Monthly Archives: June 2021

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A Delicious History of Yum Cha

If you’ve ever grown up in a country, or a city, with a large ethnic Chinese population, or been invited out for lunch by Chinese friends, then you might well have experienced the Chinese custom known as “yum cha”.

But what is Yum Cha, where does it come from, what does it mean, and what are the customs and traditions that surround this most Chinese of Chinese meals? Today, we find out together.

What is Yum Cha?

Literally, “Yum Cha” means “Drink Tea”, in the Chinese dialect of Cantonese, spoken largely in southern China and Hong Kong. In a broader context, “yum cha” refers to a late-morning or early-afternoon meal, eaten with friends and family, which comprises of loads of dumplings, small dishes, light meals and pots of Chinese loose-leaf tea. In this respect, “yum cha” is similar to the British traditions of Elevenses, Brunch, Morning Tea, Luncheon, or Afternoon Tea, in that it is a meal taken with tea, shared with friends, and made up of loads of little snacks and dishes.

A word commonly associated with “yum cha” is “dim sum”. What is it?

Various dim sum dishes in their round, bamboo steamer-baskets. Almost all dim sum are either steamed, or fried, because it’s faster to cook.


Dim sum refers to the small dishes served to diners in yum cha restaurants, usually in bamboo steamer-baskets. Most people think that “dim sum” refers to dumplings, but actually it can refer to any of these small dishes served in this manner, which accompanies the tea. Together, tea and dim sum = yum cha.

Where did Yum Cha come from?

The tradition of dim sum, light snacks (the words ‘dim sum’ translate to ‘barely fill your stomach’) eaten during late morning or early afternoon, date back centuries, and are believed to go as far back as the Song Dynasty in the 1000s or 1100s A.D. At this time, tea and dim sum remained separate entities, and there was not yet a meal which combined them both. This remained the case for centuries. The combination of tea and dim sum, to create the meal known today as “yum cha”, is believed to have started in Canton Province (Guandong Province today) in the 19th century.

Originally, the focus of the establishments which served tea and dim sum was still on the service of tea, and were still identified largely as tea-houses. However, as the 1800s progressed, it made more sense to combine service of tea and dim sum together, in a purpose-built restaurant – this became known as yum cha.

One of the first mentions of yum cha in literature was by the Xianfeng Emperor of China, who ruled during the mid-1800s, when he wrote of “one cent houses”, referring to how a cheap meal comprised of tea and dim sum could be purchased at special restaurants.

And yum cha culture flourished from there!

Yum Cha flourished, especially in southern China through the late 1800s into the 1910s, 20s and 30s. The growing Civil War, the Sino-Japanese War, and the Second World War forced many refugees to flee mainland China, settling in Taiwan, and Hong Kong, where they could live beyond the grip of the communists. These refugees also fled to British colonies in Southeast Asia, particularly Malaya and Singapore (where they were known as “Sinkeh” or “New Guests”).

Where-ever it was that they ended up – they brought their yum cha culture and expertise with them, and established yum cha restaurants in these new locations. Apart from Taiwan, Hong Kong and Singapore, war-refugees also fled to Australia, New Zealand and to the West Coast of the USA, where a large Chinese expat community (largely based around San Francisco) already existed, introducing western audiences to yum cha dining. When the wars ended in the 1940s and 50s, yum cha dining took off once more. It has remained popular ever since.

Yum Cha Customs

For yum cha virgins who have never attended (or attended very few) yum cha meals, there are certain traditions or customs which are followed to ensure a pleasant, comfortable and enjoyable dining experience. Here are the main ones to take note of. Not everybody follows them, and not all of them make sense, but they’re interesting to think about, nonetheless…

Keeping the Lid Up

“Fill ‘er up!”

While you can of course, order other drinks while enjoying yum cha, the traditional drink is, of course – tea. The meal wouldn’t be called “drink tea” without it, now would it?

When the pot is low on tea, pick up the teapot lid and flip it over, or close it halfway. This is the traditional way of getting a waiter’s attention that the pot is empty and needs refilling.

Tapping the Table

Another really common yum cha practice is finger or knuckle-tapping. This is done when somebody else at the table refills your teacup during the meal, but you can’t (or don’t want) to stop and thank them verbally. This is either because you’re eating, reaching for something to eat, or are busy talking, and don’t want to interrupt the conversation. Traditionally, it’s done by tapping the index and middle-finger together on the table, or the first knuckles of the same two fingers.

This practice is said to have originated in the 1700s during the reign of the Qianlong Emperor, who ruled China for sixty-odd years between the 1730s-1790s. While traveling incognito around his kingdom, he insisted on pouring tea for his dining companions, like anybody else. As the emperor was deified by the Chinese people, this was seen as a gigantic honour for the recipient. The traditional way to acknowledge this was to kowtow in the emperor’s presence – something which would’ve of course, immediately blown his cover! Instead, the emperor asked his friends and companions to knuckle-tap instead. The bent fingers symbolised kneeling, and tapping the knuckles represented bowing to the floor.

Is this legend true? Not very likely, if at all. But it is a fun urban legend to spread around. The truth is that we may never know where the tradition of finger/knuckle-tapping came from, but what is true is that people still do it today.

A Group Affair

Yum Cha is always done with friends and/or family. I guess you could yum cha alone, but…that’d be pretty sad, wouldn’t it? Plus, you’ve got all that damn food to eat! Nah, yum cha is always done with others, and always in the late morning, or over lunchtime, into the afternoon. Nobody goes out to yum cha for dinner. It’s just not the done thing.

To Peel or Not to Peel, that is the Question…

…whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer from the bacteria and fungi, or by peeling, end them…

A popular staple of yum cha are steamed buns! Charsiew Bao (pork buns), or similar buns (usually served as part of dessert) come hot from the wok, all steamed, shiny, glossy and smooth on top! Some people will tell you that if you eat these buns, you should always peel away the shiny upper skin on top of the bun, to expose the soft, fuzzy under-pastry beneath, prior to eating.

Right?

Eeeehm…no.

The reasoning behind this practice dates back to the days when you could buy buns like these from street-vendors. The belief was that since you didn’t know who had handled the food, or how it was cooked or steamed, you should always peel the shiny layer of dough off the top of the bun, before eating the bun itself. This stopped you from getting all kinds of bacteria and nasty stuff in your food when you ate it. But is there any truth to this?

Hehehe…no.

The fact is, if there is anything on top, it’d be killed off during the steaming process, so eat that bun confidently, with pride, indulgence, and enjoyment!

BUT!

Do, please, make sure, that you peel off the PAPER LINER that is UNDERNEATH the bun, before you eat it. Or else, you’re going to look like an idiot trying to explain to people why you’re chewing on a sheet of paper with your meal. Or you could just tell them that it’s extra protein or whatever. I dunno. Yummy, yummy protein… Regardless, no, you don’t need to peel anything, except for the paper liner – which, by the way, is there to stop the bun from gluing itself to the bamboo steamer-basket during cooking.

Concluding Remarks

Anyway, that’s the end of this little look at one of Chinese cuisine’s most popular and famous creations: Yum cha! Now, go forth – eat, drink, and be merry. Or at least try to be, in our current global climate.

 
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The Pelikan Stresemann – A Pen for a Politician!

You may remember, several months back, now, that I wrote a review about the Pelikan Stone Garden M800 fountain pen, a special edition released fairly recently, which I fell in love with, at first sight – which honestly, is not something I thought that I’d ever say about a Pelikan. I loved the pen for its bright colours, easy usability, light weight and its ability to stand out in a crowd. If you haven’t read that posting, I’ll leave a link here.

Moving on.

In that review, I wrote about how if I ever bought a Pelikan pen, then it’d probably end up being the Pelikan Souveran-line “Stresemann” release, which came out a few years back. It struck me largely because it was so different from all the other Pelikan pens which I’d seen. It wasn’t jet black, it wasn’t blue, red, green or white, and its style was historically inspired. And me, being a history-loving person (gee! Who would’a guessed??), naturally found it very interesting. I liked the darker, less-conspicuous colours used in its design, and the sort of…gravitas…that it gave the pen. This was a serious pen, a pen which had a background to it, and that’s what I liked.

That I liked so much, in fact, that I finally went out and bought one!

…Or at least, I bought one online…going out to buy a pen these days is almost impossible because of all the coronavirus restrictions…but…you get the idea. So that’s what this posting is going to be about. The Pelikan M805 “Stresemann” fountain pen.

The Pelikan Stresemann – Appearance

Like the rest of the Souveran line, the Stresemann has a solid-colour cap, section, and blind-cap. In this case – black. It’s decorated with silver-tone trim on the two blind-cap rings, the two cap-rings, the pelican-beak clip, the section, and the cap-jewel. The striped barrel is done in heavy, dark grey pinstripes. By default, the pen comes with an 18kt white gold nib, to match the silver trim on the pen, and to harmonise with the grey stripes on the barrel.

The pen, like all Pelikan Souverans, is a piston-filler with a removable nib-section. That means that it is possible to unscrew the whole nib-section and replace it with another one, should you need, or want to. I didn’t want to ruin the nice black-and-silver look that the pen had going on with itself, so I left it in its default configuration.

The Stresemann. What’s in a Name?

The Pelikan Stresemann (“Stray-zehr-mahn“, in case anybody can’t pronounce it), is named after the German foreign minister, former chancellor, and Nobel Peace-Prize winner, Gustav Stresemann! I think we can all agree that a guy who held that many titles and accolades, did a hell of a lot of writing, and certainly deserves the distinction of having a fountain pen named in his honour!

Stresemann died in 1929, but before his death, he was a highly influential figure in German Weimar-Republic-era politics. He mended relations between Germany and France, and was one of the few politicians to hold onto their positions in an era when Germany was highly politically and economically unstable. Between the German Revolution of 1919, the Hyperinflation Crisis of the early 1920s and the coming of the Depression in 1929, he remained Foreign Minister for six whole years. This is saying quite a lot, when you consider that during the same period, there were FIVE different German chancellors!

Apart from his political career, Stresemann was famous for one other thing: His fashion-sense!

As a politician and diplomat, Stresemann naturally had to attend all kinds of conferences and meetings with neighbouring European powers – it kinda happens when your title is “Foreign Minister”. In those days, very formal attire for politicians was still considered de-rigeur. And I mean VERY formal attire! Morning suits or stroller suits, with their top hats, grey waistcoats and heavy, black tailcoats, were still the preferred form of dress for a lot of politicians and diplomats (for example, look at the photos of the conference at the signing of the Treaty of Versailles).

Stresemann disliked having to wear the heavy, long tailcoat, which you can see in the photograph above. So he didn’t! Instead, he wore a slightly more relaxed form of formal daywear, known as a stroller suit. Stroller suits were black, but they still had the heavy tailcoat – so Stresemann just gave up wearing it! He removed the tailcoat, and instead, wore an ordinary, black suit-jacket, of a kind familiar to almost anybody today. This, combined with the black waistcoat, and the striped, grey trousers which finished off the look, became known as a stroller-variant still known today as a “Stresemann” suit!

Gustav Stresemann (seated, right), wearing his trademark ‘Stresemann’ suit, with a suit-jacket, as opposed to the more normal tailcoat (for example, as the man holding the cigarette next to him, is wearing).

Remember how the Pelikan Stresemann fountain pen has grey pinstripes on the barrel?

This is where they come from. They’re an homage, and a reference, to Stresemann’s distinctive style of dress.

The Pelikan Stresemann – the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Honestly? I couldn’t find much that was bad, or ugly about this pen, if anything. The only thing that did kind of annoy me was that the ink-window on the Pelikan Souveran line is very subtle – almost – ALMOST – to the point of being invisible. They’re not like the ink windows on say, the Montblanc 149, which is chunky and visible and easy to see – especially when the pen is half-empty. No. The Pelikan ink window is very discreet. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d probably never spot it.

To some people, this might be a good thing, because they won’t want or don’t like ink-windows in their pens, because they break up the look of the pen’s lines and colours, which I totally understand, but on the other hand, if you’re the kind of writer who loves using their pen’s ink-windows to check how much fuel they have left to drive their imagination-journey while they write the next great epic novel, you will likely be sorely disappointed. Unless you hold the pen up to VERY strong light, the ink window is all but invisible.

The Pelikan Stresemann with the Stone Garden

Apart from that one critique, I really couldn’t find anything that I didn’t like about it. The 800 size is big, without being uncomfortable. It’s roughly analogous to the Montblanc 146 size, whereas the much larger 1000 series of Pelikan Souveran pens, are significantly longer and chunkier, and are probably even bigger than the Montblanc 149, which is saying quite a lot! So the 800 is a comfortable size to hold and write with for a long time. Also, it’s the same size used for my Pelikan Stone Garden, so they match in size, which is nice.

I liked the pen’s colouring a lot. The silver, black and grey work well together. the colours don’t clash and they’re not garish, bright or ostentatious. They don’t scream at you to look at it, or demand attention, but at the same time, they’re different enough from most of Pelikan’s other offerings to stand out in a crowd. In a sea of blue, red, black, and green, the dove-grey pinstripes of the Stresemann will definitely stand out.

Closing Remarks

Is the Stresemann M805 worth it?

In my mind, for the money which I paid (I bought the pen secondhand) – the answer is “Yes”. It’s lightweight, comfortable, distinctive and comes with a story. It’s a worthwhile pen to consider if you’re looking for something a bit more serious and refined than the usual offerings in the Pelikan ‘Souveran’ line. It doesn’t cost more, or less than any other Pelikan, and will definitely stand out in your collection.