food, wine, poetry

Full moon now. And the word is that it's a mega-potent one. A harvest moon. Called Mid-Autumn Moon in China and celebrated on the 15th day of the 8th lunar moon which happens to be today. I had the privilege of spending Friday with Pearl Huang here in Taos, with a small group of women. She explained the mid-autumn festival to us, read poetry in Chinese and English and shared traditional pastries called Moon Cakes. At some point we all tried writing Chinese couplets and now I'm obsessed with learning more about the form.

lotus-eaters
The moon cake dough is placed into hand carved wooden molds (presses) and the calligraphy on the top reveals what is within. Ours were filled with dates, bean paste, lotus seeds. I may have mixed up the top to bottom order, I was jotting notes and more anxious to sip my tea and taste each cake than write . They were pretty and sweet.  Like the woman on the box cover. The pastries are made in the traditional way by Sheng Kee Bakery in San Francisco.

Traditionally the festival includes food and wine, family, friends, songs, discourse, poetry, and is "impromptu and organic" according to Pearl. Until recently she taught calligraphy and Chinese language and culture at UNM and took student groups to China. She is a multi-talented artist, designer, tai ji master, working and teaching from her own RuYi Studio in town. And it turns out that we were born one day apart in the Year of the Dragon. She was born in Fujian Province in the Republic of China, I was born in the south Bronx, New York -- and somehow we ended up as friends in Taos, New Mexico! Go figure. There's lots more information about the Chinese Moon Harvest on the internet if you're interested. Sheng Kee bakery is now on my itinerary next trip west.

so-American harvest
Prompted by Pearl's stories of harvest time I remembered how, when we lived in New England, we'd go for drives on country roads and stop at produce stands overflowing with pumpkins and apples. When when we got home we'd pour the wine and I'd make an apple pie. Voila! Manifestation of same. Will have to write an apple pie couplet to go with it.

Refusing worldly worries,
I stroll among village strollers.

Pine winds sing, the evening village
smells of grass, autumn in the air.

A lone bird roams down the sky.
Clouds roll across the river.

You want to know my name?
A hill. A tree. an empty drifting boat.
               Hsu Hsuan (916-991)