I just finished writing Year of the Dog ! It had a massive plot hole that I had to fix which turned out to be more work than I expected. Here’s a snippet: “Hey, Auntie Nell.” He wrapped his arms around her, bussing her on the cheek and breathing in pikake flowers and shortbread cookies. And suddenly he was nine years old again, and her solid presence had made his chaotic world stable once more. “What are you doing here?” He usually took her to dinner on Wednesday nights, but today was Tuesday. The edges of her smile faltered a little before brightening right back up again. “What, I can’t visit my nephew?” She angled around him to enter his home. “Is this your new house? Looks lovely.” Which was a blatant lie, because the fixer-upper was barely livable, much less acceptable to a neat-freak like his aunt. She also left four matching pink and purple floral suitcases on the stoop behind her. Only then did Ashwin notice the cab driver standing slightly to the side of the walkway. “Can ...
Captain's Log, Supplemental
I’ve always loved sautéed “pea greens” at Chinese restaurants. They have a yummy, slightly nutty flavor, mild, that reminds me of young broccoli.
However, seeing as I can’t speak Chinese, and most Chinese Nationals will not recognize the English “pea greens,” I usually only have them when I’m with my Chinese-speaking friends.
It never occurred to me to try to search for info on pea greens on the web, but in the book I’m working on now, The Lone Rice Ball, the heroine speaks Cantonese. She’s also a health nut and despite indulging in carb-laden Chinese food in this scene, she’d certainly order some vegetables to balance things, as it were.
I finally found out what pea greens are called in Chinese:
In Mandarin: dou miao (dough meow)
In Cantonese: dau miu (dow as in “down” minus the n, mee-you)
Don’t even ask me what the pitched tones ought to be, but that’s the words, at least.
Since my heroine, Venus, speaks Cantonese, she orders dau miu at the restaurant. She also gets the larger, more mature pea greens (here) rather than the small, young pea shoots (the first picture above). Both taste yummy, although the larger pea greens might have more fiber.
(My husband understands a teeny bit of Taishan, which is another Chinese dialect, but he doesn’t know what pea greens are called in Taishan.)
Eating Asia also had an interesting blog post about pea greens. I totally didn’t know anything about them until I read this.
One website article on Dou Miao Information mentioned that their friends just said “dough meow” and a Chinese waiter understood what they were asking for, even without the correct tone. So, maybe there’s hope for me yet the next time we go out to eat Chinese food.

However, seeing as I can’t speak Chinese, and most Chinese Nationals will not recognize the English “pea greens,” I usually only have them when I’m with my Chinese-speaking friends.
It never occurred to me to try to search for info on pea greens on the web, but in the book I’m working on now, The Lone Rice Ball, the heroine speaks Cantonese. She’s also a health nut and despite indulging in carb-laden Chinese food in this scene, she’d certainly order some vegetables to balance things, as it were.
I finally found out what pea greens are called in Chinese:
In Mandarin: dou miao (dough meow)
In Cantonese: dau miu (dow as in “down” minus the n, mee-you)
Don’t even ask me what the pitched tones ought to be, but that’s the words, at least.

(My husband understands a teeny bit of Taishan, which is another Chinese dialect, but he doesn’t know what pea greens are called in Taishan.)
Eating Asia also had an interesting blog post about pea greens. I totally didn’t know anything about them until I read this.
One website article on Dou Miao Information mentioned that their friends just said “dough meow” and a Chinese waiter understood what they were asking for, even without the correct tone. So, maybe there’s hope for me yet the next time we go out to eat Chinese food.
Comments
just thought i'd share :)