Latest news with #mahjong
Wall Street Journal
10-08-2025
- Entertainment
- Wall Street Journal
They Didn't Need a Formal Dining Room. A $127,000 Ladies' Lounge Fit the Bill Instead.
In 2024, a professional-football coach and his wife paid $6 million for a circa-1920s, Mediterranean-style house in Pittsburgh. They wanted durable finishes and informal living spaces for their three kids and a dog, said their interior designer, Colleen Simonds, while flat-screen televisions were a must-have for watching sports. But the wife wanted a dedicated room for the mahjong games she hosts for friends several days a week. So the 40-something couple spent $127,000 transforming a formal dining room into a space for mahjong, said Simonds. The family would eat their meals in the kitchen instead. 'She was very clear from the beginning,' Simonds said, 'that they did not want a formal dining room, and that instead she wanted this ladies' lounge area.'
CBS News
08-08-2025
- Entertainment
- CBS News
Mahjong makes comeback among younger Bay Area crowd, one tile at a time
In a small, dark room above Baba's House restaurant in downtown Oakland, a centuries-old pastime is getting a whole new glow. Here, under black light, hands swirl through a sea of blue and green tiles as twenty-somethings aren't just going out—they're going all in. "It's a fun social activity," said Jenn Lui, the co-owner of 13 Orphans, a speakeasy entirely dedicated to mahjong. "It makes it a little easier to make friends." Mahjong—a Chinese game of tiles, luck, and strategy—was once popular mainly with older generations. "I feel like it's kind of trickling," Luis said, "and now it's like at its peak where everyone's like, 'What is mahjong?'" Now, the game is drawing in a younger crowd looking for a night out that doesn't revolve around phones. Angel Lin, 24, is one of them. She said she never played growing up, and initially, she only came to Baba's House for the karaoke. The mahjong was an afterthought. But after trying it for the first time last fall, she was instantly hooked. "I was always really intrigued by the idea," Lin said. "I think there's a lot of sexy allure to mahjong. There are different pieces—it feels like there's a secret code and language happening here." Mahjong's resurgence isn't limited to the Bay Area. Between 2023 and 2024, the number of mahjong events on ticketing platform Eventbrite surged nearly 180% nationwide. Sort of like gin rummy or poker, the goal is to build a winning hand—four sets of three tiles and a pair. Mahjong coach Agnes Lee explained that sometimes winning depends on more than just luck. "Normally, you have to keep a straight face," Lee said with a laugh. Or maybe you can just call it "mahjong face."
CNN
27-07-2025
- Business
- CNN
Meet the last woman carving mahjong tiles by hand in Hong Kong
Ho Sau-Mei, one of Hong Kong's last mahjong tile carvers, is getting old. 'My eyesight is fading, and my hands are getting sore,' she says brusquely as she chisels the intricate strokes of a Chinese character or the petals of a flower onto a piece of plastic little bigger than a postage stamp. For over four decades, Ho has been carving mahjong tiles in a tiny roadside shop in Hung Hom, an old harborside district that is now seeing the rapid construction of shiny, new residential high-rises. She started learning the craft at age 13 from her father, who founded the family's tile business, Kam Fat Mahjong, in 1962. Masters who would visit Hong Kong during its manufacturing heyday in the 1970s and 80s also shared their techniques and trained apprentices. Ho Sau-Mei carves mahjong tiles at her shop in Hong Kong. Mahjong is a game for four people similar to rummy and is hugely popular across China and among Chinese communities for which it also serves as a cultural ritual and symbol of tradition. Children learn how to play as they spend time with cousins and friends over Lunar New Year, and among the elderly it's popular all year round. Mahjong tiles are traditionally made of wood, ivory or bamboo, with tile makers cutting, polishing, carving and coloring each piece. In the 1960s, there were more than 20 mahjong tile carvers in Hong Kong — and even an association dedicated to the industry. Now most mahjong tiles are mass-produced in factories in mainland China. Mahjong tiles are stacked on a game table in Hong Kong. The craft was listed as an 'intangible cultural heritage' by the Hong Kong government in 2014, which provides funding for research into and preservation of various protected traditions. But less than a handful of mahjong artisans are still around the city, and among them Ho is the only woman left practicing the craft. Minibuses and double-decker buses zoom past the busy road across her dimly lit ground-floor shop beneath a staircase on Bulkeley Street. The store is barely two meters wide with a grimy glass case on the wall that reaches the ceiling filled with faded photographs and stacks of novelty mahjong tiles. Hovering behind Ho's work stool is a shrine that glows a gentle red hue. Ho starts to carve mahjong tiles in the morning. Pictures of Ho can be found inside her shop. Workers from nearby hardware stores and elderly people she's befriended over the years also banter with her. Pedestrians sometimes slow down to observe Ho deep in work hunched over her small working space. Ho's routine has stayed the same even as the neighborhood developed, with mahjong tiles now mostly made by big factories in mainland China. She's usually already seated at the storefront and lays out her tools for the day just before 10 a.m. At 68 years old, Ho says she only works until about noon these days, sighing that she 'doesn't have the stamina' to carve away all day anymore. She could retire if she wanted to, she says, 'but I'll get bored.' She lays out the Bakelite tiles lined neatly on a heavy wooden tray and prepares her specialized tools on the tiny glass display case that serves as her work desk. Tiles are packaged inside Ho's shop in Hong Kong. Ho uses a traditional tool to carve a tile. A complete mahjong set comes with 144 tiles, including the four suits — bamboo, dots, characters, directional winds (north, south, east and west) — and special tiles depicting flowers, dragons and the four seasons. One of Ho's tools resembles a giant corkscrew and is used to drill the concentric circles on one of the rectangles. Using other tools with varying tips and angles, she holds the blank tiles with her calloused thumb and middle finger and masterfully etches the complicated Chinese characters and flower tiles with surgical precision. Ho paints mahjong tiles inside her store. For the penultimate process, Ho brings out vintage jars of paint, their labels weathered by time. 'Don't go away, this part is fast,' Ho tells us. She brushes red, green and blue colors onto the naked tiles, carefully bringing the engraved symbols to life. A full set costs $245 and takes around 10 to 14 days to make by hand. But if you're planning to order a set from Ho, the entire process is still analogue — and somewhat haphazard. The phone rings a few times during the day with a handful of customers inquiring about the orders they've placed. But Ho doesn't really keep track of the orders. A client speaks with Ho and her assistant. Mahjong tiles are seen in front of a small house temple at Ho's shop. There's no online booking system. Everything is done either by phone or in person, and she scribbles the orders down on a notebook that's torn apart at the spine. One caller, a British man who says his wife ordered a set a couple of weeks ago, phones in to check if the set is ready. Ho asks us to help translate. A shop assistant flips through the notebook and searches for the client's phone number. Turns out, one set will be ready the next week, so that's now reserved for them, Ho says. Ho carves tiles at her shop. It takes her about 10 to 14 days to make a full set. Ho applies red paint to tiles. A complete mahjong set comes with 144 tiles. 'I can't keep up with the orders,' she says. 'It's really down to luck and timing. I'm not a machine.' After the phone calls, Ho finishes painting the tiles, layering different colors on some of the suits. Once that's done, the tiles are left to dry for the afternoon and Ho hurriedly starts to close shop. 'I'm still a woman,' she jokes. 'I have to buy groceries and keep the house running.' Back home, she'll make lunch and dinner, maybe watch a bit of TV and rest her hands that she says are giving her more and more trouble after decades of work. Ho's roadside shop is in Hung Hom, an old harborside district of Hong Kong. As Hong Kong moved from a manufacturing hub to a financial center in the 1990s, the mass production of machine-made tiles moved to mainland China. Some sets sell for just 70 Renminbi ($10) direct from wholesalers online. There's a licensed mahjong parlor a few blocks away from Ho's shop, but they buy the tiles from the mainland, according to the manager who was preparing for customers to start rolling in. Ho used to play regularly with her siblings but rarely finds time these days. Occasionally she gets invites from old friends. Tables are seen inside a dedicated mahjong room that's in the same neighborhood as Ho's store. She believes people will keep playing the game, using tiles bought online or sets that were passed down from generations. But she has no interest in training others how to make tiles the traditional way, she says, despite repeated requests she says she's received over the decades from artists and cultural organizations. 'I was just never interested in teaching,' Ho says candidly, determined to work solely at her own pace. Ho could retire if she wanted to, she said, 'but I'll get bored.' 'Every year, students and journalists come to ask me questions, making more people aware of the dying craft,' she said. 'I don't know how much longer I can do this,' she admits. 'But as long as I can still hold the tools, I can still keep doing it.' The next day, she'll be back on her stool, carving another set, one tile at a time.
CNA
18-07-2025
- Business
- CNA
Hong Kong's heritage trades are vanishing. How is it looking to preserve them?
HONG KONG: Cheung Shun King can carve and chisel out a character on a mahjong tile within seconds. The 72-year-old, also known as Uncle King, is among the third generations of artisans in his native Hong Kong making such hand-carved mahjong tiles. 'I think (it) will disappear. It's just a matter of how long it will last. For masters in our generation, there aren't many left in Hong Kong,' he told CNA. The owner of Biu Kee Mahjong, who has been practising his craft since he was 10, said that none of his three children - who have their own careers - will be taking over his business. He did not teach them the skills as he said he does not see a future in the trade. Uncle King added that the younger generation are also not too bothered about the quality of the mahjong tiles. Only the older generation are more particular about buying quality hand-carved mahjong sets, he said. 'Hand-carved mahjong is starting to decline in my generation. That's why the government designated our craft as intangible cultural heritage. If we don't continue doing it, the skill will be lost. I find this very regrettable to witness its disappearance because I am in this field, but the reality is such that I can only accept it,' added Uncle King. Traditional handmade crafts in the city are slowly giving way to technological modernity, as Hong Kong ramps up efforts to transform itself by placing an emphasis on advanced technologies like artificial intelligence. Businesses, practitioners and local authorities are now coming up with ways to preserve and pass on these vanishing crafts to the next generation. PRESERVING CULTURAL HERITAGE In 2014, hand-carved mahjong tiles were recognised as one of Hong Kong's 'Intangible Cultural Heritage' items. Hong Kong's Intangible Cultural Heritage Centre was set up in 2016 to exhibit a variety of traditional crafts. Last year, it organised 1,400 activities such as performances, demonstrations and seminars both within and outside of the premises. Such programmes have attracted more than 130,000 visitors to the centre last year. t hopes to enhance visitors' understanding of Hong Kong's traditional crafts and preserve invaluable pieces of the city's history. 'Intangible cultural heritage is an important part of Chinese history and also (their) tradition, so we want to arouse the people's awareness and their interest in this aspect,' said Celia Shum, a curator at the Intangible Cultural Heritage Office. REVIVING HERITAGE CRAFTS Apart from increasing public awareness of heritage crafts, traditional artisans are also passing on their skills. One traditional craft business that has a succession plan is Yuet Tung China Works, hand-painted porcelain ware shop that is almost a century old. 66-year-old Ruby Tso and her husband, who inherited the family business from his father, currently operate the shop with the help of their daughter Martina. "We depend on her … She's doing many programmes and creating many events,' said Ruby Tso. She added that her daughter also handles the business' social media accounts on Instagram and Facebook, helping with its marketing efforts. 'She promotes the best things of our factory, she encourages young people to visit, to learn,' added the older woman. Forty years ago, the business had about 20 masters drawing and painting porcelain ware, but there are only two artisans left. Martina Tso, who only joined the family business six years ago, said she was not initially keen on continuing the craft as she was pursuing a different career. 'In the past, I felt these were old fashioned. After I went to an exhibition held by the government about this industry, I started to appreciate the business and the craftsmanship in Hong Kong, as this is fading away. I think that is (my) responsibility,' she added. LEAVING A LEGACY FOR THE NEXT GENERATION That sense of responsibility has also prompted birdcage maker Chan Lok Choi, or Master Chan, to conduct workshops and take on apprentices. The 83-year-old craftsman is believed to be the only master left in this trade in Hong Kong. He said he is willing to teach as much of his craft as he can. '(I'm) unlike the old masters in the past, who would keep some tricks to themselves and won't teach their students, as they worry (students would) take away business from them,' added Chan. His students noted that it is important to preserve the craft. Student Elaine Wong said: 'My friends think I am odd when they find out that I am learning how to make birdcages. They think this is something only the older generation would be interested in.' Handmade items have essence and soul, unlike things made with AI, she added. '(The) items carry messages that the craftsman wants to convey and that's something that's irreplaceable,' said Wong. Fellow student Chow Hau Chung said he wishes to impart the traditions to the next generation. 'I may not be the best person to promote and advocate this skill, but I (wish to) teach the next generation … that we once had such a craft,' he added. Yuet Tung's Martina Tso is hoping she can eventually pass on her family's porcelain ware business to her daughter. But challenges remain. When asked by her mother if she was interested in doing so, the 10-year-old's reply was, 'I want to be a YouTuber.'
New York Times
28-06-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Is the Local Weed Store the New Place to Hang Out?
A cannabis dispensary might seem like an unlikely place to play mahjong, the Chinese tile game typically associated with older Asian and Jewish adults, but that's where Leah Flacco showed up on a recent Wednesday evening in Manhattan. The game has grown in popularity with younger generations, so at a table inside Alta Dispensary in NoLIta, Ms. Flacco, 36, shuffled and matched groups of tiles among friends and strangers. The event was one of a growing number taking place at New York's cannabis dispensaries, where retailers have been making space for people to socialize. 'We want more dispensaries to do these sorts of things,' Ms. Flacco, who works in financial technology, said. 'It's hard to make friends in this city.' From intimate classes to block parties, hosting events has given dispensaries in New York a way around rules limiting their ability to market their businesses. As many Americans choose to drink less alcohol and seek connection offline, the activities allow the sellers to offer places where people can gather. Dispensary owners also hope that some of the visitors will become customers and that the events will help their businesses gain acceptance among neighbors who might still hold negative views of cannabis. Meredith Nydam, 37, said she had invited her friends, including Ms. Flacco, to mahjong night because she wanted to do something other than a happy hour. 'I don't need to go to a bar,' Ms. Nydam said. 'I can come here.' Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
