I had first heard about Hong Kong's Cheung Chau Bun Festival by watching My Life as McDull, an existential cartoon about a Hong Kongese pig who trains to climb a mountain of Chinese steamed buns. A mountain of Chinese steamed buns!?! At first I thought such a thing was made up, until I saw real black & white footage of climbers interspersed with the animation. How odd, I thought.

Coincidentally, Jacob and I were in Hong Kong for Buddha's Birthday, the holiday on which the annual Bun Festival takes place on the island of Cheung Chau. There was supposed to be a parade, some other festivities, and the climbing competition at midnight. As a foodie who revels in weird food festivals, I had to go, mostly to see how they construct a mountain of buns.

We hopped on a ferry from Central along with 95% of Hong Kong island, and an hour later arrived on the banks of the small fishing village. The first thing we saw outside the ferry terminal were crowds of people waiting for the parade.

My original plan for Hong Kong was fitting in as much amazing Cantonese, Japanese, and Southeast Asian food as possible in a 3-day period. I solicited recommendations on Chowhound and did research on Openrice. I had dreams about sitting in a cha chaan teng with Hong Kong milk tea, French toast with condensed milk, and the odd-sounding but comforting macaroni with Spam. Then I got sick.*

I did get my milk tea, some congee, and a nice Cantonese dinner with relatives. But I was in no mood to hunt down new restaurants on streets and alleys I had never been to. Sneezing, wheezing, headaches, and a sore throat can dampen the spirits of any seasoned foodie. The best meal I had in Hong Kong was on the day I arrived, before the bad stuff started.

Jake and I got into Kowloon's train station at 1:30pm. By 3pm, after dropping off luggage, we were sitting in plastic chairs at Victory Kitchen in Northpoint. We were with my uncle, a HK foodie, who had never been to the restaurant but has always seen lines of people outside the door. That's a good enough sign for me.

I couldn't resist posting this map of Disappearing Foods in America from the NYTimes after I found the link via Eating Asia.

The related article about how Gary Paul Nabhan, a food historian, has come out with a new book on ingredients (plant and animal) once vital to American culture that are now endangered or extinct. Through publishing the book he hopes to be able to save or resurrect, through farming and breeding, these disappearing foods.

The only foods on the map I can recall ever eating are free-range American bison and California mission olives (well, the olive oil, at least.) It's possible that I've had some of the New England fruits, but I can't say for sure. (I feel so ashamed!)

Which makes me wonder what foods in China I'm missing out on, that were popular ingredients decades or centuries ago that have been lost to industrialisation. And what I'm eating now won't be around in 20, 10, or even 5 years.

On a different note, I'm in Hong Kong, after a nice leisurely train ride that was nothing like the horrendous trip I took in February. I love this place. Clean(er) streets! Good milk tea! Unresistricted internet! Ah...if only HK weren't so expensive to live in...

This afternoon, less than 24 hours before hopping on a train to Hong Kong, I was faced with a dilemma. Do I boil some instant ramen noodles and start packing early, to ensure I remember everything and not wait until the last minute? Or do I make myself a good, hearty lunch, while updating my iPod with all the new music and podcasts necessary for a long train ride?

A perpetual procrastinator, I chose the latter.

The plan was to make Kung Pao Chicken (Gongbao Jiding), because that was what I was craving. Then I looked in the fridge and saw a pack of lonely-looking tofu, which would certainly go uneaten before the trip.

"Don't let me go to waste," it seemed to be saying. "Buy chicken another day, when you're not about to go for a 2-week trip."

"Fine," I sighed.

I made Kung Pao Tofu instead. It wasn't chicken, but it was less wasteful and kept in line with my eat-less-meat resolution. (Of course, I can only hold up for so long, since the wonton soups and Cantonese roast ducks in HK are too irresistable.)

I first saw these nectarines at a park in Guangzhou, dangling from a tree as part of a botanical exhibit. I learned from my dad that they (the nectarine growers) put some sort of a sticker over the fruit before it ripens to block out light and create a lettering effect. Quite clever, I must say.

Lately these things have been popping up in Beijing's produce markets. I couldn't resist buying some, despite the fact that they were almost twice as expensive as other nectarines. I dug through a bin and pulled out "double happiness" (喜喜 shuāng xǐ) and "long life" (寿 shòu). All the "good fortune"s (福 fú) looked a little bruised, so I didn't get any. They were quite juicy and delicious on a hot muggy day.