We’re shaking up our longstanding Pop Cantonese series by inviting author Eva Wong Yi to offer her take on distinctly Cantonese expressions. Wong is known for her Chinese-language short stories, including the collections Ways to Love in a Crowded City (擠迫之城的戀愛方法) and The Four Seasons of Lam Yip (林葉的四季).
My friend Fiona, a seasoned history museum docent, once showed me what the proverbial “gap of the stove” (灶罅 zou3 laa3) looks like in real life. In case you didn’t grow up as a Chinese woman among Chinese elders who constantly reminded you of your worrisome marital prospects, the “gap of the stove” refers to a space in the family kitchen where spinsters end up metaphorically wedged in forever, unwanted and left over, with no other place to be in society since they have no marital home to move to.
The phrase sip3 zou3 laa3 (攝灶罅, wedged in the gap of the stove) has long been used to warn unmarried women of their lonesome, miserable future. The phrase is so old that the word zou3 (灶, stove) is no longer used to describe current stoves: it evokes the imagery of wood burning brick stoves from pre-electricity days, something that have long disappeared from urban life in our current age of air fryers, induction cookers, and food delivery apps.
To find a physical relic of this historical gap of the stove, Fiona took me to Ching Shu Hin, a Grade I Historic Building in Ping Shan that dates back to the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911). Ching Shu Hin once provided accommodation to renowned scholars and other guests visiting the adjacent Kun Ting Study Hall, where young Tang clansmen received traditional private education in preparation for the Imperial Civil Service Examinations and officialdom.
In the kitchen of this faculty residence, Fiona drew our attention to the built-in brick stove with no opening at the front or sides: how would firewood be added or removed mid-cooking when the three top holes of the stove were occupied by pots and woks? She walked us to the back of the stove and showed us the hollowed out area at the bottom. Maidens used to stand here between the kitchen wall and the back of the stove to maneuver firewood while the chefs worked at the front, she said. Standing in the three-foot space between the stove and the wall, I suddenly realised I had casually walked into an actual gap of the stove.
The gap was way wider than I expected it to be. I didn’t have to suck in my stomach or even turn to my side to wiggle in (攝 sip3). The experience felt loaded with metaphoric meaning, especially given how easy it was to waltz into the gap. Falling into the gap, or ending up sip3 zou3 laa3, was never meant to be this casual: the phrase is often used as a curse on single women, an I-told-you-so waiting to come true, a cautionary tale scaring women into lowering their standards and marrying themselves off before they become maai6 zing6 ze3 (賣剩蔗, sugar cane left unsold) or lo4 dai2 caang2 (籮底橙, undesirable oranges at the bottom of the basket).
“Say No to Marriage (唔嫁)” was the theme song of the 1951 Cantonese opera movie She Says No to Marriage (唔嫁), directed by Chiang Wai-kwong, and a very popular tune throughout the Cantonese speaking world at the time. In the duet, Fong Yim-fan expressed her character’s determination to not marry, citing how fed up she was with men’s lies. Lee Hoi-chuen (singer and father of Bruce Lee) had significantly fewer lines in the song, all of which puts down her choice to stay single, reminds her that her youth will one day run out, and that if she insists she won’t marry, sau1 mei5 jan1 zyu6 jiu3 sip3 zou3 laa3 (收尾因住要攝灶罅) – beware of ending up wedged in the gap of the stove. She responds with dignity and conviction to earn her own living through hard work. “I don’t want men’s riches nor their sweet talk,” she says. “I’m determined I won’t marry.”
Financial independence allowed Fong’s character to not have to rely on men, a sentiment shared by Yam Kim-fai’s character in her duet with Leung Sing-poh. In Chiang’s 1953 Cantonese Opera movie That’s for my Love (我為情), Yam plays a “self-combed woman” (自梳女 zi6 so1 neoi2) who declared lifelong celibacy. In “Song of the Self-combed Women (自梳女訴情),” she sings with fellow hardworking washerwomen about the freedoms of being single. “A poor husband puts you in poverty but a rich one puts you in fear of financial ruin,” they sing. “Marriage means in-laws who will never stop finding fault in your cooking,” they concur. “Ever since I was a child I hated putting up with others, so supporting myself through hard work is way better than suffering in a marriage,” Yam sings.
Then, Leung Sing-poh arrives in drag, telling the washerwomen they were naïve for not wanting to marry. “You’ll be all alone in bed every night, with no one to care for you when you’re old and sick,” he sings derisively. Yam shuts him down: “I am used to being alone, and don’t you worry about me not having someone to plan my funeral as long as I have money!” He teases: “Too bad you won’t be having any children!” In her celebrated deep voice, Yam rebuts: “I don’t care, and I can always buy one!”
These female Cantonese opera superstars influenced their contemporaries’ ideas of marriage with their songs, showing women they can have a place in society beyond the family kitchen. Watching from our age of fourth-wave feminism, egg-freezing and female world leaders calling out sexist male journalists to their faces, I was both surprised by the progressive views of the songs, and saddened that sip3 zou3 laa3 is still used by female celebrities today in self-deprecating jokes when their singlehood is highlighted in media interviews.
In the historical Ching Shu Hin, I emerged from the physical gap between the stove and wall to write a short story called “On Studies and Stove Gaps (讀書與灶罅).” On a visit to Kun Ting Study Hall and Ching Shu Hin, a mother rants to her friend on the phone that her daughter with a Masters degree is likely to end up sip3 zou3 laa3 if she doesn’t find a boyfriend soon. The daughter listens and thinks to herself, “I’d rather comb my hair up and stay celibate if the alternative is to have people like you as my mother-in-law, and I’m going to get a PhD so I can afford a giant gap in the stove with air conditioning, wifi, a huge bookcase and lots of cats.”
I guess even though brick stoves are now obsolete, certain stories about the problematic idea of getting wedged behind them still need to be told.