The dark side of the moon cake.

The legendary moon cake is right up there with fruit cake.

So what is this moon cake furry all about? Turns out these cakes are steeped in a really wonderful Chinese tradition, the Mid-Autumn (Moon) Festival. This festival romantically celebrates the first moon of autumn and has its roots buried somewhere back 3,000 years (get the Tolstoy def @ wikipedia). 

Native Shanghaiese will tell you it’s a special time to find a nice quiet place to watch autumn’s first moonrise with the closest of loved ones and share the puck-like cakes. Our vision, a small pool at a river's edge perfectly reflecting the starry heavens, under a gently swaying willow, as the river tranquilly slides by. A giant, golden moon on the rise soon overshadows the small, dim, paper globe lanterns.

Ah hmm, we got a late start, this year. We're settling for a clear view of the river's edge from the 18th floor.

Moon Festival all sounds really nice and sweet as I learn more. Sharing the evening and traditional cakes is the one-way Chinese swear by, to ensure life-long happiness with your most cherished.

“Cool”, I thought, “This is the sort of holiday that allows for natural charm and wit to take over. Now all I have to do is get my hands on a few of these little golden cakes. How hard can that be?”

To make an acute point regarding degree of difficulty, ‘ ever wait in line during the Christmas season to get your very own HoneyBaked® Ham in the early 1980s before you realized that you also had to have ordered it three weeks in advance?

It’s the Sunday before this year’s Monday celebration, Kris, K8 and I set out to procure the lunar delicacies. Let it be known that we were not armed with the fore mentioned information.

As we approached our destination, the holy slab of Shanghai retail, an eight storied, one square block, alpha structure, called Super Brands Mall (no, I didn’t name it), I’m feeling lucky. Hundreds of people pass me by toting bags with boxes full of the dense cakes. Everyone is in on this act, Donut King (China’s Dunkin’ Donuts), small convenience stores, Starbucks, not one to miss an opportunity jumped-in with an eight cake commemorative box that nearly cost a trip to the moon, then there’s Ichido a confectioner and bakery, and finally, the real “legitimatizer” Häagen-Dazs.

When all said and done over one hundred million will likely be consumed in Shanghai alone. This estimate is based on a pre-festival estimate of eight million boxes (with an average eight cakes per box) being consumed in Guangzhou* a city about half the size of Shanghai – In one weekend. Did I just hear McDonald’s whimper?

Now I understand why the Chinese government decided to levy a tax on moon cakes (maybe the US should think about making Mid-Autumn (Moon) Festival a national/taxable holiday too).

It struck me that this was going to be easier than I thought.

As we enter the mall and jump on an escalator, a gentleman ahead of us has one of the ornately decorated bags from Häagen-Dazs. I tap him against Kris’ better judgment and in my best, broken Chinese-mime, I ask where he got it. He painstakingly takes the time to direct me in a more eloquent Chinese-mime (I have a lot to learn). Soon we are heading to the “latest thing” the pop-up Häagen-Dazs moon cake store! What luck. We arrive and there is no one in the velvet rope cattle call. I can still see stacks of boxes and pre-packed bags of boxes full of the cakes. Are we good or what?

As we approach the counter we look over the price list and we decide on a medium size box. A well-meaning Häagen-Dazs girl greets us. She asks me something and I point to the menu item that we had decided upon. She asks me something again and I point again. This goes on for about a minute and finally, I draw her a picture thinking this will end all confusion. She shakes her head no and I’m starting to think, "this girl doesn’t want anyone who doesn't look like her to have any of these Häagen-Dazs cakes!" My irreverence bubbling up mentally, “No way am I going to the 7-11 for moon cakes.”

Suddenly, another of the Häagen-Dazs associates shows Kris a small slip of paper. 

Then it becomes clear. No ticket. No moon cakes.

(Days later I learn that opportunistic schemers have turned moon cake vouchers into derivatives earning 20%.)

The second girl says in Basic English “you get ticket?”

“Yes, yes I want to buy a ticket.”
Then she says “No, you buy ticket at Häagen-Dazs.” 
Incredulously, “Isn’t this Häagen-Dazs?”
“No. Häagen-Dazs, outside.”
K8 saves the day (not to mention me from doing time), "I saw a Häagen-Dazs shop outside when we came in!"

Down we go four stories of escalators, braving the swollen crowds at the mall entrance reminiscent of December 24, at Macy’s on 34th. We make it outside, recomposed to secure our ticket and get back to the temple of moon cake. We get to the moon cake gatekeepers and try to find someone to help. Finally, someone to sell us our very own moon cake ticket approaches and affirms our intentions. As this new moon cake Venus attempts to execute the transaction her boss, a very stern woman, nixes the deal. I should have known, every institution has its Nurse Mildred Ratched. She admonishes Venus de Moon Cakes, who shyly informs us that there are no more moon cake tickets.

Kris reminds me “this is China.”
Exasperated “Brilliant!”

As we leave Häagen-Dazs we hit the Donut King a few doors down – they’re sold out. I refuse to consider 7-11 for anything other than a Slurpee or a cheap cigar. 

One last chance, Ichido.

A friendly and ambitious manager eager to exhibit his English (and pretty good at that) helps us. He informs us that we don’t need a ticket! He goes even further explaining that there is the traditional Chinese moon cake and the Shanghaiese version filled with coconut, which is sweeter (and frankly to a sugar freak, looks a heck of a lot more appetizing). Bowing to pressure to be the traditional romantic on our first Moon Festival I opt for the red bean, lotus root and white bean filled cakes. This conscientious manager even describes how to formally address the card on the hot pink box when making a gracious contribution at a Mid-Autumn (Moon) Festival. As mundane visions of properly constructed Chinese characters sedate me, I am awoken by the cha-ching of the cash register. Giddily, I pay without even considering the price how could I? Ichido saved the day!

Finally, Monday is here, it’s time to share the moon cakes.

K8 is already reminding that she doesn’t want the red bean filled cakes because those didn’t taste good at school. Now I’m a moon cake connoisseur with X-ray vision. Doing my best to avoid the red bean cakes, I cut into one, and then another, and another before revealing the luminescent, white bean filled moon cake. Turns out K8 doesn’t like white bean filled moon cakes either. Kris abdicates based on not eating sugar. Bravely, I try it, expecting the consistency of a moist cake only to be greeted by a mouth full of seemingly dry, mashed potatoes.

Uhmm well, swallowing hard, this is different.

Not convinced that I had spent 90 minutes in hot pursuit only to be underwhelmed, I tried the red bean cake with what looks like a quail’s egg yoke embedded in it – that’s a real prize. The semi-bitter, briny taste of the pasty, hard-boiled yoke balanced against the earthiness of an almost granular, dry, red bean paste is wasted on my uncultured palate and recoiling taste buds.

Being a hopeless romantic (K8 burps), I refuse to believe my highest hopes for luscious, sweet, moon cakes has been disrupted by what can be best described, as an anemic savory tart. Next year, I am committed to having a quaint little spot by the river staked out and my Häagen-Dazs tickets early.

Being a capitalist, I'll also try to work a deal with Pivot Capital Management – there may be a lucrative short to be had. 

* – Want China Times. 

© 2011 Karl Shaffer