The hidden message in Chinese food 05: eating bean curd (Taiwan)

As already mentioned in another blog, the lunch outings for the local staff at Conoco Taiwan often had ten, if not 12, people at the table.  

On one occasion, there was no lazy Susan on the table, for some reason.  The accountant, Cray Chang, who was sitting at the other side of the big table from me, asked me, looking at the bean curd dish placed in front of me, “我可以吃你的豆腐吗？wǒ kěyǐ chī nǐ de dòufǔ ma? / Can I eat your bean curd?”  Because Chinese meals are communal, I happily said, “Of course you can!”  

Everyone roared with laughter.  Cray’s assistant Peggy said, “You’ve walked into his trap!”

It turned out that 吃豆腐 chī dòufǔ / “eat bean curd” means “[a man] taking advantage of [a woman]”, usually in the sexual way.  

Some 20-odd years later, in my middle age (and therefore less easily embarrassed about such things), I discovered the imagery behind this phrase:  bean curd has the same texture as a woman’s breasts.

(Taiwan, 1975)

The hidden message in Chinese food 04: carrying a whole watermelon in one’s arms (Taiwan)

One day in the summer, I went out for a quick simple lunch in the back alley with the accountant Cray Chang (the one who gave me the advice featured in the blog entry Gender Politics) and his assistant Peggy Lü.  

On the way back, I decided to buy a watermelon for everyone in the office to share.  The head count came to 8 bosses, 8 secretaries, and 4 drivers, so I bought the biggest one I could see.  

The accountant offered to carry it for me, and I said, “No, it's all right.  I can carry it in my arms.”  In Chinese, for carrying something in one’s arms (e.g., a baby, a big bundle), embrace-fashion, the verb is 抱 bào.  Cray immediately said, “不行，你还没结婚，你不能抱西瓜 / No, it won’t do.  You’re not married, you can’t carry a watermelon.”  

抱西瓜 bào xīguā is one of the Taiwanese euphemisms for being pregnant.

(Taiwan, 1975)

The hidden message in Chinese food 03: making a coy announcement (Taiwan)

For the two years that Conoco Taiwan was drilling off the west coast of Taiwan, it was decided that it would be much easier to fly over from Singapore (the hub for the oil wells in Indonesian/Malaysian waters) all the oil rig personnel, because of the hassle involved in getting them visas and accommodation in Taiwan.

The men worked two-week shifts on the rig, so there was a fortnightly flight carrying them from, then back to, Singapore on the company’s Electra plane.  

The Singapore office would throw in a black doctor’s medical bag containing correspondence between the Singapore and Taipei offices.  This didn’t take up much room, so my eldest sister (who was at the time the geological secretary in the Singapore office) would throw in all sorts of goodies for me:  a scarf/hat/shawl set knitted by her for me, and other things that I wouldn’t be able to get in Taiwan.  

One day, a packet of durian* sweets turned up in the bag, so I went round the office, offering them to my colleagues.  They said, “Oh, are you treating us to sweets?” which, in Chinese, is: 请吃糖 qǐng chī táng / “treat eat sugar”.  The Chinese make a lot of remarks that a Brit would find too obvious (and therefore totally unnecessary), such as “Ah, you’ve come back” / “Ah, you’re home”, so I thought nothing of it, and said, “Yes!”  Everyone laughed and asked me when the happy event would be taking place.  

It turned out that the Chinese way of announcing one’s engagement is to offer sweets to friends and colleagues.  

If one wanted to know when a friend or colleague would be getting married, one would ask, "When are you going to treat us to some sweets?"（什么时候请我们吃糖啊？ shénme shíhòu qǐng wǒmen chī táng ah?）

*durian: a spiky tropical fruit the size of a rugby ball that’s native to S.E.Asia.  Regarded by the locals as the “king of fruits”, it is similar to cheese and marmite in the intense love/hate feelings it arouses.

(Taiwan, 1975)

The hidden message in Chinese food 02: how to sack an employee (Taiwan)

When I was working at Conoco Taiwan (1975–76), the staff would go out regularly to eat at restaurants as a group, often numbering ten or even 12.  We’d have a lazy Susan* on the table, so that everyone would be able to reach all the dishes.  

On one occasion, my boss, the Chief Geologist Dr. Page, came along, so we ordered a whole Chinese roast duck.  It came with all the slices laid out in the middle of the platter, and the head, wings, and parson’s nose in the same respective positions as on the real bird.  One of my colleagues twirled the lazy Susan and everyone waited until it came to a halt, then the rest of them laughed at the person the head of the duck was facing.  

It was explained to Dr. Page and me, the two outsiders, that if an employer wanted to remove a particular employee, he’d instruct the waiter to serve the duck dish with the head pointing at the person about to be sacked.  

My immediate thought was I hoped the duck dish would come last, so that at least the poor person could eat his/her meal in blissful ignorance of his/her impending fate.

(Taiwan, 1975)

* lazy Susan:  “a revolving stand or tray on a table, used esp. for holding condiments.”

The hidden message in Chinese food 01: based on homophones

The language of Chinese food is observed in everyday life events, usually those that are of some significance.  

On the wedding day, the man goes to collect his bride, and they serve tea, on their knees, to her parents, for her to say farewell to them, before going to his place to serve tea, on their knees, to his parents, for her to pay her respects to her new parents and for them to welcome her into their family.  

Then the couple retire to their bedroom, where they share a bowl of sweet clear soup:  sweet for a sweet start to their new life together as a couple; the clear bit is probably partly because most Chinese soups are clear, and partly for the obvious symbolism (clear as opposed to cloudiness).  

In the soup are: 枣子 zǎozi (红枣 / hóngzǎo / red dates), 花生 huāshēng (peanuts), 桂圆 guìyuán (dried 龙眼 lóngyǎn / “dragon eyes”; lóngyǎn is more commonly known in English as longan, after the Cantonese pronunciation; the dried form is called 桂圆 guìyuán and is a common ingredient in Chinese herbal medicine), and 莲子 liánzi (lotus seeds).  

The zǎo of the red dates is the same sound as the zǎo of 早 / early.  

The shēng of the peanuts is the same character for “to give birth to”.  

The guì of the dried dragon eyes is the same sound as the guì of 贵 / treasured.  

The zǐ of liánzi is the same character as that for “son”.  

So, the ingredients add up to the phrase: 早生贵子 zǎo shēng guì zǐ / “early give-birth-to treasured son”.

Gender politics (Taipei and London)

Came across this excerpt in Anne of Windy Willows (by L.M. Montgomery) (Book 4 of the Anne of Green Gables series [of 6]):

It was not, perhaps, quite so pleasant to call at the houses themselves and ask for subscriptions for the benefit of the Dramatic Club, but Anne and Lewis took turns in doing the talking.  ‘Take the men if you’re going in that dress and hat,’ Rebecca Dew had advised.  ‘I’ve had a good bit of experience in canvassing in my day, and it all went to show that the better-dressed and better-looking you are the more money — or promise of it — you’ll get if it’s the men you have to tackle.  But if it’s the women put on the oldest and ugliest things you have.’

This reminds me of the advice I was given by the accountant at Conoco Taiwan at the end of my two-year stint, when I had to go to the tax office to get a certificate  proving I’d paid all the taxes required, in order to get an exit permit from the country.  He said something that had never occurred to me before, even at age 22:  “When you go to the tax office, if you have a choice of windows, go to the one served by a man, even if the queue is longer.”  

“Why?  What’s the relevance?”  I asked.

“People are usually nicer to members of the opposite sex,” he said.

I did as he’d advised, standing in the longer queue served by a man, and watched the body language in the meantime.  Sure enough, the manner of the man, and the woman at the other window, varied depending on the sex of the customer.  The accountant was right.  Since then, I’ve tried to put his advice into practice wherever possible, even if it means being stuck in a longer queue.

Some seven years later, I noticed that a female Cantonese-speaking colleague in the film company in London seemed initially a bit “threatened” by me professionally, as she wanted to go on the shoots in China and was worried she might be displaced on account of my being able to speak Mandarin.  When she discovered that there was no danger of that, she started to relax towards me, and then went over to the friendly side socially, singling me out for lunching out, just the two of us — no, she is most certainly not gay!  My interpretation is:  not being one to dress up in a feminine and “sexy” way, I posed no challenge to her where men are concerned.  It’s what I call “sibling rivalry”, which generally works between members of the same sex, people in the same ability group, people in countries geographically close to each other — seemingly “racist” jokes are usually about their neighbouring countries, e.g., the Brits with their Irish jokes, the Swiss with their Austrian jokes, the French with their Belgian jokes. 

(Taipei, 1976; London, 1982–4)

Simplistic but effective communication (Singapore)

An ex-student, Sheila, British, was teaching English at a secondary school Maris Stella (海星) in Singapore.  (2025:  She's now back on my Mandarin course.)

One day, she walked into a clothes shop.

This was the conversation between Sheila and the shop assistant:

Sheila:  (pointing at one of the dresses on the clothes rack)  Can?  (for trying on)

Shop Assistant:  Can!

Sheila went off to the changing room, and upon emerging,

Shop Assistant:  Can?

Sheila:  Can!

Sheila paid and left.

(Singapore, 1980s)