. To that end, I have actually been thinking I need to buy a screen printer. I mean, how hard can it be to sell t-shirts here? All I need is a dictionary and some crayon-scrawled notes from my nieces and nephew.

New Position opening: Marketing Director for growing apparel line, seeking to expand into the mainland Chinese market; Cantonese and Mandarin are a must.

Anti-Americanism

So when I first got here, I was ambitious. I thought I was going to be Chinese within the month. I would speak Cantonese, learn the subway system, and eat only Chinese food. This last part, I figured would make me sure to be a local at heart, if not ever in appearance. To this end, I vowed that I would not eat Western food if I could avoid it (Full disclosure: I also make this choice because a lot of the Western food here sucks, unless you’re willing to pay).

What I did not realize is that my efforts to avoid Western food would come to naught. You see, the first challenge to this goal came from kindly relatives who all take us out for meals and think the greatest measure of kindness would be to offer a Western style restaurant for my sake. One even offered to have pizza delivered. And yet I remained firm in my vow. I was not to be swayed, so I brazenly lied about liking what they ordered when they called my bluff about eating any Chinese food and served me things I would have never touched in LA.

The more serious and insidious challenge to my vow came, again, as I walked around town. I began to notice trends. Every time we walk after school lets out, the local McDonald’s is overrun with teenagers getting ice cream. Each time I walked through a Mass Transit Railway (MTR) station, I have to pass by a 7-Eleven, which I am obliged to stop at in order to refill my Octopus card. Likewise, while walking through the complex where we will live, an aunt suggested we eat at Pizza Hut and I effortlessly brushed her off, only to later go and realize that Pizza Hut in Hong Kong is an upscale Italian restaurant with good cappuccinos and aperitifs for lunch.

Like so many of my initial impressions, my vow was stupid. Hong Kong locals frequent Western food establishments like no other. I genuinely think I ate less stereotypical western food in LA than they do here. In any given day I will pass by six 7-Elevens, five KFC’s, four Circle K’s, three Pizza Huts, two Starbucks, and one Outback Steakhouse. I knew McDonald’s was everywhere, but I had no idea that my uncle’s favorite unhealthy indulgence would be KFC: he went four times one week while my aunt was away on a trip.

So, as I mentioned earlier, I broke my vow today. I ate at a Western restaurant and became more like a local.

In the land of the little people...?

I knew coming over here that I would stand out because of my height (193cm or 6’4”). As with most changes, it is far easier, however, to conceptually grasp the new circumstances than it is to live in them. The truth is, I don’t fit in Hong Kong.

I don’t fit on the buses. Riding the bus from Yuen Long to the US Consulate was like some depraved yoga pose for me because I have to pull my knees up and together to keep from rubbing against the person in front of me. Going from the top floor of the bus to the exit on the lower floor, I have to bend in half. Picture to follow.

I don’t fit in the rooms. When I got into the shower this morning, I had three new marks that were not there yesterday: two on my back from running into cupboard corners while attempting to turn around and one on my head from banging into my cousin’s bunk bed while attempting to sit at the computer beneath it. This includes some stores too. I went in a bookstore with a laptop shoulder bag and could not fit into some of the side aisles. Never before have I understood so well the whole “bull in china shop” thing.

I don’t fit on the sidewalks. I must have stepped on Heleina’s shoes five times in the first day of walking around. The problem comes when we’re walking along a semi-crowded sidewalk and all of the sudden we’re in the middle of a market, with old people pulling carts, sweaty middle-aged guys delivering loads to the vendors, and hawkers with microphones drawing crowds (including my wife). Most of the time this system works like one of those famous Swiss watches, but when you insert a guy with giant feet and long strides, it works like an infamous Chinese imitation watch.

I don’t fit in the clothes. I know I am above average height, even in the US, but locals here are smaller in all proportions. I tried to buy a jacket when I was here two years ago because clothing is cheap here, but the shopkeeper had trouble finding a size big enough for me. I think we ended with a XXL. While killing time in a mall the other day I was looking at men’s jeans and the sizes ranged from 27-32. At least I will have motivation to lose weight. Likewise, we were in a shoe store today and I could not tell if I was looking at men’s or women’s shoes. I realized this was because they all looked the same size to me.

Some observations about the school I was stuck in

Two hours into Heleina’s appointment and she has grown comfortable leaving me in the room. [Aside: I wonder if dogs really appreciate that we rolled the window down or if they curse us anyway because they’re still stuck in the car.] By this point it is as much my fault as hers. In order to minimize awkwardness on my part and that of the teachers with whom I share the room, I attempt to limit eye contact, look occupied, and avoid displays of boredom. To fill space and time I will comment on the school. The school was built in 1971 alongside the oldest public housing estate in the New Territories. Whether or not this has been the case of the 40 years, the school has a large percentage of poor and poor-performing students. Many of the children are recent immigrants from mainland China and have little English ability. A teacher told us that some 3^rd graders will have difficulty answering you if you ask ‘how are you.’ The school, however, exhibits energy from teachers and staff. The teachers are appropriately busy for the middle of the day and a number of junior staff cycle through working on a variety of prep projects. The building itself calls for greater reservation. It appears from a cursory review that the building has not seen a substantial remodel since the 70’s. Evidence of electrical and flooring patches is obvious from the exposed conduits and shiny but old floors. In the hallways, swathes of unpainted plaster mars the ceiling. This may not be the prettiest place to work or to wait, but it’s ours.

Family First

So, I am sitting in a Teacher’s Rest Room along with two local teachers. At times like this I remember the Sesame street song, “which one of these is not like the other? Which one of these is not like the rest?” Heleina was supposed to meet with the principal of her school today but she is out all day and so one of the English teachers is giving her a tour and explaining duties. I am here because Coral and Kent picked us up this morning, took us to breakfast across the street from the school, and quickly ushered us onto the school grounds. As a result, my carefully laid plans to read and write at Starbucks have been undone. As soon as we entered the grounds a riptide of Asian hospitality pulled Coral and I further and further into the building. Coral, who has a cell phone, got a call from work and had to leave right away. I volunteered to accompany her but she thought it best if I wait for Heleina. Family first.

What do you mean you don't want it?

Our brief time thus far in Hong Kong has given us our fair share of challenges, but all is not lost. At 8:30 tonight we ran downstairs and around the corner for a favorite dish. The restaurant, which can fairly be described as a literal “hole in the wall,” serves up food quick and cheap. Our 2 entrees and drinks cost a whopping $34 (4.39 USD) and we both gave it our customary approval – silent consumption. As we were finishing, the staff started cleaning up as we were the only ones left. We paid our bill and per the instructions of an uncle, we left a few dollars as a tip and stood to leave. Three steps out the door, one lady taking care of us yells – no exaggeration – at Heleina to come back. She doesn’t accept tips she says; we have to come take our $2 back.

Having come from Los Angeles, where wait staff expect tips of at least 15% no matter the quality of service made this scene amusing and warming to my heart all at once. Unassuming service. Personable owners. Cheap, good food. I am going to like it here.

Staring

People love to stare here in Yuen Long. The reason is rather obvious considering that I will run into approximately 2 Caucasians while walking around the city each day. The interesting part for me has been that while the stares almost always begin with me they are transferred to Heleina, where they rest longer than on me. I am not sure why people are more interested in the type of Chinese girl who would marry a foreigner rather than the foreigner himself. You can also see how much my marriage to Heleina does not fit with expectations from another walking insight. Heleina’s aunt was showing us around the neighborhood where we will live and as we walked through crowded sidewalks, you have to weave between people and groups. My assumption is that the average non-jerk is not going to attempt to divide a group of people if they do not have to. That said, when I would walk in a horizontal line with Heleina and her aunt, people feel free to slip between Heleina and I but not she and her aunt. Since people seem to assume that I am not with Heleina, I wonder if they think that it is odd that I walk so close to her – “Perv!”

Anyway, my wife and I have always been aware of the differences intrinsic to an interracial marriage, yet living in Los Angeles, and especially Boston, we rarely felt singled out for our choice. In Yuen Long, we are clearly in deviation from expectations and the average person on the street seems comfortable expressing their surprise via stares. And don’t even get me started on when we hold hands.