When I was little, after reading a book, watching a movie, or attending a concert, mom always made me document the experience and the lessons learned from it. I dreaded writing these essays every single time. Just the thoughts of having to do them were enough to ruin the fun—however much there might have been. Over the years, nonetheless, it became second nature for me to observe and to learn from everything around me.
Was it out of nostalgia? Was it to avoid reality? I binge watched two Taiwanese period TV shows on Netflix recently. And, I cannot stop thinking about them: more about the stories than the artistic values of the productions.
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What She Put on The Table (五味八珍的歲月), a mini-series of 2017,[1] was based on the writing of Fu Pei-Mei 傅培梅, a TV cooking show host/producer and cookbook author, [2] known as the “Julia Child of Chinese Cooking.”[3] The main plot recounts her life between 1950, a few months after she, at the age of 19, left her hometown Dalian to join her father, older brother, and sister-in-law in Taiwan, and 1962, when she, a mother of three, gained notoriety with her TV debut. A subplot follows the experiences of a country girl who became the live-in maid and confidant of Fu.
I remember watching Fu’s cooking show with mom. In my teen years, I even attempted a few of her recipes. What I did not know was that she grew up in Japanese-occupied northeastern China and was fluent in Japanese.[4] Her favorite dish was oyakodon 親子丼, a Japanese rice bowl dish[5]. This probably has helped her settling down in Taiwan, as the lingering Japanese influence was still prevalent in the 1950s.
Partially of her own character, and partially shaped by her education, she was extremely determined. Raised in an affluent merchant family, she didn’t know much about cooking. Propelled by pride, she decided to delve into the art of Chinese cuisine. The price: half an ounce gold for a dish![6] She traded her dowry to reach her goal.
Just as determined as she was, her uneducated maid went to the city seeking for a new life. Street-smart and hard-working, she found her footing in Fu’s household. Her key to success and happiness was diligence and sincerity.
The show reminded me of the social and cultural divisions of the two sides of my family. My paternal relatives either held white-collar managerial positions or owned private business. The ladies spent their time playing mahjong. Mom’s family were mostly blue-collar workers or farmers. They had practical concerns: day-to-day work and life. Mom was the country girl that found her way into the big world. With language barriers and social differences, the relationship between the two sides never grew more than lukewarm.
I was also reminded of the support that my family afforded me. Both my parents allowed me to chase my dream blindly. For years, mom helped me a great deal financially. She also endured the loneliness of separation which I only grew to appreciate much too late. I cannot equate the skills that I have gained with monetary value. Public recognition is not important to me. However, I do wish to share them with my colleagues as well as young artists.
I miss the old Taipei; I miss my youth; and I miss my parents.
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La grande chaumière violette 紫色大稻埕[7] is a twenty-two-episode series of 2016, based on a novel of the same title. It was presented mostly in Taiwanese dialect (Minnan) with occasional usage of Mandarin and Japanese. An elderly painter narrated story of his youth—friends, families, artistic dreams and, most importantly, cultural identity—to the son of his best friend.
It has been a long time since I last watched a show in Minnan dialect. The langue, with its complicate phonology,[8] took me straight back to the old days. Yet, the drama presented me a story that was completely unknown to me.
The backdrop was Dadocheng 大稻埕 in 1924 and the following decades. When the story began, it had been thirty years since Japanese colonization. With its vicinity to Tamsui River 淡水河[9], Dadocheng was Taiwan’s gateway to the world both economically and culturally. The new performing arts hall Yougle Center 永樂座 just opened. Taipei Bridge was near its completion. Its prosperity attracted artists as well as pro-democracy thinkers/leaders.
The main characters were a group of young painters and actors—many historical figures of Twentieth-century Taiwanese arts. Being second class citizens under Japanese rule, they sought success by perfecting their skills. Proud of their cultural roots, they dreamed of establishing a true “Taiwanese” character in their works, using techniques of Chinese, Japanese, and Western arts. They fought for independence, and for the well-being of their fellow citizens. While in despair, they found new hopes.
During WWII, Taiwanese residents endured oppressions of Japanese military. Many were forced to join the war efforts. After the surrender of Japanese aggressors, they enthusiastically anticipated the arrival of the new government from China. They made efforts to adjust to using different languages.[10] They supported the implement of the “Three Principles of People,” the political philosophy of Sun Yat-Sen, the founder of modern China.[11] Unfortunately, mistrusts among the transitional government, the military and the community leaders soon led to tragic results. On February 27, 1947, mishandling of anti-contraband operation[12] led to anti-government uprising on the next day, followed by heavy-handed crackdown from the military.[13] Idealistic dreams were lost forever.
I loved learning much about concepts and techniques of Chinese and Japanese painting from the discussions among the characters. I loved knowing there were shared visions in Chinese handcrafts and Western arts. I could relate to the passion and devotion of the young artists. I was quite heartbroken as the story came to an end.
I grew up during the martial law era. I knew that my parents talked about current news; I knew that dad discussed serious subjects with his best friends. But the conversations were often in a language that I didn’t understand. With us kids, my parents never talk about politics. Looking back, I wonder if they were always on the same side of things. Dad’s cousin held high level administrative position in the transitional government. According to mom, dad was invited to work for the education department but declined the offer. Mom talked about learning Mandarin by herself so she could communicate with the newly arrived 外省人 (people from other provinces) at work. A few times, I heard about 2-2-8 from various sources but understood that it was a forbidden subject.
The martial law in Taiwan was lifted in 1987. Democracy is fully implemented and celebrated in Taiwan. Books and movies were made about February 28 incident. Memorial parks, museum and monuments were set up. Yet, the search for a true Taiwanese identity—both culturally and politically—continues. Personally, I believe that, as Taiwanese, we have to recognize and maintain our Chinese ancestral and cultural roots. At the same time, we also need to embrace all the outside influences that have become part of Taiwanese soul.
In a series of speeches in 1924, Sun Yat-Sen delivered his idealistic “Three Principles of People:” minzu zhuyi 民族主義 (Nationalism); minquan zhuyi 民權主義 (Right of the people); and minsheng zhuyi 民生主義 (livelihood of the people). Based on his doctrine, politics is about people. It is the business of governing (or managing) people (管理眾人之事). People’s sovereignty can be achieved through election, initiative, referendum, and recall. Sun emphasized, to achieve the true equality of a society, everyone should be given equal political rights.
Unfortunately, human imperfections often make equality unattainable. It takes effort to understand and to accept people that are different from us. It takes effort to admit our own weaknesses and mistakes. Human beings are emotional creatures. Sometimes, insecurity leads to threatening acts; sometimes, as passions run high, conflicts occur. Elections and referendums do not always benefit all people. In the best scenario, leaders are imperfect, and policies can be insufficient.
As I gradually working toward completing all my PAUSE projects, spring melted into summer, and seven-o’clock cheers turned into shouts of protests. People are crying for empathy, for equality, and, more importantly, for their political power.
I cried once during the pandemic thinking of mom. I cried twice hearing the protesters walking through the neighborhood.
— and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
The Gettysburg Address
[1] What-She-Put-on-the-Table-IMDb. The series is available for streaming on Netflix in the US.
植劇場－五味八珍的歲月-zh-Wiki (中文)
[2] Fu-Pei-mei-Wiki (English); 傅培梅-zh-Wiki (中文)
Luke Tsai, “She Raised a Generation of Taiwanese Home Cooks,” www.tastecooking.com, 6/27/2019
[3]
Michelle T. King, “The Julia Child of Chinese Cooking or the Fu Pei-Mei of French Food?” online.ucpress.edu, posted on January 18, 2015
See the PDF link on this page for a comprehensive study of Fu’s career.
[4] At the height of her career, Fu hosted 《夫人的廚房》（奥さまクッキング）on Japan’s NHK from 1978 to 1983.
[5] Oyakodon-Wiki
[6] Fu paid eight hundred Taiwanese Dollars for each dish that she learned from well known chefs. According to her own words, it was about the value of half an ounce gold: https://www.ttv.com.tw/homev2/pgm/cook/FoodTime/Miss_Fu.asp
[7] La-grande-chaumière-violette-IMDb (English);
The series is available for streaming on Netflix in the US. All episodes are also available on YouTube with Chinese subtitle.
The French title, “The Great Purple Thatch Cottage” seems to me a mistranslation. 大稻埕 (pronounced /dɑ:daʊtʃəŋ/ (da-dao-cheng) in Mandarin and /tuā-tiū-tiânn/ in Taiwanese) is a district of Taipei City. 埕 in Taiwanese means an open field. 大稻埕 literally means “great”-“rice”- “field.” The district was so named because there once was a great open field to sun-dry the rice harvest. The Chinese title simply means “The Purple Dadaocheng.” The symbolic meaning of color purple was explained in the final episode.
[8]
Taiwanese-Hokkien-Wiki
[9]
Tamsui-River-Wiki
[10] Although there is a common written Chinese language, the spoken dialects are very different.
[11]
Sun Yat-sen-Wiki; Three-Principles-of-the-People-Britannica
[12] Production and trading of tobacco and liquor were controlled by the Monopoly Bureau of the Taiwan Governor’s Office during Japanese rule. The incoming Nationalist government maintained the policy and established Taiwan Tobacco and Wine Monopoly Bureau 菸酒公賣局 in 1947. On February 27, agents of the Bureau confiscated contraband cigarette from a widow. Crowd gathered to protest as she was struck and injured by an agent. Shots were fired. A bystander was severely injured and died on the following day. State monopoly on tobacco and liquor in Taiwan was lifted in 2002.
On July 17, 2014, suspicion of selling loosie cigarette cost Eric Gardner his life. The unfortunate parallelism between the two incidents, decades apart, on different soils, exposes the universal challenge of social inequality and injustice.
[13] Due to the large number of casualties, missing and injured, this incident was sometimes called February 28 massacre. February-28-incident-Wiki