The Quest for a Good Mooncake (月饼）
China's Mid-Autumn Festival is fast approaching: On Friday, people all over the country will gaze at the moon and eat pretty little pastries called mooncakes, which are now being sold on every street corner. In fact, mooncakes are really what this whole thing seems to be about.
I have just one beef with this festival. Mooncakes, as inviting and beautiful as they may be, are, nearly without exception, truly disgusting.
I've been in the process of conducting ongoing gastronomical research for the last three weeks, part of a stubborn personal campaign to understand why Chinese people make such a fuss over mooncakes. I don't know what's kept me buying them-they're more expensive than your average food item, and I always take one or two bites, and then throw them away because they're too sticky/heavy/sweet/etc, etc. A complete waste of five to ten yuan. And the egg ones are on a whole level of horrible all their own; I nearly yammied when I bit into that one on the suggestion of a smiling salesgirl. You'd think I'd learn after this many failures. I did find one, however, that kept my hope alive in the middle of all this. It was coconut filled, and I thought it was decent, if not something I would want to eat everyday. I ate exactly half of that one (and Andy ate the other half, he liked it too). A small coconut oasis in a vast desert of traumatic mooncake experiences.
But the true reason for tonight's blog is not to bash mooncakes. I'm writing because today I finally discovered the perfect mooncake. I'd been discussing my plight with the expat Korean woman who owns the coffee shop that I frequent on Wednsdays, and she nodded sagely, saying that it took her a long time to learn to like moncakes, too. She suggested that I try the Maky Bakery brand of mooncake, because it is considered to be quite good. (I'd always stayed away from anything from the Maky Bakery because the name drives me crazy...not only does it lack an E where I feel it should have one, but also sounds like a brand name for a pink toy oven).
As it happens, on my way home from the coffee shop, I got off at a different bus stop to shake things up a bit, and lo and behold, there was a Maky Bakery right in front of me. I gritted my teeth and braced myself for another stomach-turning experience, and once again went through my routine of asking for a recommendation on what flavor I should try. The girl suggested the red bean filling (tried that one before, didn't like it, but this mooncake did not look like other mooncakes, and she swore it sold well) and black sesame seed filling (this mooncake looked like other mooncakes, but I'd never had that kind before, and she said it was a most traditional filling). I bought my cakes, and walked out of the store swinging my plastic bag.
When I bit into the red bean one, I was stunned: I wanted to eat the whole thing and go back and buy more. Same thing with the black sesame seed one. Folks, this is unprecedented. I was convinced I was hopelessly Western, and unable to enjoy one of China's most time-honored holiday foods. Essentially the equivalent of eating Thanksgiving dinner and hating the turkey with stuffing and the pumpkin pie 'n' whipped cream.
I'm both pleased and relieved to report that my quest, which I once feared was purely quixotic and self-destructive, has finally come to a successful conclusion at the doors of of the (wincing) Maky Bakery.
I have just one beef with this festival. Mooncakes, as inviting and beautiful as they may be, are, nearly without exception, truly disgusting.
I've been in the process of conducting ongoing gastronomical research for the last three weeks, part of a stubborn personal campaign to understand why Chinese people make such a fuss over mooncakes. I don't know what's kept me buying them-they're more expensive than your average food item, and I always take one or two bites, and then throw them away because they're too sticky/heavy/sweet/etc, etc. A complete waste of five to ten yuan. And the egg ones are on a whole level of horrible all their own; I nearly yammied when I bit into that one on the suggestion of a smiling salesgirl. You'd think I'd learn after this many failures. I did find one, however, that kept my hope alive in the middle of all this. It was coconut filled, and I thought it was decent, if not something I would want to eat everyday. I ate exactly half of that one (and Andy ate the other half, he liked it too). A small coconut oasis in a vast desert of traumatic mooncake experiences.
But the true reason for tonight's blog is not to bash mooncakes. I'm writing because today I finally discovered the perfect mooncake. I'd been discussing my plight with the expat Korean woman who owns the coffee shop that I frequent on Wednsdays, and she nodded sagely, saying that it took her a long time to learn to like moncakes, too. She suggested that I try the Maky Bakery brand of mooncake, because it is considered to be quite good. (I'd always stayed away from anything from the Maky Bakery because the name drives me crazy...not only does it lack an E where I feel it should have one, but also sounds like a brand name for a pink toy oven).
As it happens, on my way home from the coffee shop, I got off at a different bus stop to shake things up a bit, and lo and behold, there was a Maky Bakery right in front of me. I gritted my teeth and braced myself for another stomach-turning experience, and once again went through my routine of asking for a recommendation on what flavor I should try. The girl suggested the red bean filling (tried that one before, didn't like it, but this mooncake did not look like other mooncakes, and she swore it sold well) and black sesame seed filling (this mooncake looked like other mooncakes, but I'd never had that kind before, and she said it was a most traditional filling). I bought my cakes, and walked out of the store swinging my plastic bag.
When I bit into the red bean one, I was stunned: I wanted to eat the whole thing and go back and buy more. Same thing with the black sesame seed one. Folks, this is unprecedented. I was convinced I was hopelessly Western, and unable to enjoy one of China's most time-honored holiday foods. Essentially the equivalent of eating Thanksgiving dinner and hating the turkey with stuffing and the pumpkin pie 'n' whipped cream.
I'm both pleased and relieved to report that my quest, which I once feared was purely quixotic and self-destructive, has finally come to a successful conclusion at the doors of of the (wincing) Maky Bakery.
posted by Timbre | 3:48 AM
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