Hong Kong’s vanishing sweet treats: Dragon’s Beard Candy and Ding Ding Tong

Hong Kong, a city where East meets West, is known for its vibrant culture, skyscrapers, and bustling streets. However, beneath its modern facade lies a culinary tradition that speaks volumes about its past – and some of that past is slowly fading. Among the many treasures are two beloved sweet treats: dragon’s beard candy and ding ding tong. These aren’t just desserts; they are pieces of history that symbolize the craftsmanship and heritage of Hong Kong.

At his humble stall in Kingswood Richly Plaza in Tin Shui Wai, located in Hong Kong’s New Territories, Tam Tat-ming, one of the last remaining makers of dragon’s beard candy, preserves this sweet tradition with every piece he makes. His dedication to the craft is not just about creating a product but keeping a memory alive for future generations. And it’s no simple task.

The art of making dragon’s beard candy

Imagine sugar transformed into silk-like threads, wrapped around a filling of roasted peanuts, sesame seeds, and sometimes shredded coconut. That’s dragon’s beard candy, a treat as delightful to watch being made as it is to eat. The process of creating it requires skill, patience, and precision, qualities that Tam has mastered over years of dedication.

At the heart of dragon’s beard candy is a simple, pliable sugar ring. In Tam’s gloved hands, this ring is stretched, folded, and stretched again until it becomes thinner and thinner. Tam deftly repeats this motion 13 times, each fold multiplying the strands of sugar until they become finer than human hair. In a matter of minutes, the sticky mass is transformed into delicate, fluffy strands, as white as cotton wool, ready to encase the flavourful filling.

But don’t let the simplicity of the process fool you. Achieving the right consistency for the sugar is an art in itself. It must be soft enough to stretch, yet strong enough not to snap. One misstep, and the whole batch could be ruined. This meticulous method is what makes dragon’s beard candy so special – and so rare.

Tam reminisces about how the candy was once a common sight at street stalls throughout Hong Kong. Now, however, he is one of the few remaining masters of the craft, and the demand has dwindled, leaving dragon’s beard candy at risk of becoming a mere memory. Still, Tam continues, driven by passion and a sense of duty to preserve this sweet piece of history.

Why the decline?

Much like many traditional arts and crafts, dragon’s beard candy faces an uphill battle against modernity. Mass-produced sweets and globalised snack brands have taken over the market, offering convenience that handmade candies like Tam’s cannot match. Younger generations often favour new, trendy desserts over traditional ones, leaving little room for the labour-intensive process required to make dragon’s beard candy.

However, there’s more to the decline than just changing tastes. The complexity of the craft deters potential successors. Younger artisans are hesitant to take up the mantle, possibly due to the time and dedication it demands. The risk of the art dying out is real, which is why Tam’s persistence is even more remarkable.

Ding ding tong: A nostalgic treat with a unique name

Another iconic sweet in Hong Kong’s history is ding ding tong, a hard, brittle toffee made from maltose, sugar, and ginger. The name, “ding ding tong,” comes from the sound of the hammer tapping on the hardened candy as street vendors chip off pieces to sell to eager customers.

Ding ding tong may not be as visually mesmerizing to create as dragon’s beard candy, but it is equally nostalgic. It harks back to a time when children would crowd around candy stalls, listening for the telltale “ding ding” that signalled freshly cut toffee. Today, much like dragon’s beard candy, it has become a rarity in a city that has increasingly embraced mass-produced sweets.

Unlike dragon’s beard candy, ding ding tong doesn’t require the same dexterity or finesse, but it does demand patience. After boiling the maltose and sugar mixture, it is poured onto a surface to cool and harden. Vendors then use a small hammer to break the toffee into manageable pieces, each one infused with a mild ginger flavour. Though it sounds simple, the skill lies in the perfect timing – cooking the sugar too long or too short can ruin the candy’s texture.

A taste of the past, a challenge for the future

Both dragon’s beard candy and ding ding tong serve as edible reminders of Hong Kong’s past. They carry with them a sense of nostalgia and an emotional connection to the city’s culinary roots. But as modernity continues to shape Hong Kong’s food landscape, these traditional sweets face an uncertain future.

The labour-intensive nature of making these treats, coupled with waning demand, means fewer artisans like Tam are willing or able to keep the craft alive. Without a new generation of candy makers to take up the baton, the art of making dragon’s beard candy and ding ding tong could fade into obscurity, much like the street stalls where they were once sold in abundance.

There are efforts, however, to preserve these treats. Cultural festivals, food tours, and workshops sometimes feature demonstrations of how dragon’s beard candy is made, sparking interest in both locals and tourists. These events act as a bridge between the past and present, offering a glimpse into a tradition that may otherwise be forgotten.

Can the next generation save these sweet treats?

While the future of dragon’s beard candy and ding ding tong remains uncertain, there is hope. In a world where everything is becoming digitised and mass-produced, people are beginning to crave authenticity. The slow food movement, which champions traditional cooking methods and local ingredients, could help renew interest in these disappearing sweets.

For the younger generation, there’s a chance to breathe new life into these ancient techniques. By learning from masters like Tam and finding ways to innovate while maintaining the integrity of the craft, they could ensure that dragon’s beard candy and ding ding tong remain a part of Hong Kong’s culinary landscape.

Ultimately, preserving these treats isn’t just about keeping a recipe alive; it’s about holding onto a piece of cultural heritage. Every bite of dragon’s beard candy or ding ding tong carries with it the stories of the people who made them, the history of the streets where they were sold, and the traditions passed down through generations.

As long as there are artisans like Tam, willing to share their knowledge and passion, there’s a chance that Hong Kong’s vanishing sweet treats will continue to be enjoyed for years to come. But the real question remains: will the next generation take up the challenge? Only time will tell.

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