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Letter from London|Phoenix Claws’ Nightmare

蘋果日報 2021/06/12 09:23


Frank Wilson
Like other initiation ceremonies, whether for sporting, institutional or tribal reasons, there were certain tests for newly-arrived expats in Hong Kong, back in the seventies, to authenticate their assimilation into this challenging Chinese city. For example, you had to learn almost immediately how to handle the congested, bustling streets. It was no good expecting everyone to step aside for you, or say “sorry” when they bumped into you. No, it was simply too crowded for such niceties on a Causeway Bay shopping day. Better jostle along with the flow, ignoring everyone -- as they ignored you. A pragmatic form of anonymous politeness ensured flowing movement on the pavements.
Then, of course, there were eating habits. Dexterous handling of chopsticks did not come easy, particularly in the handling of slippery morsels, such as mushrooms, cheung faan(rice noodle rolls) or stalks of gai lan(Chinese broccoli). Many a red-faced friend had to furtively sweep food from their laps as they failed the test. And eating steamed rice! That was impossible until you grasped the fact you couldn’t pick it up from the bowl to your mouth without shortening the distance between the two and gently brushing it straight in.
Nevertheless, most newcomers managed to overcome the chopsticks challenge out of necessity, as it quickly became clear that in a communal Chinese style meal, you were either quick or hungry. A few never mastered it convincingly. The most famous example in this regard was Sir Philip Haddon-Cave, who was Chief Secretary of Hong Kong from 1981 to 85. He bizarrely disliked all Chinese food, and sat through many an official banquet dissecting his steak with a knife and fork.
For most of us, greater barriers to acculturalization came when confronting the more exotic Chinese dishes. It was simple enough to deal with delicious dim sum dumplings such as ha gau(steamed prawn dumplings) and siu mai(steamed pork dumplings), but these were condescendingly labelled “gweilo dim sum” by Chinese friends. No, if you really claimed to be a genuine Hong Kong foodie you had to tackle the real thing. This meant chewing your way through such specialities as ngau jin(tendons) or ngau paak yip(cow’s stomach) or even fong zhao(chickens’ feet).
Few expat friends of mine succeeded in breaking through this culinary barrier. They simply couldn’t overcome deep-seated prejudices about certain parts of the animal anatomy, as opposed to familiar ones. Chickens’ feet in particular presented a mental block of iconic proportions. After all, hadn’t those bony three-toed feet been recently scratching around in some dusty farmyard somewhere?
The Chinese of course cleverly tried to disguise these origins by naming the dish “fong zhao”, or “phoenix claws”, making it sound more mythical and magical. Not many expats were taken in by this subterfuge. Personally, I didn’t care, because I readily took to eating chickens’ feet and other dishes, proudly showing off to my Chinese friends my indiscriminate appetite. I especially like chickens’ feet stewed in black bean sauce. The trick is simply to take parts of the feet into the mouth and suck off the meat, then eject the bones either direct onto the table or more subtly dispose of them by means of a spoon.
Western prejudice against this food is actually quite narrow-minded, because chickens’ feet are eaten in many parts of the world, not just in China. For example, people right now are tucking into varieties of the dish in Eastern Europe, South Africa, the West Indies, Mexico, Indonesia and Korea. Little surprise though that Hong Kong is something of a chicken foot entrepot within this international network, with hundreds of thousands of tons of the product passing through its port each year.
Believe it or not, Chickens’ feet are also healthy. They contain lots of collagen – a kind of bodily glue, which is effective in combatting arthritis. In addition, they provide vitamin B and protein.
A good Hong Kong friend of mine – I shall call him Fred Lau– amused me greatly with his Fong Zhao Nightmare story. Years ago, when he was studying in London and sharing digs with three English girls, he was spoiled by his housemates, who often cooked for him. But, of course, he yearned for some authentic Hong Kong grub, especially fong zhao. This took him on an expedition to Birmingham where he eventually managed to buy five large chicken feet. Proudly conveying them back to the flat he found himself alone, so tossed them into the wok with plentiful oil and quickly fried them. They turned out looking rather strangely black, but, dipped in soy, tasted sufficiently of home. He ate three greedily and then stored the two spare ones in the communal fridge.
Early next morning he was rudely awoken by deathly shrieks coming from the kitchen. He rushed down to find his distraught female flatmates pointing aghast at the open fridge. Indeed, it did look like two dismembered black human hands reaching out to grab some unsuspecting throat passing by. He managed to calm down his friends but failed to convince them of the culinary value of the murderous hands, or deter them from a lifelong horror of his special treat.
Neither have I convinced my wife and children of the attractions of these delicious fowl feet. Pity, I have to have the dish to myself, whenever I can get it in London.
(The writer lived in Hong Kong for more than twenty years, arriving soon after the death of Mao and leaving after the handover of the territory to China. He experienced the seismic transformation of Hong Kong on its journey from plastic flowers and T-shirts to global front runner in trade and high finance.)
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