Spicy
Here’s a word-order-changes-grammar-and-semantics riddle to spice up your January, courtesy of some schoolbook of my daughter’s I’ve now lost track of. If you know Chinese, it’s only amusing, not difficult. But in case you’re in the process of learning, I’ll not translate till after the break so you can have fun with the original:
有一个人请三个朋友吃饭，他问：“你们怕不怕辣？” 这几个人立即自夸起来。
第一个人豪爽的回答：“不怕辣！”
第二个人骄傲地说：“辣不怕！”
第三个人，则幽默地说：“怕不辣！”
这三个人，究竟谁不怕辣呢？
OK, and now for translation and discussion:
有一个人请三个朋友吃饭，他问：“你们怕不怕辣？” 这几个人立即自夸起来。
Someone invited three friends to dinner. He asked, “Do you mind spicy food?” [lit: “are you afraid of spicy?”] The three immediately began boasting.第一个人豪爽的回答：“不怕辣！”
The first answered straightforwardly: “I do not fear spicy!”第二个人骄傲地说：“辣不怕！”
The second proudly said: “Spice I fear not!”第三个人，则幽默地说：“怕不辣！”
The third then said facetiously: “I fear it’s not [it won’t be] spicy!”*这三个人，究竟谁不怕辣呢？
Among these three, who actually doesn’t mind spicy food?
Like most jokes, it doesn’t really translate and the reasons seem to be rooted in grammar. Each answer is just a permutation of 不 (bù = not), 怕 (pà = fear), and 辣 (là = spicy hot).
In all three cases the succinctness of the phrase depends on Mandarin’s relative freedom with dropping pronouns in casual conversation. So there’s no “I” to be found. Neither are there any awkward negative statement formations or modals to deal with — contrast my struggling English translations.
The first and second answers combine 不怕 to get “not afraid of” which is a common way of saying you don’t mind something. Then the hinge of the joke is in the third answer, which recombines 不 with 辣 to get “not spicy”. And there you have it: humor worthy of an eight-year-old.
——–
*Update! Important nuance from Davide in the comments:
The three sentences convey three degrees of “not fearing hot”, the first (a normal human being) being less than the second and the second less of the third (evil overlord of chilies).
“不怕辣”的程度小于“辣不怕”，“辣不怕”的程度又小于“怕不辣”。
Thanks, Davide! That’s part of the humor that I forgot to point out.
I’m not quite persuaded that “怕不辣” really qualifies even as schoolyard humor, but I do see a translation problem here — the “spicy” for 辣. Some abbreviated dictionaries do gloss 辣 as “hot (spicy)” but the reference to “spice” (usually in parens) is simply intended to avoid confusion with “hot” in the sense of warmth or high temperature. The excellent iciba online dictionary’s word cluster — “hot, peppery, pungent, burning, stinging, biting (of smell or taste)” — seems closer to the mark. Their entry also notes the extended meaning of 辣 meaning “cruel, ruthless, vicious or venomous.”
The root of our problem is that neither Chinese nor English (or any other Asian or Indo-European language) had a good indigenous word for the sensations caused by eating fruits from plants in the genus Capsicum when they were first introduced to Eurasia. Known in English as chilis or chili peppers (from the Nahuatl word chilli) and in Chinese as 辣椒, chilis were among the most important of the many plants introduced from the New World to Europe and Asia in post-Columbian times, a biological transfer that utterly transformed agriculture and food throughout the world. (Other New World crops which had huge impacts were corn (maize), potatoes, sweet potatoes, and chocolate.)
The important active ingredients in chilis are capsaicin and dihydrocapsaicin, two closely related compounds that selectively bind to a protein on mammalian sensory neurons sensitive to heat and physical abrasion. Contact with capsaicin can cause a burning sensation on sensitive areas of skin, and particularly mucus membranes. Chilis, whose seeds are preferentially dispersed by birds, may have evolved the capacity to produce these chemicals to discourage consumption of their fruit by mammals.
Lacking any indigenous terms for this novel sensation, speakers of Asian and European languages resorted to references to the sensation of burning (hot, searing, etc.) caused by eating chilis or analogy to the milder effects of black pepper (Piper nigrum), Known in Europe since Roman times, black pepper was already popular in China during the Yuan, centuries before chilis were first introduced. Piperine, the active ingredient of both black pepper and long pepper, also activates a heat and acidity sensing ion channel on pain sensing nerve cells, but its effect is much less intense than that of capsaicin.
One explanation for the popularity of chilis in China’s southwest is that a governor of Sichuan during the Ming became persuaded that chilis were an effective anti-malarial agent and ordered that all households must grow a few plants. True of not, it is probable that chilis first entered China via Portuguese traders who first introduced the easily grown seeds into what is now Bangladesh, Burma and Thailand, from whence chilis quickly penetrated into modern-day Yunnan, Sichuan, Chongqing and Hunan.
The “hotness” of chilis is measured in “Scoville Units”. Jalapenos come in at 2,500~9,000 SU, true Cayenne chilis at 30,000~50,000, Thai chilis at 50,000~100,000, and the formidable Naga Jolokia from Assam and Bangladesh at 800,000~1,000,000 SU. Police grade pepper spray scores over 5 million SU. Black pepper doesn’t even rate a mention on the Scoville scale.
In any case, 辣, the Chinese term for the sensation induced by eating chilis has little to do with the English term “spice” or “spicy”. Since ancient times, the English word “spice” (derived from the French espice and related to the Latin term “species”) has been mainly used to refer to seeds, roots, bark or fruit imported from India and southeast Asia as flavoring agents, most importantly nutmeg, black pepper, cinnamon, cumin, ginger and cloves. Chilis, which were not known in Europe or Asia until the 16th Century, are not normally considered to be a spice.
The three sentences convey three degrees of “not fearing hot”, the first (a normal human being) being less than the second and the second less of the third (evil overlord of chilies).
“不怕辣”的程度小于“辣不怕”，“辣不怕”的程度又小于“怕不辣”。
Kudos to Robert, who solved so many doubts I had lingering in my head for years.
Is Robert Skynet?
I came here write:
Indeed, humor worthy of an eight-year-old.
and found Robert had decided to rewrite Wikipedia by hand in the comments. Perhaps I need to step up my game with more more references to the scientific names for things.
@Robert: Nice history! One quibble… I agree that “spicy” is a bit of a mixed semantic bag, and the history is probably exactly as you describe: English-speaking culture coming into contact with an unfamiliar flavor and stumbling around with words to describe it. In my own family this has been the case, in fact. When I was a kid I recall my dad referring to things flavored with chilis as “hot”. But somehow that use of the word was never satisfactory to me. It required too much clarification when you meant things were either hot-spicy or hot-in-temp or both. So I abandoned it and went with spicy, as did many others. Going on intuition here, I think modern speakers of English (at least in America) who use “spicy” to describe the 辣 sensation now outnumber those who use “hot”. Correspondingly, I think fewer and fewer use “spicy” to refer to something that is flavored with “seeds, roots, bark or fruit imported from India and southeast Asia as flavoring agents”. Conclusion: in modern usage, I’d bet a month of Sinoglot subscriptions that a majority of speakers of American English (sorry, know nothing about other Englishes) would use “spicy” to describe dishes in a reasonably similar way to how Chinese use 辣 in describing them (with plenty of fine print on the claim when it comes to 麻辣 and other subtleties).
@Davide: great point about the degree of 辣 tolerance! I’m remiss for not saying it myself. I’ve quoted you up in the post for those who never make it to the comments.
Syz,
It may be correct that a majority of American English-speakers now use “spicy” to describe the 辣 sensation rather than “hot”. I haven’t lived in the US for many years, so I wouldn’t know. But I too have noticed more Americans using the word in this way. And for me, at least, it grates badly.
Perhaps someone in America might be willing to try an alternative test: ask ten people selected at random (more would be better) to name the place (or places) where spices come from. I would lay odds that those answering with various combinations of Asia, India, the East, or Indonesia — the latter being where the real Spice Islands of Ternate, Tidore, Banda, Sumatra and Seram are located — would vastly outnumber those who say “Mexico” or “Central America.” If I’m right, then all is not lost — the word “spice” may have retained at least a subtle palimpsest of its earlier, specific and more useful meaning.
Personally, I think “fiery” is probably a better choice for the English equivalent of 辣 than “hot”, but combining either with “flavor” or “taste” solves the ambiguity problem. Even if a shift in the New World use of the word “spicy” is now underway, I would argue that the useful distinction between “spicy” and “hot” (flavours) has still not yet been irretrievably lost, and that it is one any conscientious speaker (and particularly any translator might want to try to preserve.
To wit:
Lamb rolled in cumin; duck breasts with cardamom and dried fruit; ham rubbed with dry mustard, ground black peppercorns, and studded with cloves; tuna stewed with garlic, nuktmeg and mace; gingerbread/cinnamon cake — these are all spicy, flavours, but not hot ones.
Chicken mole, salsa verde, salsa picante, any Mexican/Central American dish prepared with poblano, ancho, cayenne, or habanero (etc.) chiles, Kaeng phet (Thai red curry), Kaeng khiao wan (Green chili with Thai basil), nam phrik phao (Thai roasted chili paste), as well as 麻婆豆腐, 宫保鸡丁，红油抄手，麻辣湘西牛肉 (and many more dishes from southwestern regional Chinese cuisines), and even the lowly Louisiana Tabasco sauce — these are definitely hot, and also contain other powerful flavourings, but personally I would not call any of these dishes “spicy”.
Whatever a majority of Americans might happen to say.
麻辣, of course, just means both 麻 (“numbing”, from 花椒 (fagara, or Chinese prickly ash (Zanthoxylum piperitum))) and 辣 “hot flavoured”, caused by capsicum chilis, at the same time.
Something tells me I’m probably the only one here who’s read 麻辣鲜妻？Or perhaps I’m the only one who’s friends are 辣妹子s, haha.
One question I have about 辣 stems from the online page of a t-shirt I own (the “辣” from Plastered), which points out that in addition to spicy for food and sexy for ladies, it can also mean “dangerous” for men (though perhaps to keep with the hot theme, maybe “firebrand” would be more appropriate?). However, whilst wearing this shirt in class, I have never had a teacher say “Oh, you much be a dangerous dude,” but rather jokingly say “Oh, you’re looking so seductive” (which was honestly my intent when buying the shirt).
Is this male related usage very common? I hadn’t heard of it until I looked up the shirt for this comment.
The version of the joke I heard makes Davide’s degrees of spiciness clearer. It’s about people from three different provinces known for spicy food, but I can’t remember which three exactly, except that Hunanren are the “怕不辣”, as in, “If it ain’t hotter than all hell, I ain’t eating it”. I think Shaanxiren were the “不怕辣”, as in, “Yeah, I don’t mind a bit of spice”. Now if only I could remember who came in between – Sichuan? Chongqing? Guizhou?
As for pc’s firebrands, when I lived in Changsha locals told me they were proud of Hunan’s revolutionary heritage (Mao Zedong being the obvious example). They said it was all the chilli – puts fire in their blood, you see.
Chris: as far as I know it’s “江西人不怕辣,湖南人辣不怕,四川人怕不辣”
Davide, at the risk of derailing this (but I could use a quick break): That’s a variation on the joke I heard, and I’m sure there are plenty more. But considering all that numbing huajiao in Sichuan food, it could not possibly be accurate to rate Sichuanren as more demanding of spice than Hunanren. Numbing the tongue with all that huajiao is cheating!
Okay, I’ll go straight to the point of answering your question: who doesn’t mind spicy food (when it seems to me nearly all the commenters so far are quibbling over meanings of spicy vs. hot – which it always means ‘hot’ in the context of Chinese translated into English anyway.
If your question is about who of the three doesn’t mind (in the normal English meaning of the word), then the 3rd speaker minds less than the 2nd speaker who minds less than the 1st speaker.
But the word pa4 (怕) isn’t exactly “fear” though. It means afraid as in ‘to be afraid of’ in English in this context. Cantonese is one-up over Mandarin here: ‘fear’ in Cantonese is geng (with a hard g) – and it makes a world of difference.
So, if your question is who fears spicyness/hotness the least, the answer has to be the 3rd speaker fears less than the 1st who fears less than the 2nd. The order of the words makes a world of difference.
Since, however, if your question is about who is less afraid of spicyness, then the answer has to be the 3rd speaker is less afraid than the 1st who is less afraid than the 2nd (who, despite his/her boast, shows signs of being afraid at the prospect of eating hot food).
Personally, who is afraid/fearful is uninteresting to me. What is really interesting is why the other commenters seem to be nitpicking over the meaning of spice/hot. Let’s not be disingenuous here: after all, we all know what ‘spicy’/’hot’ means in Chinese when done into English.
As an aside, I really like the alternative hot-flavoured as suggested by one of the commenters, and it’s an expression I use by default and take from my grandpa.
Quick note in case anyone is interested: ‘hot’ is by far the most popular word in British English.
As a relatively young American, I can’t imagine most people would understand why a person would describe foods with lots of “spices” from places like South Asia as “spicy.”
All food commercials, menus, food boxes, etc are explicit in talking about “herbs and spices”, kind of signifying to me that talking about “spicy” wouldn’t make any sense. Talking about some Indian red curry being spicy doesn’t have anything to do with curry being a spice not native to North America.
Hot and Spicy is a stock phrase, people understand them as synonyms.
If I understand correctly, @transliterationisms is saying that the standard English dictionary definition of “spicey” — “1. containing or abounding in spices 2. Having the flavor or aroma of spice; fragrant, aromatic, or pungent” — is no longer correct. (*See note) This may actually be true in America. From this discussion, it seems apparent that at least some Americans, possibly a majority, do now “understand the words “hot” and “spicy” to be synonymous. Luke’s comment about British usage also supports the idea that using of spicy/spicey to mean “hot flavoured” (the burning sensation from eating chilis) is an American usage.
I wouldn’t dispute that “spicy” in the American sense is likely to expand its acceptance among non-American English speakers over time. That’s all well and good — I’m no lexical prescriptivist, we can make words mean whatever we want them to mean. But it is worth recognizing that this is a neologism (i.e., a new word or a change in meaning of an established word), that the usage is relatively new (not reflected in current dictionaries, even American ones), and that it is still geographically circumscribed. That is, it would probably be a mistake to use “spicy” as a translation for 辣 in a publication aimed at the British, Indian, Hong Kong, or European international markets.)
To a non-American, @transliterations’ statement that he/she “can’t imagine people would understand why a person would describe foods with lots of “spices” from places like South Asia as ‘spicy'” is nearly incomprehensible. For non-Americans, “having lots of spice” remains the precise meaning of the word.
Moreover, @transliterations’ apparent belief that North American usage defines “standard” or correct English is hardly exceptional. This makes sense when one considers that Americans make up 25% of all English speakers in the world (though nothing close to a majority), or if one takes into account the immense impact of American media and cultural products in the global English-speaking community. (English and Chinese are roughly tied as the world’s most widely spoken language — the big difference is that almost all Chinese speakers are Chinese, but less than 6% of English speakers are English/British)
As America’s political and economic power wanes, however, its linguistic influence and ability to impose peculiar usages of its own on other speakers may weaken as well. For writers and translators dealing with international audiences, a dictionary or lexicon that clarifies some of the differences among North American, British and International usage and terminology may become increasingly useful in coming years.
* The definition of “spicy” is taken from an American English dictionary, Webster’s New World Dictionary, 2nd College edition (1982).
Sorry for the any confusion Robert, but when I said, “As an American, I can’t imagine most people would understand”, the “most people” refers to Americans. I understand the “As an American” at the beginning of the sentence was doing double-duty, but I didn’t think it would cause much of a problem.
Similarly, reading over my comments, I don’t know where it is suggested that I believe “North American usage defines “standard” or correct English”. The comments are meant to comment on Americans and the state of America. Again, sorry if that was unclear.
While we’re talking about Englishes, I’m unclear why Canadian English gets lumped into “North American” English with the English spoken in the United States. I don’t find Canadian usage to be the same as US usage.
As for dictionaries, that’s certainly not a topic I want to get into. I have about as much love for modern dictionary producers as (random bad thing ).
Understood, @transliterations; I’m sure your points about American usage are all well taken. I also agree there are significant differences between Canadian and US English, but the consensus among linguists seems to be that Canadian English is situated roughly midway between British and American (Midwestern) English, but moving steadily closer to American English, while in the West. the dialects of British Columbia, Saskatchewan, Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Montana appear to be merging into a common “Pacific Northwest” dialect. So “North American” English may still be a valid category.