BREAD IN EASTERN LANDS.
Agriculture has always taken a prominent part in Chinese polity, and
is incorporated in their religious observances; and a deep veneration
for it is inscribed on all the institutions in China. Among the several
grades of society the cultivators of mind rank first, then those of
land, third come the manufacturers, and lastly the merchants. Homage
to agriculture is done annually by the Emperor, who makes a show of
performing its operations.
This ceremony, which originated more than 2000 years ago, had been
discontinued by degenerate princes, but was revived by Yong-tching,
the third of the Mantchoo dynasty. This anniversary takes place on the
24th day of the second moon, coinciding with our month of February. The
monarch prepares himself for it by fasting three days; he then repairs
to the appointed spot with three princes, nine presidents of the high
tribunals, forty old and forty young husbandmen. Having performed a
preliminary sacrifice of the fruits of the earth to Shang-ti, the
supreme deity, he takes in his hand the plough, and makes a furrow of
some length, in which he is followed by the princes and other grandees.
A similar course is observed in sowing the field, and the operations
are completed by the husbandmen.
An annual festival in honour of Agriculture is also celebrated in the
capital of each province. The governor marches forth, crowned with
flowers, and accompanied by a numerous train, bearing flags adorned
with agricultural emblems and portraits of eminent husbandmen, while
the streets are decorated with lanterns and triumphal arches.
Although rice is the staple grain in use in China, wheat-growing is
one of the principal industries in the northern and middle parts of
that country. The winter wheat is planted at about the same time that
wheat is planted here. The soil, especially in the northern provinces,
is so well worn that it is unfitted for wheat-growing, and the Chinese
farmers, appreciating this fact, and the fact that all kinds of
fertilisers are excessively dear, make the least money do the most good
by mixing the seed with finely-prepared manure.
A man with a basket swung upon his shoulders follows the plough, and
plants the mixture in large handsful in the furrows, so that when the
crop grows up it looks like young celery. Immediately after the first
melting of snow, and when the ground has become sufficiently hardened
by frost, these wheat-fields are turned into pastures, under the theory
that, by a timely clipping of the tops of these plants, the crops will
grow up with additional strength in the spring.
Wheat-threshing is the principal interest in Chinese farming. Owing
to the scarcity of fuel, the wheat is usually pulled up by the root,
bundled in sheaves, and carted to the _mien-chong_, a smooth and
hardened space of ground near the home of the farmer. The top of the
sheaves is then clipped off by a hand machine. The wheat is then left
in the _mien-chong_ to dry, whilst the headless sheaves are piled in
a heap for fuel or thatching. When the wheat is thoroughly dry it is
beaten under a great stone roller pulled by horses, while the places
thus rolled are constantly tossed over with pitchforks. The stalks left
untouched by the roller are threshed with flails by women and boys. The
beaten stalks and straws are then taken out by an ingenious arrangement
of pitchforks, and the chaff is removed by a systematic tossing of the
grain into the air until the wind blows every particle of chaff or
dust out of the wheat. Even the chaff is carefully swept up and stowed
away for fuel or other useful purposes, such as stuffing mattresses
or pillows. After the wheat is allowed to dry for a few hours in the
burning sun, it is stowed away in airy bamboo bins.
The milling process is a very ancient one. Two large round bluestone
wheels, with grooves neatly cut in the faces on one side, and in the
centre of the lower wheel a solid wooden plug is used. The process
of making flour out of wheat by this machinery is called _mob-mien_.
Usually a horse or mule is employed; the poor, having no animals, grind
the grain themselves.
Three distinct qualities of flour are thus produced. The _shon-mien_,
or A grade, is the first siftings; the _nee-mien_, or second grade, is
the grindings of the rough leavings from the first siftings, which is
of a darker and redder colour than the first grade; and _mod_ is the
finely-ground last siftings of all grades. When bread is made from
this grade it resembles rough gingerbread. This is usually the food of
the poorest families. The bread of the Chinese is usually fermented,
and then steamed. Only a very small quantity is baked in ovens. But the
staple articles of food in Northern China are wheat, millet, and sweet
potatoes. Wheat and rice are the food of the rich, while the middle
classes of the Empire eat millet and rice. In the southern provinces
the entire bread-stuff is rice.
[Illustration: CHINESE METHOD OF HUSKING GRAIN.]
At King-Kiang wheat is served as rice. It is first threshed with flails
made of bamboo, and then pounded by a rough stone hammer, working in a
mortar which rests on a pivot, and is operated like a treadle by the
human foot. This separates the husks, and it is then winnowed, the
grain being afterwards ground in the usual way.
Rice is undoubtedly the staple food of those parts of China where it
will grow, in spite of its being a precarious crop, the failure of
which means famine. A drought in its early stages withers it, and an
inundation, when nearly ripe, is equally destructive; whilst the birds
and locusts, which are fearfully numerous in China, infest it more than
any other grain. Rice requires not only intense heat, but moisture
so abundant that the field in which it grows must be repeatedly laid
under water. These requisites exist only in the districts south of
the Yang-tse Kiang (the Yellow River) and its several tributaries.
Here a vast extent of land is perfectly fitted for this valuable crop.
Confined by powerful dykes, these rivers do not generally, like the
Nile, overflow and cover the country; but by means of canals their
waters are so widely distributed that almost every farmer, when he
pleases, can inundate his field. This supplies not only moisture, but
a fertilising mud or slime, washed down from the distant mountains.
The cultivator thus dispenses with manure, of which he labours under
a great scarcity, and considers it enough if the grain be steeped in
liquid manure.
The Chinese always transplant their rice. A small space is enclosed,
and very thickly sown, after which a thin sheet of water is led or
pumped over it; in the course of a few days the shoots appear, and when
they have attained the height of six or seven inches the tops are cut
off, and the roots transplanted to a field prepared for the purpose,
when they are set in rows about six inches from each other. The whole
surface is again supplied with moisture, which continues to cover the
plants till they approach maturity, when the ground is allowed to
become dry.
The first harvest is reaped in the end of May or beginning of June,
the grain being cut with a small sickle, and carried off the field in
frames suspended from bamboo poles placed across a man’s shoulders.
Barrow (p. 565) thus describes one: ‘The machine usually employed for
clearing rice from the husk, in the large way, is exactly the same as
that now used in Egypt for the same purpose, only that the latter is
put in motion by oxen and the former commonly by water. This machine
consists of a long horizontal axis of wood, with cogs, or projecting
pieces of wood or iron, fixed upon it at certain intervals, and it is
turned by a water-wheel. At right angles to this axis are fixed as many
horizontal levers as there are circular rows of cogs; these levers act
on pivots that are fastened into a low brick wall, but parallel to the
axis and at the distance of about two feet from it. At the further
extremity of each lever, and perpendicular to it, is fixed a hollow
pestle, directly over a large mortar of stone or iron sunk into the
ground; the other extremity extending beyond the wall, being pressed
upon by the cogs of the axis in its rotation, elevates the pestle,
which by its own gravity falls into the mortar. An axis of this kind
sometimes gives motion to 15 or 20 levers.’
Meantime the stubble is burnt on the land, over which the ashes are
spread as its only manure; a second crop is immediately sown, and
reaped about the end of October, when the straw is left to putrify
on the ground, which is allowed to rest till the commencement of the
ensuing spring.
As the cereal food of the Chinese is principally boiled rice, it
stands to reason that bakers are not numerous, bread only appearing at
the tables of high-class mandarins. It is chiefly replaced by fancy
biscuits and numberless kinds of pastry, made not only with wheaten
flour, but also that of rice—these serve as vehicles for the various
jams and fruit _compotes_ for which the Chinese are famous, and which
they know so well how to make; in fact, the bakers are more strictly
confectioners, and they can be seen any day busy in their shops baking
cakes of rice flour and ground almonds of every imaginable shape and
varied in quality by spices. Not only so, but these cakes are sold,
already baked, in the peripatetic cookeries which go about the streets.
Out of wheaten flour they make a kind of vermicelli, which is much
esteemed by the Chinese.
Failure of the rice crops, and consequent famine in Japan, have been
the means of introducing wheaten flour into this country more rapidly
than anything else could have done. Most remarkable is the universal
favour that bread and similar floury concoctions are beginning to
enjoy in the treaty ports. This article of food has become completely
Japanized, and sells in forms unknown to Europeans. _Tsuke-pau_,
sold by peripatetic vendors, who push their wares along in a tiny
roofed hand-cart, is much liked by the poorer classes. It consists of
slices—thick, generous slices—of bread dipped in soy and brown sugar,
and then fried or toasted. Each slice has a skewer passed through it,
which the buyer returns after demolishing the bread.
Flour is now used in many other ways besides the manufacture of simple
bread. There is _Kash-pau_, cake bread, which is sold everywhere. As
the name implies, it is a sort of sweet breadstuff made into cakes of
various sizes and artistic figures, according to the skill and fancy
of the baker. To an European palate this _Kash-pau_ is rather dry and
tasteless, but it is very cheap, and for five _sen_ (three-halfpence)
a huge paper bagful can be bought. _Kasuteira_, or sponge cake, is not
so much sought after as it used to be. Yet some bakeries, such as the
_Fugetsu-do_ and _Tsuboya_, excel in producing the lightest and most
delicious sponge cake.
Millet, in China, is only used as food by the very poor.
Wheat is not the primary article of food among the natives of India,
and hitherto only enough has been produced for home consumption; but of
late years much has been grown for export, and being of a particularly
hard nature is useful for mixing with the softer kinds. Still, it is
used by itself, and is made into unleavened cakes called _Chupatees_.
These are made by mixing flour and water together, with a little salt,
into a paste or dough, kneading it well; sometimes _ghee_ (clarified
butter) is added. They may also be made with milk instead of water.
They are flattened into thin cakes with the hand, smeared with a small
quantity of _ghee_, and baked on an iron pan, or sheet of iron, over
the fire.
Historic, too, is the _Chupatee_, for by its means the message was
sent round throughout the length and breadth of British India for the
rising against the English rule—known as the Indian Mutiny. Its true
meaning was not at first understood, as we may read in the Indian
correspondence of the _Times_, dated Bombay, March 3, 1857: ‘From
Cawnpore to Allahabad, and onwards towards the great cities of the
North-West, the _chokedars_, or policemen, have been of late spreading
from village to village—at whose command, or for what object, they
themselves, it is said, are ignorant—little plain cakes of wheaten
flour. The number of cakes, and the mode of their transmission, is
uniform. _Chokedar_ of village A enters village B, and, addressing
its _chokedar_, commits to his charge two cakes, with directions to
have other two similar to them prepared; and, leaving the old in his
own village, to hie with the new to village C, and so on. English
authorities of the districts through which these edibles passed looked
at, handled, and probably tasted them; and finding them, upon the
evidence of all their senses, harmless, reported accordingly to the
Government. And it appears, I think, with tolerable clearness, that the
mysterious mission is not of political but of superstitious origin;
and is directed simply to the warding off of diseases, such as the
choleraic visitation of twelve months ago, in which point of view it
is noteworthy and characteristic, and not unworthy to be remembered
together with last year’s grim and picturesque legend of the horseman,
who rode down to the river at dead of night and was ferried across,
announcing that the pestilence was in his train.’
_Apropos_ of Indian flour, Col. Meadows Taylor, in _The Story of My
Life_, tells a story anent the adulteration of flour in India.
‘During that day my tent was beset by hundreds of pilgrims and
travellers, crying loudly for justice against the flour-sellers,
who not only gave short weight in flour, but adulterated it so
distressingly with sand that the cakes made with it were uneatable,
and had to be thrown away. That evening I told some reliable men of my
escort to go quietly into the bazaars and each buy flour at a separate
shop, being careful to note whose shop it was.
‘The flour was brought to me. I tested every sample, and found it
full of sand as I passed it under my teeth. I then desired that all
the persons named in my list should be sent to me with their baskets
of flour, their weights and scales. Shortly afterwards they arrived,
evidently suspecting nothing, and were placed in a row seated on the
grass before my tent.
‘“Now,” said I gravely, “each of you is to weigh out a ser (two pounds)
of your flour,” which was done. “Is it for the pilgrims?” asked one.
‘“No,” said I quietly, though I had much difficulty to keep my
countenance. “You must eat it yourselves.”
‘They saw that I was in earnest, and offered to pay any fine that I
imposed.
‘“Not so,” I returned, “you have made many eat your flour; why should
you object to eat it yourselves?”
‘They were horribly frightened, and, amid the jeers and screams of
laughter of the bystanders, some of them actually began to eat,
spluttering out the half-moistened flour, which could be heard
crunching between their teeth. At last some of them flung themselves on
their faces, abjectly beseeching pardon.
‘“Swear!” I cried, “swear by the Holy Mother in yonder temple that you
will not fill the mouths of her worshippers with dirt! You have brought
this on yourselves, and there is not a man in all the country who will
not laugh at the _bunnais_ (flour-sellers) who could not eat their own
flour because it broke their teeth.”
‘So this episode terminated, and I heard no more complaints of bad
flour.’
The Indian flour mill is very primitive, consisting of two great
mill-stones, of which the lower is fast, and the upper is usually
turned by two women, who feed the wheat by handfuls into a hole which
passes through the stone. The meal so obtained is simply mixed with
palm yeast, and baked in very hot ovens, which have been heated for
several days. The small European householder finds it more convenient
to patronise the Mohammedan bakers, of whom, however, the bread has to
be ordered in advance. Sometimes two or three English families combine,
and hire a baker, paying him a monthly salary, and providing him with
the raw material.
The yeast mentioned above is made from the sap of the date palm. In
April, before the flowers appear, a Hindoo climbs the naked trunk—for
the leaves, as in all palm trees, are borne on the top. The man’s feet
are bound together by a rope, and about his hips are fastened two pots
for the reception of the sap. As he climbs, he calls out, ‘_Darpor,
darpor ata hain_,’ which, being interpreted, means, ‘The palm-tapper
is coming.’ This is for the benefit of the Mohammedan women who might
be sitting unveiled in the courtyards of the houses exposed to the
view of the climber after he has risen above the tops of the walls. A
tapper who once fails to give this warning cry is thenceforth forbidden
to ply his trade. When the tapper has reached the crown of the tree he
cuts two gashes in opposite sides of the trunk with an axe, which he
has carried up in his mouth. Then he fastens the pots under the gashes
and descends. The full pots are taken away and empty ones put in their
place twice daily. The sap has a sweet taste, and contains some alcohol
even when fresh. After standing in the sun in great earthen pots for a
few days it begins to ferment, after which it deposits a thick white
substance. This, taken at the proper time, is used as yeast.
But rice is, in India, the staff of life, being used to a greater
extent than any grain in Europe. It is, in fact, the food of the
highest and the lowest, the principal harvest of every climate. Its
production, generally speaking, is only limited by the means of
irrigation, which is essential to its growth. The ground is prepared
in March and April; the seed is sown in May and reaped in August. If
circumstances are favourable there are other harvests, one between July
and November, another between January and April. These also sometimes
consist of rice, but more commonly of other grain or pulse. In some
parts millet is used as food. Many are the ways of cooking rice—there
are powder of cucumber seeds and rice, lime juice and rice, orange
juice and rice, jack fruit and rice, rice and milk, and sweet cakes
made of rice flour, with or without green ginger.
The Bombay baker is a man of a different stamp altogether to the Bengal
baker. He is invariably a Goanese and a native Christian, and adopts
his profession not from choice but by heredity. For generations past
his fathers have been bakers, and have, in accordance with the rules
of the Society of Bakers, to which they must have belonged, studied
some portion at least of the art of manufacturing bread. The Bombay
baker is, moreover, a man of substance. To begin with, he grows his own
wheat, and has it conveyed to his factories, where as many as 200 hands
are employed in converting it into raw material for cooking. He retains
a staff of _chefs_, who also hail from Goa, and who attend exclusively
to the baking. Greater comparative intelligence and a love for his
trade enable him to turn out a far superior article to that of his
ignorant contemporary in Upper India; but even in Bombay the same fault
has to be found with the manufacturer: either the bread is too fine, or
it is too ‘brown’—that is, it contains too much bran.