From ‘lucky jellyfish’ to ‘Neptune sauce’, good fortune in the Year of the Dragon is really a family reunion at the same table

COMMENTARY, Feb 15 — Chinese New Year is all about coming together for our reunion meal.

For some of us this is the time we most look forward to every year. For other families, it might be a happy occasion to add new members to the ever-expanding clan.

For my family, it’s been a tradition to allow everyone a break from the kitchen and to reserve a private room at our regular Chinese restaurant well in advance.

This year, we are more than amused that the menu had its own name: Lóng Nián Dàjí or “Good Fortune in the Year of the Dragon.”

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Fresh crab meat and pumpkin sauce served with deep fried ‘mantou’.

Just all of us busy bees gathered together around the same table is good fortune already, is a great start to a new year already.

Once everyone is seated, the servers promptly bring a huge platter of rainbow-hued ingredients to our table. It’s the requisite yee sang to kick things off.

Names, as we have established, are important. So this is no mere yee sang but hóngyùn hǎizhē fācái lāo shēng. “Lucky jellyfish brings wealth and livelihood.”

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Who can say no to that? To gild the lily further, we make a point of shouting out auspicious sayings as we toss the yee sang and splatter the table with every shade of the rainbow.

Steamed deep sea cod with homemade soy sauce and fried garlic.

“Lóng mǎ jÄ«ng shén!” (May you always be full of energy and in good spirits!)

“Cái yuán gǔn gǔn!” (May wealth keep pouring in!)

“Hóng yùn dāng tóu!” (May good fortune be upon you!)

“HuángjÄ«n mǎn dì!” (“May gold cover the ground around you!)

“Nián nián yǒu yú!” (Wishing you abundance every year!)

We follow up our raucous lou sang session with something equally fun though less prone to mess making. The jīn zhī xiān xiè ròu bàn xiǎohuā bāo or fresh crab meat and pumpkin sauce served with deep fried mantou.

Who can resist the pleasurable task of dipping these “flower buns” into the unctuous golden gravy? We are all children again, tearing the crust apart and allowing the fluffy crumb to soak up all the crustacean goodness.

No proper Cantonese meal is complete without steamed fish. Instead of grouper or tilapia, Chinese New Year calls for a fish we don’t eat that often. The natural sweetness of īn suàntóu chōu zhēng shēnhǎi xuěyú or steamed deep sea cod with homemade soy sauce and fried garlic reminds us that basic isn’t never boring.

Classic charcoal roasted suckling pig.

Time for something truly impressive — the jīngdiǎn tàn kǎo cuì pí quán rǔ zhū or classic charcoal roasted suckling pig. The entire piglet is cooked whole and then carefully sliced, each perfect square a crispy wafer with a layer of melt-in-the-mouth fat beneath.

This is a dish fit for an emperor, and there is nothing more majestic than the common folk, really. The simple life is more precious than gold, rarer than rubies.

Something different — zìzhì hǎi huáng jiàng chǎo hǎi lúsǔn or stir-fried sea asparagus with homemade Neptune sauce. We are uncertain what constitutes a “Neptune sauce” but it does taste of the sea, briny as oysters and as provocative as Poseidon.

It’s a tradition; every Chinese New Year there’s sure to be a dish that confuses everyone’s palate. Perhaps this is why these are known as limited edition offerings or seasonal dishes; we don’t expect to see it making a repeat appearance next year.

Stir-fried sea asparagus with homemade Neptune sauce.

Laughter in the New Year is a must and therefore, so are prawns. Their name in Cantonese ha mimics the sound of mirth and merriment — Ha Ha Ha!

And so the next dish has to fit the bill: xiān mángguǒ yāo dòu sū zhà xiā qiú or crispy fried shrimp balls with fresh mango and cashews. Crunchy, sweet and nutty — as balanced as a life well lived.

The pièce de résistance for most of us (or the men of our family, at any rate, given the ladies are more conservative with their carbohydrate intake) is the xiānggǎng é gān rùn cháng là kǒuwèi fàn. Fragrant rice with Hong Kong preserved meats (including a foie gras sausage, for those who lean towards literal translations).

The aromatic oils, the fatty waxed meats, and the flavourful grains of rice infused with the very essence of the ingredients. Those of us who proudly answer to the title fan tong (“rice bin” in Cantonese) cannot resist a big bowl of these starches (nor a second and a third, truthfully).

Crispy fried shrimp balls with fresh mango and cashews.

All meals must finish eventually. And a sumptuous repast like this calls for a proper sweet ending. Instead of anything lavish or luxurious, we complete our reunion with something far more down to earth — a simple tongsui.

A Cantonese dessert for a Cantonese family.

With a bit of a tweak, however, adjusting for everyone’s increasing concern with health and expanding waistlines. (Let us momentarily ignore all the previous courses; a feast is meant to be decadent, after all.)

We are served sensibly sized bowls of dītáng huá hétáo hú or low sugar smooth walnut paste. To be honest, we don’t really miss the full onslaught of a standard sugar rush; life is sweet enough when you are surrounded by your loved ones.

Fragrant rice with Hong Kong preserved meats.

To be with your family (and, perhaps, family-to-be) on a joyous occasion such as this, to celebrate and share a meal together, that is the best blessing and we could not ask for more.

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