Dating.
I was still in college when I met Eugene, the man I would eventually marry. Besides being smarter and more interesting than anyone I’d ever dated, he was already working, so he had enough money to pay for a nice dinner and a movie. When he came to pick me up for a date, he always brought a gallon jug of Christian Brothers’ sauterne to share with my roommates. He even loaned me his Pontiac Le Mons to drive to my student teaching assignment, leaving himself with nothing but his two feet to take him to work and back.
One day he invited me to what turned out to be a very special dinner. By then he’d already decided he wanted to marry me, and I was very close to saying yes.
A cook and a poet.
Some friends had offered their home for the dinner, a large house with a big dining room and a humongous kitchen. The impressive guest list included not only our friends but also Eugene’s bosses, their wives and the owner of Skagit Corporation, the largest employer in town.
The dinner would be all Chinese, and Eugene would be the cook.
It was the sixties, and in those days when Chinese restaurants served mainly chop suey, chow mein and egg foo yung, the dishes at Eugene’s banquet were fantastically exotic. The guests had never tasted prawns that were so fresh, veggies so crisp or pork so unbelievably juicy. And where did he get the abalone? they wanted to know. Who would have thought to serve it in a salad with celery and sesame oil?
The eight dishes he prepared that evening were listed on menus beside each of our plates. Every dish had a poetic name: “fish jumping over the clear brook,” “dragon and phoenix admiring the moon,” “pearl round, jade pure.”
Eugene was an engineer with the heart of a poet.
Buddhist monastery in Xiamen.
Xiamen, 1983
Many years later, in 1983 when we visited Eugene’s hometown with our children, almost everything was still owned by the Chinese government. A small seafood restaurant not far from our hotel had recently opened, though. It was perhaps the only private enterprise restaurant in Xiamen, and the local people were very excited to have it. The fish was excellent, they said.
Xiamen fish restaurant
And it was. But the restaurant was small and from the look of the mismatched tables and chairs, the owner was working on a tight budget. When my father-in-law’s friends wanted to treat us to dinner, they had something else in mind: the Buddhist monastery. It could accommodate the twenty-five people in our party, and the monks served the best food in the city.
“It’s all vegetarian,” they warned us. “But you’d never guess.”
“Buddha jumps over the wall.”
They were right. I could have sworn I tasted chicken and shrimp in some of the dishes. Everything was delicious—all thirteen courses. And, like the dishes Eugene served years earlier, everything had a poetic name. The one name I remember was “Buddha jumps over the wall.”
The name has a story behind it. During the Qing Dynasty a scholar who was traveling in Fujian Province had a habit of carrying all his food in a clay wine jar. One day, resting near a Buddhist monastery, he started a fire and began heating it. Smelling the mouth-watering fragrance, the monks struggled to concentrate on their meditation. Temptation, however, was too great for one of the monks. He sprang to his feet and jumped over the wall, leaving his fellow monks behind.
The story doesn’t say whether the scholar offered the monk a bowl of the delicious dish or not. We can only hope he did.
The version of “Buddha Jumps over the Wall” that we tasted must have been a vegetarian adaptation because the regular recipe which is still enjoyed to this day includes, among other ingredients, scallops, sea cucumber, abalone, shark fin, chicken, ham and pork.
What do you think, do food and poetry go together?
Have you ever eaten “Buddha Jumps over the Wall?”
I loved this post Nicki, thanks for sharing what must be a precious memory. When he made you the ‘will you marry me’ dinner, I nearly cried, it was so sweet. What a wonderful man and what a delightful life experience you had with him. Lovely. Mindy
Thanks Mindy. Yes, that dinner was a precious memory.
Nicki, the first picture in this post is so beautiful. What a special moment between you two!
I have heard many poetic names for Chinese dishes but my absolute favorite is ‘sweet potatoes sprinkled with fairy dust’ (a very loose translation). It is a dessert of fried sweet potatoes covered with a malt like syrup. It is serve hot and as you eat them, each is individually ‘shocked’ in ice cold water provided to harden the malt. It is so delicious!
I’ve never tried “sweet potatoes sprinkled with fairy dust.” What a clever name … and a clever way of serving them.
Kinda inspires me to name My food and some would say I should!
Love the stories and love the photo.
Thanks, Dorie. You’ll probably come up with some good names for your food.
There is so much food in China with special history (I think a few were also mentioned in “A bite of China”) and I yet have to try any of them.
I don’t know why I have never tried any but it could be also because there are just too many different Chinese dishes that I have not covered those famous one yet. (But I would love to!)
Oh, my gosh! I’m so glad you mentioned “A bite of China.” I hadn’t heard of it before. I’m just starting to download it. Judging by the first few minutes and the outline, it’s going to be fantastic. It had about 100 million viewers each of seven episodes so far, and the second season is coming out for Chinese New Year. I see that you can buy a boxed set for $40, but here’s a link for viewing it in English.
The radiance of Nicki’s face and expression of complete delight is amazing in the photo with Eugene. I have eaten Bird’s Nest and Shark’s Fin Soups (before that became environmentally incorrect) in Hong Kong; and much later in Mainland China we did enjoy the Buddhist vegetarian banquets–one near Nanjing and I believe the other was somewhere near the Summer Palace. Those meals were PURE POETRY. Perhaps our most surprising experience and dramatic presentations was a large platter of hors d’oeuvres which got up and began to skitter across the table when their domed lid was removed. They were some kind of mini crayfish-looking, ridiculously fresh seafood. That was in our host’s hometown of BaoYing.
Wow! Nattalia. Live crayfish! Did anyone eat them? We used to look for live shrimp at the market, but then we cooked them. One of Eugene’s grandfathers was a merchant who imported birds’ nests from what was them Malaya. Gathering the nests from the high cliffs was a dangerous profession.
I do enjoy your posts!!!
Thank you so much.
I’ve never eaten any exotic Chinese food, but it sounds very delectible!! And healthy, too!
I think the thing that makes Chinese food delicious and healthy is the tremendous variety.
The version that I heard is that the monk was a yellow-robed monk, meaning that he was a “senior” monk.
He was caught “tasting” the contains of the urn by a “xiao er” (waiter) who went into the kitchen to get something.
He was so ashamed that he ran out of town. He did not even return to the temple to get his things.
It’s a funny story that in its many forms testifies to how delicious the dish is.
I love most Chinese food and always find the names (like Happy Family) intriguing. Too bad there isn’t a story card that accompanies the menu to explain it.
With China’s long history, there must be many stories associated with its food. Here’s one that comes to mind (I hope I have it right.): When someone pours your tea, you should tap two or three bent gently on the table to say thank you. This custom originated when the emperor was traveling incognito around his empire. One day he poured tea for his servant, and the servant couldn’t bow to him in thanks, so he let his fingers do the bowing.
Delightful post, Nicki! Loved the tale behind “Buddha jumps over the wall” ~ wonderful poetic name for a dish.
The Chinese do love their food. It seems appropriate that a delicious dish would have a story to go with it.