Mantou

We have come a long way from the epicurean standards of the 1950’s when Jackie Gleason was asking for bread, probably Wonder bread to be served with his Chinese meal. Today most of us feel comfortable with chopsticks, speak with authority of the subtle differences between Shanghai and Mandarin cuisine; and yet the thought that Mantou or bread is, and always has been, one of the most essential staples in the Chinese diet never occurs to us.

This seemingly unimportant, trivial information takes on a totally new meaning when we realize that one of the worst famines in recorded history was the 1958-1960 Great Leap Forward FAMINE. 18 million deaths according to government statistics, while estimates of economists outside China considered 40 million to be a more accurate representative of the catastrophe. They also concluded that the famine was a result of natural disasters compounded by serious mismanagement of the newly established government.

As a young child living in China I had no knowledge of the circumstances or even the existence of the Famine. Of course my parents were fully aware of the tragedy taking place in the rural communities. Under the dictates of General Mao the urban population had a protected legal right for a specific amount of grain, while the farming communities were subject to non-negotiable production quota and the remaining surplus of which they had to survive on.

When in 1958 2/3 of the agricultural land in the northern provinces received no rainfall at all, followed by flooding in 1959, the grain production dropped and the quotas were not met. The peasant farmers were accused of counter revolutionary activities, their crops were confiscated with starvation and death to follow. My parents like many other Europeans living in China tried to help in any way they could. They repeatedly told me that I had no part in my good fortune or in the circumstances of my birth, and took me along on their drive to the country side to inspect the bread distribution efforts. What they did not anticipate was the level of my fascination with the mantou celebration.

Even though I was not able to understand the depth of the suffering that led to such frenzied jubilation, the magic that those huge metal drums with the boiling water and racks of mantou buns brought to the people of the village was obvious and translated as a palpable energy and excitement even to a very well nourished seven year old child. I pleaded with my mother to allow me to join the crowds. The answer was a resounding NO!

On the long drive home, I voiced my displeasure about my mother’s decision at repeated and frequent intervals. Finally my father put his newspaper down and “suggested” that perhaps they could make it up to me by asking Ivan, our cook to prepare the same dinner as the children in the village had – A single mantou bun with hot tea with no milk or sugar.

When we got home mother spoke to Ivan. As usual when facing unusual requests, He flew into a rage. Something about French chefs should not be asked to prepare food like that. And as usual he calmed down and made the best mantou. It was my first one; but I knew that it could not be any better.

More than half a century later, I still love the taste of mantou. A steamed bun made of refined white flour, yeast and water. I fully understand why most people don’t enjoy it as much as I do! Or maybe we don’t need to understand so much. Sometimes our senses have their own kind of understanding.