English Adventures in Taiwan Supermarkets

Caveat: I hesitated before writing this post, because I don’t want to appear to be making fun of people having trouble with English. I know that that every time I say something in Chinese, I make more numerous and more ridiculous errors than these. 

Yet there is a difference. In many countries including Taiwan, English is considered more as a decoration than as a way to impart information. Thus people blithely name companies, design packages, and commission neon signs with complete disregard for whether the English actually carries any meaning. Even for public or official purposes, they never double-check with a “native speaker”.

Every visitor notices with relish the surreal quality of the ambient English. Despite good intentions, the locals have an incredible tendency not just for getting it wrong, but for doing so spectacularly and memorably.

The simplest errors are small mistakes in spelling, although these can have a large effect. While snake is occasionally eaten in Taiwan, and there is even a Snake Alley featuring these restaurants, “snack” was obviously meant in this aisle marker. Likewise, in the second photo for “Smowdrop” cookies, the small deviation from “Snowdrop” makes the word peculiarly unappetizing.

SMOWDROP Square Cake Store

Many foods do not have regular English names, and strangeness creeps in when attempting a translation. These small, whole fish are frequently encountered in Taiwan, but this was not a good name for them:

Spinach Soup with Silver Fish

"Silver fish" sounds decidedly unpleasant, but the second attempt turned out even worse:

Everyone loves their wontons to be full of larvae.

Déjà vu: Sometimes the humor derives when a package is a clone of a more famous product.

Separated at Birth?

Look familiar?

Since the use of English is decorative, there is a tendency to use fancy words, resulting in severe thesaurus abuse. 

A hectograph is a type of mimeograph that uses a non-edible gel to copy stencils. 

"Chocolate Chip" must have sounded too common.

I am guessing that the “Happily Times” in this “House Drean” were meant to be ‘sweet’, but they came up with “treacly”.

Sometimes it is not easy to discern the original thought behind the translation, resulting is some of the most bewildering examples, such as this brand of hot dogs. Even the Chinese part is somewhat confused, assuring us both of “Japanese-style flavor” and “Fresh European spices”.

Don’t you want to bite into an Emulsion brand hot dog?

The English might be technically correct but still lame, such as using “House of Steamed Potato” as a brand name. The Chinese version sounds slightly better. By the way, why the post mark? 

House of Steamed Potato

Yappy Puffs—Take Easy!

Some brand names are just plain rude:

This example might have originated in Europe—no stranger itself to eccentric English. 

I’m not sure what can explain this picture—these peanut butter cookies have no cheese of any type in the ingredients.

Despite limited success with short words and phrases, designers frequently try their luck with more extended passages:

As always, click to enlarge.

“Sweat” for “sweet” was an unfortunate mistake on these chocolates. Is Volunteer’s Day really Valentine’s Day?

Perhaps there is nothing wrong with this last picture, but I find it amusing. It reminds me of the lyrics “Eat a plate of fine pig’s knuckles, and the undertaker chuckles” from the old song Some Little Bug.

Do you want a knuckle sandwich?

I find it fascinating how mistakes made in rendering a second language reveal the mindset and characteristics of the speakers attempting to use it. Sometimes they employ their own language patterns substituting English words, which rarely works. Other times they try to follow an English rule, but get into trouble with English idiom—some words for example have a correct basic meaning but cannot be used to describe foods. 

Taiwan, like most countries, is a synthesis of many cultures and languages, and slip-ups like these remind us that language should be used with a sense of fun, and not to make judgments against people.

All photos by the author; none have been edited or modified.

A Tribute in Tin to Adelina Patti, the Queen of Song

Adelina Patti, 1843-1919, was one of the great phenomena of the Nineteenth century.  Her career as an opera singer was a succession of triumphs from her debut in 1859 until the early 1900’s, when she “retired” into an endless series of farewell tours.  In addition to her musical accomplishments, Patti possessed a true star quality that made her a household name even to those unable to attend her performances.

Her fame also made her quite possibly the most photographed woman of the Victorian era. Dozens of portraits abound, typically as paper photos mounted on cardboard. Yet not long ago I came across this fairly unusual one dating from the 1880's, painted over a full-plate tintype. 

Painted tintype of Adelina Patti, after Mora.
As usual, click any picture to enlarge.

Tintypes, sometimes called  ferrotypes, were photographs on tin plates that were very common in the 19^th century. As much as we might admire them today, they were originally an inexpensive form of photography suited to itinerant photographers and outdoor venues. Perhaps the quintessential tintype is one that depicts beach-side vacationers in their Victorian bathing suits. 

Some people as an economical alternative to regular oil portraits had full-plate tintypes (about six by eight inches) taken, then colored or painted over to simulate an original painting. However, a star of Patti’s stature would have been above this form of photography, and in fact tintypes of celebrities are rare almost to the point of non-existence.

The original of this portrait is instantly recognizable. It was taken in 1882 by the American celebrity photographer Mora, and with others from the same session is often seen in cabinet format (about four by six inches) . Although there were dozens of Patti portraits to choose from, the Mora photograph seemed to represent an ideal of the period, and was seen in many guises.

A slightly different angle.

3/4 length, and hand tinted.

In addition to being copied in tin in the present case, this photo was also pressed into service for advertising, among other things, Chicago Corsets and Pears’ soap.

Celebrity endorsements are nothing new.

One wonders if Patti were paid or even consulted on these ads.

I also have a stereoview of the Mora portrait encased in skeleton leaves. These leaves were a favorite Victorian craft, and arrangements were encased under glass domes or preserved in photographs. Often, portraits encircled by wreaths of skeleton leaves are erroneously assumed to be memorial pictures. Since Patti lived until 1919, the wreath in this 19^th century photo was only meant to provide an attractive setting.

It is easy to imagine some early fan of Patti’s, entranced by her fame, beauty and personality, creating this unusual tribute.  The Mora photograph was first copied as a tintype.  Perhaps some experimenting was required to produce the large tintype; when I bought this it was accompanied by a rather poor-quality, small-sized tintype of the same photo.

The artist who colored this photo was a very good one.  The skin tones are perfect, every eyelet and detail of lace painstakingly depicted, and the background is beautifully stippled, resembling enamel. The dress was enlivened with bright red, and the highlights in the hair wonderfully enhanced. Age has crazed the painted surface, and although the paint is solidly adhering, and not yet separating or flaking, this will have to be monitored in the future.

In addition to photographs, Patti’s image was also recorded by professional artists. The painter Franz Winterhalter famously painted her twice; the beautiful picture below is at Harewood House in Yorkshire, England. The almost folk-art charm of the painted tintype becomes very apparent when compared to the elegant Winterhalter portrait.

Formal portrait by Winterhalter, via Harewood House website.

I love to imagine the Patti tintype in its original setting, on the wall of some Victorian parlor. Portraits of this period were often mounted in deeply-molded walnut frames, and one can clearly see the shadow of an oval mat. I will be on the lookout for an appropriate frame, but in the meantime through the magic of photo-editing I have restored the tintype to a surmise of its original appearance.

Adelina Patti was one of the greatest artists and celebrities of the Nineteenth century. Through her career, portraits, advertising and recordings she left her mark on both the serious musical history and on the popular culture of her day.  Her admirers were legion, and one of them went to substantial trouble to commission this unusual souvenir in tin and pigment.

Shan Fen Yuan—Easiest of All

Shan fen-yuan, ready to drink.

This refreshing drink may look odd to Westerners, who think they are seeing frog’s eggs, but in Taiwan it is sold everywhere by street vendors. Shan fen-yuan is also called basil seed drink, and for once this is not a misnomer; it really is made from the seeds of sweet basil, which when soaked in water develop an outer gelatin-like coating.

I dislike using the herby word ‘basil’ to describe shan fen-yuan because the seeds have no real taste or odor on their own. The drink is usually flavored with lemon juice, although it can be made simply sweetened with sugar, and lately I sometimes find myself enjoying it just plain—no flavor or sweetening.

 

The really fun part of shan fen-yuan, apart from its appearance, is the texture while drinking it. It is hard to describe, but if you drink it quickly, the soft seeds rush through your mouth and create a feeling something akin to caviar, although of course not that flavor. It is extremely soothing, both to the throat and to the stomach, and quickly becomes a favorite comfort food.

The dry seeds as they come from the package.

 

The shan fen-yuan seeds can be purchased in any Asian grocery, and are amazingly inexpensive.  There is a similar kind with much smaller seeds from South Asia called hạt é  in Vietnamese; these can be used interchangeably. The shan fen-yuan in the package should look like actual little brown seeds;  regular fen-yuan balls (without the ‘shan’) are made from tapioca starch and most be cooked—these go into the famous pearl tea.

Recently I wrote about bai mu-er, which is pretty simple to make, but absolutely nothing could be easier or quicker than a satisfying drink of shan fen-yuan, made right in the glass. Simply place the seeds in a glass, add water, let expand for about 3-5 minutes, add sugar and lemon juice, adjust to your own taste, and enjoy.

By the Glass

Scant teaspoon shan fen yuan seeds (山粉圓)

Heaping teaspoon sugar or simple syrup

Half teaspoon lemon juice

About 1 cup water.

For a Party

1/4 cup shan fen yuan seeds

1/2 cup  sugar or syrup

1/4 cup lemon juice

One half gallon water.

Soak seeds in water for several minutes; add sugar and lemon juice. Adjust to taste.

These are about half ready after soaking one minute.

Tips:

---Honey can be substituted for the sugar, and in fact honey is often traditional with this drink. 

---If you makes this frequently, it is convenient to use simple syrup, made by heating 1 cup sugar and one cup water. This mixes instantly, and there is never any sugar at the bottom of the glass.

---Be sure to add the lemon juice at the end, or at least after all the water is added; otherwise the seeds will not expand.

---The seeds will expand in any temperature water;  it just takes a few minutes longer in very cold water.

---I like to soak it in about 1/3 room temperature water;  then add ice-cold water when the seeds have expanded. Of course you can add ice cubes, but this impedes you from sipping it quickly.

Shan fen-yuan can also be drunk hot. I mentioned above that it has a very soothing quality, and if you sweeten it with honey, the combination of honey, lemon, hot water, and shan fen-yuan makes a most welcome and effective drink for a cold or hoarse throat.

Be sure to locate a supply of shan fen-yuan now if you are planning a Halloween party or are considering what to take to one.  Its outré frog-eggs appearance, while not remarkable in Asia, will be the hit of the party, and everybody likes it.

Incidentally, ‘fen-yuan’ means tiny round objects in Chinese, and the ‘shan’ in front means mountain. Shan fen-yuan may look strange, but it tastes great and quickly becomes a favorite. Nothing could be faster to prepare or more foolproof, so why not pick up a bag of seeds and try it for yourself.

(All photos by the author.)

Chinese Meander or ‘Greek Key’ Patterns

A bold key design crowns a large, wooden votive vase.

This post is a tribute to Mark Ruffner’s interest in Greek Key designs. These usually squared-off patterns in countless variations have been used since antiquity to create borders and frames in almost every kind of design.

Since moving to Taiwan, I have noticed that these patterns are also ubiquitous in Chinese art.  Here then is a brief look at their appearance on small household articles, ignoring for the present their role in ancient Chinese art and architecture.

While the Greek designs were inspired by a ‘meandering’ river, the Chinese meanders seem to have additional sources and versions, including foliage and natural growth, stylized clouds and animals, and various kinds of waves, lattice-work, cartouches, and paneling.

I have a small collection of Chinese wooden trays, and this simple red and black lacquer one, with its key-design sides highlighted by gilding, is one of the handsomest I have seen.

Click on images to enlarge.

This platform uses the same color scheme to different effect, the black top set off by a narrow band of red, the gilt fretwork base employing different sizes and shapes of links for variety.

Wooden lion finials like these are often found on pieces of furniture, especially those of some religious significance, such as a household shrine. One lion is playing with a ball, the other (presumably a female) is protecting a child, but both are resting on key-bordered plinths.

The keys in this bat panel are formed of individual links, not joined, and are interspersed with flowers and bosses. With its four lucky bats surrounding a central design, this also came from a piece of furniture, most likely a bed.

Although it has some condition issues, this document box is interesting because it has Mongolian writing on the top and bottom. The sides were left over to be decorated with classic meander patterns. Notice that the top is framed with fretwork elements which create a much freer type of border.

Here a key-work  border is used to enclose a panel of text in this small wooden box.

A statue of Guan Yin is set off with this wooden case, enlivened by much gilding and surrounded by the squared key border. (Note, I haven't decided yet whether to clean the ‘patina’ off the glass cover--I should have removed it for the photo.)

A pewter cosmetics box is somewhat crudely decorated by stamping; the craftsman who made it obviously cared little about the close fitting of the corners in the key-work.  

These ceramic pillows were made in large quantities, although recently I have seen a lot of fakes. This blue and white example features a pair of playful lions constrained by a severely classical border.

In addition to narrow borders, the same type of fretwork patterns could be made to cover large areas, and were often used as window or background designs. I hope to return to these is a later post, but here is an example of background fretwork in a medicine tin:

Finally,  although this is not a geometric Greek Key type, I couldn’t resist ending with a more naturalistic border consisting of a peach branch with gilded leaves and fruit, which could be extended indefinitely using the rules that created the formal meander patterns.

This brief look at traditional meander patterns barely scratches the surface, and doesn’t even begin to explore their history and symbolism.  Although the ones presented here are only a tiny sampling of the variety available, let me know whether you find any of these key borders particularly attractive.

(All photos property of the author.)

Royal Jewelry at the Taipei Palace Museum

A carved sapphire bracelet.

I haven't been to the Taipei Palace Museum in a while, but I just visited their exhibit called Royal Style, Qing Dynasty and Western Court Jewelry, to which a friend was kind enough to give me a ticket. There were no major pieces such as the Hope or Koh-i-Noor diamonds, but I'll have to say that the display was impressive and literally dazzling. It was well-staged; the walls, floors and showcases were totally black, with tiny spotlights showing the pieces to best advantage.

It was somewhat of an odd pairing. Half of the exhibit was Cartier jewelry and objets d’art from the early 20^th century, and the other half was Ching court jewelry from the 18-19^th centuries. There didn’t seem to be any scholarly reason for the mixture—I believe that the museum wanted a crowd-pleaser, and the viewers went for the fun of ogling all those diamonds.

Lovers of traditional diamond-encrusted necklaces, tiaras, stomachers, and bracelets could see many fine examples, all so brilliant lit and sparkling that they almost hurt the eyes. I usually think that tiaras look ridiculous, but here I could see their intended purpose and effect.

Diamond tiaras were in abundant supply. (Click on pictures to enlarge.)

This tiara was set with aquamarines.

143-carat emerald as centerpiece.

Rubies, emeralds, and sapphires in the style known as tutti-frutti.

The sapphire in this leopard-brooch seemed a much lighter blue, and was nearly tranparent.

Jewelry from the 1920’s often took part in the Egyptomania of the period. Some pieces were free interpretations such as these Art Deco masterpieces, while others incorporated actual antiquities, such s these jewel-mounted pieces of Egyptian blue faïence.

There were many small objects, such as picture frames, cigarette and cosmetic cases, and this owl, that you would swear were by Fabergé. 

The second half of the exhibit featured Chinese court jewelry. Some of the pieces, such as the hat below which belonged to Chien Long, are the actual ones seen in paintings of the emperors.

Royal necklace in Jade, coral and tourmaline.

Emperor Chien Long's sable hat.

In this hairpin, jade and tourmaline flowers are joined by a dragonfly, a butterfly, and a lucky bat.

This hairpin features a figure proffering a lucky peach symbolizing longevity.

These enameled hand-hairpins had to be my personal favorites on the Chinese side. When they were inserted so that the pins didn’t show, it must have appeared that the rest of the person belonging to the hand was lost and mired in the elaborate coiffure.

.

An assortment of carved gemstone pendants.

The quality of this coral phoenix hairpin is amazing.

I particularly found interesting the section of the exhibit showing how the jewels were made, which included many original drawings and castings. Unfortunately, these were not illustrated in the catalogue.

These gems date from an age when court life, first nights and elaborate private parties provided the occasions to display wealth and taste in this fashion. Displaying about five hundred of these jewels together allowed the viewer to concentrate on the design, superb craftsmanship, and overall effect of these pieces that so well illustrated jeweler's art over the last several centuries.

Please let me know if you have any favorite pieces, and what you think of the contrast between the Chinese imperial pieces to the French Cartier ones.

All photos courtesy Taipei Palace Museum