Lingnan Plant Market

One of the many mar­kets that I only recently explored was the local plant and flower mar­ket. Located just across the river from my home, I’m sur­prised I hadn’t ven­tured out sooner.

It’s too bad, because there were aisles and aisles of pot­ted plants and flow­ers, from as lit­tle as $5-$10 for a fern that reached my height. I could have def­i­nitely spent a pretty penny at this mar­ket, get­ting some plants for our house. It’s actu­ally prob­a­bly a good thing I dis­cov­ered this mar­ket so late in our tour.

Of course being in China, you can’t go to a mar­ket and not see a fire haz­ard. For exam­ple, this light, that was hang­ing down the mid­dle of an aisle, dan­gling by a wire. Things like this used to scare/anger/annoy me, but now make me smile. I’m actu­ally going to miss this stuff!!

Granted, this mar­ket wasn’t as excit­ing as say, the kitchen mar­ket, or the jew­elry mar­ket, or the leather mar­ket. After all, they’re just plants. But as with all out­ings in Guangzhou, it’s inter­est­ing just to walk around and see the quan­ti­ties of stuff being sold, adver­tised, and packed. Watch­ing the locals go about their daily busi­ness is also akin to peo­ple watch­ing at the air­port– it pro­vides a sur­pris­ing amount of enter­tain­ment and amusement.

It was plenty hot by the time I was out– and being the mid­dle of the day, busi­ness was slow. Shirts were off, cards were being played, women were sit­ting back fan­ning them­selves. Peo­ple were loung­ing like lazy cats all over the mar­ket, with ample amounts of shade cre­ated by the large over­hang between the aisles. Where there was no over­hang, there was plenty of plant shade to be found. I guess there’s def­i­nitely some ben­e­fits to be work­ing at the plant market.

Watch market

This week­end we made a trip to the watch mar­ket to get the DiploMan’s watch fixed and see if I could find myself a spare watch (among the errands we were running).

Find­ing a spare watch was prob­a­bly not the best gen­eral state­ment when wan­der­ing around the watch mar­ket in Guangzhou– there were lit­er­ally tens of thou­sands of watches to choose from, dis­played in counter after counter of glass cases. Watches piled upon watches, upon even more watches. Shock­ingly, I was able to find one that I liked pretty quickly, and after an unsuc­cess­ful attempt at bar­gain­ing (ven­dors gen­er­ally don’t bar­gain here, at least not until you buy more than fifty of what they’re try­ing to sell).

Inter­est­ingly, when laid out on dis­play, the ven­dors have fake fakes (yeah, you heard me.) — brands that were specif­i­cally designed to show­case the style and design of the watches, but not to sell. Once a watch is cho­sen, the real imi­ta­tion is dug out from the back.

After a very con­fus­ing five min­utes of me almost buy­ing the fake fake, our watch lady finally explained that if caught even dis­play­ing a coun­ter­feit brand, a ven­dor would receive a 30,000rmb penalty. She stealth­ily uncov­ered a coun­ter­feit logo on the under­side of the watch strap, taped over to hide from any­one ready to fine her. Not exactly the most inge­nious of dis­guises, but it worked– after all, we didn’t even notice the lit­tle strip of cam­ou­flaged tape hid­ing the watch’s true fake identity.

Why she showed this to us, I have no idea. What if we were undercover?

Framed.

Every week­end we swear we’ll go out and get stuff done, and most week­ends we end up sleep­ing in, eat­ing lunch at 3pm, catch­ing up on our blog feeds, watch­ing movies…does this sound all too familiar?

Well, this week­end we lived up to our promises, and spent Sat­ur­day scoot­ing around a very humid Guangzhou, finally scratch­ing some key items off our “To Do” list.

Now, here in Guangzhou, there is pretty much an inde­pen­dent store that exists for any ser­vice you may need. Some­times it’s not even a store, some­times it’s a lady posted on the side­walk with a sewing machine who will hem your pants for a few kuai (bucks). Okay so that’s just one exam­ple, and most are indeed actual stores. Unlike any­where else I’ve seen, and con­trary to a log­i­cal busi­ness model, each store is located next to tens of other stores that sell the exact same prod­ucts, or pro­vide the exact same ser­vices. For exam­ple, the store that sells gold­fish will be located next to ten other stores that also sell gold­fish. The place to go to buy med­ical fur­ni­ture will be next to the all the other medical-furniture ware­houses (yes, these places actu­ally exist and do legit­i­mate busi­ness). Though you would think this to be con­ve­nient for a shop­per, these clus­ters of stores are spread out in pock­ets through­out the city, mak­ing it so the task of run­ning your errands can lit­er­ally take you run­ning– from one end of town to another. More than that, plan­ning an after­noon of errands takes more than just mak­ing a small “To Do” list, it also means google-mapping the approx­i­mate loca­tion of every mar­ket and its cross streets, writ­ing the Chi­nese trans­la­tions down in case we get lost, mental-noting the side streets to take, mak­ing sure we have appro­pri­ate can­vas bags to take things home, and mak­ing sure we have good rec­om­men­da­tions or busi­ness cards from our friends who have done the same exact thing.

One thing down on our list this past Sat­ur­day was to visit the fram­ing mar­ket. No, there’s no Michael’s or Aaron Bros. here in Guangzhou. I know, shock­ing. So to get any­thing framed, log­i­cally a Guangzhou res­i­dent would take a trip to the street where ALLLL the framers are located. Span­ning one stretch of a large street com­bined with a big mall full of lit­tle shops ded­i­cated to fram­ing art­work and Chi­nese scrolls, the fram­ing “mar­ket” was just as over­whelm­ing as every other shopping-type expe­ri­ence I’ve had in Guangzhou.

We finally set­tled on one– not because its prod­ucts were supe­rior, or that it had evi­dence of good work, but sim­ply because the peo­ple looked friendly and there were a lot of sam­ples of frames hung out­side. Is this kind of like choos­ing wine based on the label? Hm, maybe.

Alto­gether we brought with us seven items to be framed– the small­est rang­ing from 11x17 and the largest 15x35. After spend­ing a few min­utes pick­ing out the frames we wanted and lay­ing every­thing out on the table, we were quoted a price. Now, we had heard this mar­ket was cheap, but when she quoted us a final price– 270 kuai for all seven pieces, I thought for a sec­ond she was quot­ing the price for our largest poster. And then she held up her cal­cu­la­tor for me to see the final price, nod­ding her head and smil­ing as if to say, “Yeah, it’s good, right?”. I re-calculated in my head just to make sure I did the math right. Forty bucks to get our pieces mat­ted (if we chose), with Plex­i­glas panes, and brand new custom-built frames? She might as well have told me they would do it for free.

We picked up our pieces 24hours later (after vis­it­ing the “Coney Island Hot Dog” shop…but more on that later this week!), par­tially afraid that we were about to pick up all our posters framed onto one giant plex­i­glas. But as usual, my fears were quickly dis­pelled. And let me close by say­ing that after com­ing home and hang­ing up all our beau­ti­fully framed new works, we’re now look­ing to see what else in our home can use a good framing.

update 6/10/11: Here are some images, below, of a few things we got framed– really cool mod-style Star Wars themed art, an Ork poster, a Williams print I received while work­ing at an art gallery a few years ago, and oh yeah– a super off­i­cal cer­tifi­cate signed by a cou­ple of impor­tant people!

Orange Limes

I’ve been going to the mar­ket a lot recently, and have noticed a lot of new veg­eta­bles and fruits being added to the mix. Like this fruit, at the fruit stand. Look­ing exactly like a lime only per­fectly spher­i­cal rather than limey, I decided to take my chances on this odd fruit.

I sliced it open at home, and I swear I let out a squeal when I saw what was inside. It was an orange! Well, sort of– is an orange an orange if it doesn’t have that orange outer peel…? So, instead of using this in a salad dress­ing as orig­i­nally intended, I used it in a bowl of sauteed chick­peas to add a lit­tle sweetness.

I still have no idea what fruit this is. The fruit was ripe, juicy, and sweet like a tan­ger­ine. Even Googling “fruit that looks like a lime but tastes like an orange” brought me no answers. Any help out there?

Saturday at the market

It’s warm out– 30°C! I made a trip to the wet mar­ket this morn­ing to pick up a few things for din­ner, and brought my cam­era along for the first time in awhile. Boy, am I glad that I did– the mar­ket was more lively than I had ever seen it before. New meat and fish ven­dors were out, veg­eta­bles were piled high, peo­ple were yelling across the aisles, and trans­ac­tions were quick– no time to be wasted. Okay, now I’m excited to be liv­ing in China.

Adventures in Candyland– Hawthorn caramel

I know it was a teeny stretch to call this peanut brit­tle in a recent post. And I sup­pose I am stretch­ing yet again in call­ing the candy I am about to describe a rel­a­tive of its West­ern cousin, the caramel. But let’s be open, shall we? After all, in the rules of my food world– if it tastes good, it’s all good.

In Kaip­ing, there is a local candy derived from the Hawthorn fruit. Now, my knowl­edge of the Hawthorn is restricted to wikipedia’s def­i­n­i­tion, but after tast­ing this candy I am def­i­nitely intrigued to find out more about how and where this berry is used– in addi­tion to it’s actual fla­vor pro­file, unmasked by the sugar that I tasted it with.

Upon first impres­sion of the Kaip­ing spe­cialty, it looks like a hybrid of honey and caramel. Actu­ally, the first impres­sion is a pretty accu­rate one. The process to get this syrup is lost on me, and though I’d ven­ture to guess that some­how the fruit juices are extracted and blended with sugar on low heat until the sticky syrup is formed, I can only accu­rately com­ment on the final prod­uct– some­thing deca­dently sweet and tacky and delight­fully simple.

A large warm pot of the syrup/candy stays, cov­ered, until some lucky per­son (me!) asks for one stick (for one rmb!). Here, a young boy work­ing at his family’s stand would take one from a pair of dis­pos­able chop­sticks, as well as a stick which looked like it was picked off the ground and stick both into the vat of sugar syrup. Then he twirled the sticky sub­stance around the chop­stick, coax­ing it with the blunt stick around itself.

The tex­ture is pretty hard to accu­rately describe– there is noth­ing that I could find to equate it to. But be sat­is­fied in know­ing that feels pretty much how it looks. Super tacky, and sticky, yet if you lick it with your wet tongue it doesn’t really do any­thing. It has the feel­ing and taste of warm taffy, and there is a but­tery qual­ity to it like caramel, though I am almost pos­i­tive there is absolutely no but­ter in it. The stuff doesn’t ooze like fresh caramel or honey, but rather slowly morphs like partially-dried hot glue. One could poten­tially bite it off and chew (though it would leave strings of sticky syrup on your chin), but it would surely leave you with a toothache. Over­all it’s a super sat­is­fy­ing treat, one which a small amount you see below lasted me about 45minutes worth of tasty entertainment.

Peanut sesame brittle, Chinese-style

As we approached this guy from far away, I thought he was mak­ing rice crispy treats. But we soon hit a wall of aro­mas that included the sugar, peanuts and sesame at their purest– and my ideas of a chewy rice crispy treat were quick to be dis­pelled. But I was not dis­ap­pointed for long, as I imme­di­ately rec­og­nized the ‘candy’ that he had dis­played in front of him as the Chi­nese ver­sion of peanut brittle.

With a small portable range set up in the back cor­ner of his stall, among sacks of white sugar (not quite the safest setup, I noted), I watched as Brit­tle Man stirred a piping-hot wok full of sugar syrup with a flat wooden pad­dle. With­out any other tools– no ther­mome­ter, no mea­sur­ing uten­sils, no fancy stir­ring gad­gets– he mixed peanuts and sesame seeds in with the sugar until a firm-yet-malleable con­sis­tency formed. Trans­fer­ring his pip­ing hot con­coc­tion to a flat table, he whipped out two mas­sive blunt cleavers and pushed the peanut-sesame mix­ture back and forth, fold­ing it over itself again and again. As the stuff began to cool, Brit­tle Man pat­ted and formed it into a large thin sheet, finally scor­ing the sur­face lightly with thin lines.

We pur­chased a small Ziploc full of brit­tle for a snack– it tasted like peanuts and sesame and sugar-precisely what I expected. The thinly-scored brit­tle sur­face allowed us to eas­ily break off thin pieces, and we munched on the square rods of brit­tle as if they were pret­zel sticks.

Spring is in the air– a new hope for the market

For some rea­son, in the first cou­ple months of being here I was a bit skep­ti­cal at the prospect of any change in the offer­ings of my local wet mar­kets. As if China, because it didn’t observe Day­light Sav­ings, also didn’t change its agri­cul­tural output!?

But as Feb­ru­ary turned into March, and small oblong man­goes that fit in the small of your palm replaced the tiny car­tons of straw­ber­ries (yes, straw­ber­ries were abun­dant in Jan­u­ary– how crazy does that seem!), my fear of a non-changing mar­ket has slowly evap­o­rated. Just this past week, I’ve noticed more new pro­duce spring­ing up at my favorite ven­dors. Stalks of aspara­gus the size of car­rots, and vines of a leafy plant that might be bay leaves sold by the branch, all over the place (I plan to inquire about this bay-leaf-I’m hop­ing it’s basil-plant on my next trip).

Toma­toes and cucum­bers have been at the mar­kets since I’ve been here, and they’re still hold­ing their place along the scal­lions, chives, daikon, corn, red onions (not a yel­low onion for miles) and chi­nese cel­ery. I’ve got­ten used to cook­ing with the veg­eta­bles that have been avail­able so far, and am cer­tainly look­ing for­ward to the new crops of good­ies that are wait­ing to be revealed!

And now for your view­ing plea­sure, a fish-bludgeoning scene from the mar­ket, fit for a fish hor­ror flick: