Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Fieldnotes From History."
One year ago today on Round and Square (19 April 2011)—Tales of Ise (Early Japanese Stories)
One year ago today on Round and Square (19 April 2011)—Tales of Ise (Early Japanese Stories)
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| [a] Meal RF |
The "drunken chicken" I mentioned in my last "Fieldnotes" post raised a significant interpretive issue for me early on (I was still in my first year
in Taiwan). It seemed to me, then as now, that there are particular skills possessed by "natives" (I always use the term in the strict sense) that are difficult to
incorporate for even highly-motivated outsiders. I tended to think of
those things in terms of language then, and for good reason. Most of the
things that native speakers could do with spoken Mandarin were banes of
my existence.
Seeing other things, such as chewing down to the bone while holding a morsel in your chopsticks or (as in this note) wrapping duck, onions, and sauce into a little pancake with chopsticks—and no fingers—made me understand back then some of the connections between language and culture. I actually remember thinking at the time that I would master the 把 construction at about the time that I learned to chew and jostle with chopsticks.
From there, I started to notice other such matters, ranging from the everyday ("shoveling" a bowlful of rice in highly gendered omnivorous fashion) to the occasional (getting introductions "just right" in a social setting). All of this came out of a simple fieldnote. Better put, a whole set of issues crystallized around a somewhat clunky set of observations. The detail here matters, too (and it was all new back then).
Still, those issue-crystals became much more important to my teaching and writing than the note itself. Would they be here today without the note, though? I think far fewer would be....without the clumsy first or second tries represented by jottings and fieldnotes.
Seeing other things, such as chewing down to the bone while holding a morsel in your chopsticks or (as in this note) wrapping duck, onions, and sauce into a little pancake with chopsticks—and no fingers—made me understand back then some of the connections between language and culture. I actually remember thinking at the time that I would master the 把 construction at about the time that I learned to chew and jostle with chopsticks.
From there, I started to notice other such matters, ranging from the everyday ("shoveling" a bowlful of rice in highly gendered omnivorous fashion) to the occasional (getting introductions "just right" in a social setting). All of this came out of a simple fieldnote. Better put, a whole set of issues crystallized around a somewhat clunky set of observations. The detail here matters, too (and it was all new back then).
Still, those issue-crystals became much more important to my teaching and writing than the note itself. Would they be here today without the note, though? I think far fewer would be....without the clumsy first or second tries represented by jottings and fieldnotes.
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| [c] Wrap RF |
The "lefse-like" cakes are actually much thinner than the Norwegian version I invoked in the fieldnote. It is hard to imagine putting a little butter and sugar on them and eating them as a snack (as is common with lefse).
The "finger" issue is one that I have treated in notes throughout my career. It is one of those seemingly small issues that creates vast gulfs of intercultural understanding. My first references to Westerners touching food with their hands (this note and a few others in 1985-1987) taps into something that has become much bigger for me as I continue to interpret differences between Chinese and American culture. It is another example of a tiny and seemingly "note-filler" kind of comment turning out to be the start of something that I think is extremely important. Stay tuned for more on finger food through the ages.
The "finger" issue is one that I have treated in notes throughout my career. It is one of those seemingly small issues that creates vast gulfs of intercultural understanding. My first references to Westerners touching food with their hands (this note and a few others in 1985-1987) taps into something that has become much bigger for me as I continue to interpret differences between Chinese and American culture. It is another example of a tiny and seemingly "note-filler" kind of comment turning out to be the start of something that I think is extremely important. Stay tuned for more on finger food through the ages.
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2 February 1986
Taipei
Taipei
When you order a duck, the waiter asks you to specify
what side dishes and soup you want them to make from it. They use the whole
duck. Nothing, except the feathers, goes to waste. Soup is the last course in
Chinese restaurants—exactly opposite from American tradition—so that is where they
boil whatever is left of the fowl. When the duck comes, the meat is cut and
placed on one tray and the skin—which has been pre-inflated with a needle and
roasted to a golden color—comes on a separate tray.
The waiter also brings a
plate of onion greens, lefse-like cakes, and bean sauce. The proper method for
preparing the duck’s remains for eating is as follows: take a flat cake, put a
crisp piece of duck skin and another of meat on one end, dip two onions in bean
sauce, place them inside the meat, and roll it up. The ideal approach is to handle it all with chopsticks—no fingers. There is a little bit of room for interpretation here, but the looks of Chinese friends around the table says it all. Don't touch; don't use your fingers. Doing it "right" is a little messy,
especially for unskilled foreigners. The sensory combinations are as formidable as the practical challenges, though.
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| [d] To go RF |
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