On Birthdays
Last week was my birthday. Hooray, 恭喜 gung1 hei2, and one year closer to death.
Now this is the sixth birthday I've celebrated in the 852. Crazy, right?
There's a few things I've learned about birthdays since being here. On the surface, Hong Kong birthdays look similar to American birthdays. You've got cake, candles, friends, singing. There's no seaweed soup for breakfast nonsense (sorry Korea).
One difference is the cake. Now I like cake well enough, although pie is usually better, but a lot of Hong Kong cakes are not really cakes. They are actually very artfully decorated sponges. Really, I still remember the shock I experienced the first time my teeth sank into a bouncy, airy, rather bland slice. And the thing is that that they just look so beautiful. Whenever my friends come to visit me, at least half of them will take pictures of the beautiful and interesting cakes in the bakery. But Hong Kong cakes, much like rocks in the Grand Canyon, are much better to take pictures of than to actually eat.
Ok, ok, maybe I 誇張 kwaa1 zoeng1 a bit. I have actually gotten used to the cakes here. They're not really that bad. Some are even pretty good. But you know, on some controversial topics like politics, music, and cake, we sometimes have to agree to disagree.
Speaking of cake, there's another interesting tradition I'm not too clear about but I find fascinating: the cutting of the cake. At American birthday parties, I've never really thought about cutting the cake. The only etiquette I can think of is that you don't cut it if it's your birthday because it's your special day so other people will serve you. And you get the first slice as well as any good cake toppers, like chocolate or fruit.
I still remember the ruckus that arose at a friend's party when the birthday boy tried to cut his own cake. No, no, no! You can't cut your own cake! Then you'll never get married! Put down the knife! Drop it! And not only him, but any single person who wanted to get married should avoid cutting said cake.
After a bit of argument, the group agreed that he could cut it, in fact he should, but it should only be halfway through the cake and he couldn't cut through the bottom. He followed their directions to a T, and then we were left with a room full of single people all staring at the plastic knife sticking out of the cake wondering what our next move was.
Just when we were about to draw straws to see who was destined to be forever alone, a married person showed up. We were saved! Soon after we were happily munching our cream-covered sponges and chatting about our future weddings.
Besides learning the intricacies of cake-cutting, I also learned that there's a special Cantonese birthday song! Yes, there is the normal birthday song sung in Cantonese, but they also have a totally different birthday song. Let's all watch Stephen Chow being sung to because we can all use a little more Stephen Chow in our life.
This year's birthday was nice. I got flowers from my roommates, a nice birthday dinner with friends, and a mother-daughter birthday celebration a few days later (I was conveniently born two days before my mother's birthday #efficiency).
At work I was treated to a heart attack when my coworkers burst through the door playing guitar, singing, and bearing two boxes of egg tarts 蛋撻 (daan6 taat1). A pink candle glowed in one of the tarts. After blowing it out, I had two. In my defence, I just couldn't choose between the cookie and the flaky crust. I'm pretty sure calories don't count on your birthday.
They sang me happy birthday in Cantonese, although not the Cantonese birthday song. We're not quite in the big leagues yet. And luckily for us, you don't need to cut egg tarts. I can get married after all.
Now this is the sixth birthday I've celebrated in the 852. Crazy, right?
There's a few things I've learned about birthdays since being here. On the surface, Hong Kong birthdays look similar to American birthdays. You've got cake, candles, friends, singing. There's no seaweed soup for breakfast nonsense (sorry Korea).
One difference is the cake. Now I like cake well enough, although pie is usually better, but a lot of Hong Kong cakes are not really cakes. They are actually very artfully decorated sponges. Really, I still remember the shock I experienced the first time my teeth sank into a bouncy, airy, rather bland slice. And the thing is that that they just look so beautiful. Whenever my friends come to visit me, at least half of them will take pictures of the beautiful and interesting cakes in the bakery. But Hong Kong cakes, much like rocks in the Grand Canyon, are much better to take pictures of than to actually eat.
Ok, ok, maybe I 誇張 kwaa1 zoeng1 a bit. I have actually gotten used to the cakes here. They're not really that bad. Some are even pretty good. But you know, on some controversial topics like politics, music, and cake, we sometimes have to agree to disagree.
Speaking of cake, there's another interesting tradition I'm not too clear about but I find fascinating: the cutting of the cake. At American birthday parties, I've never really thought about cutting the cake. The only etiquette I can think of is that you don't cut it if it's your birthday because it's your special day so other people will serve you. And you get the first slice as well as any good cake toppers, like chocolate or fruit.
I still remember the ruckus that arose at a friend's party when the birthday boy tried to cut his own cake. No, no, no! You can't cut your own cake! Then you'll never get married! Put down the knife! Drop it! And not only him, but any single person who wanted to get married should avoid cutting said cake.
After a bit of argument, the group agreed that he could cut it, in fact he should, but it should only be halfway through the cake and he couldn't cut through the bottom. He followed their directions to a T, and then we were left with a room full of single people all staring at the plastic knife sticking out of the cake wondering what our next move was.
Just when we were about to draw straws to see who was destined to be forever alone, a married person showed up. We were saved! Soon after we were happily munching our cream-covered sponges and chatting about our future weddings.
Besides learning the intricacies of cake-cutting, I also learned that there's a special Cantonese birthday song! Yes, there is the normal birthday song sung in Cantonese, but they also have a totally different birthday song. Let's all watch Stephen Chow being sung to because we can all use a little more Stephen Chow in our life.
This year's birthday was nice. I got flowers from my roommates, a nice birthday dinner with friends, and a mother-daughter birthday celebration a few days later (I was conveniently born two days before my mother's birthday #efficiency).
At work I was treated to a heart attack when my coworkers burst through the door playing guitar, singing, and bearing two boxes of egg tarts 蛋撻 (daan6 taat1). A pink candle glowed in one of the tarts. After blowing it out, I had two. In my defence, I just couldn't choose between the cookie and the flaky crust. I'm pretty sure calories don't count on your birthday.
They sang me happy birthday in Cantonese, although not the Cantonese birthday song. We're not quite in the big leagues yet. And luckily for us, you don't need to cut egg tarts. I can get married after all.
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