On Food and Being Chinese in America
Photo by Frank Zhang
It took a long time for me to fully embrace and be proud of my culture. I emigrated from Chongqing, China when I was three years old, and the next decade of my life was spent moving from state to state. In most of the places I’ve lived, I was one of the only Asian kids at my school. It was tough. Kids can be mean. I was always made fun of for bringing a pink thermos full of homemade Chinese food to school instead of eating chicken nuggets and cheese pizza like all the other kids. I was told that my mom’s huíguō ròu (twice-cooked pork) looked “disgusting” and that my favorite pork and chive dumplings smelled like a dead animal. Even teachers would sometimes make insensitive remarks, from commenting on the clothes I wore, which often had broken English inscribed onto the fabric, to scrunching their noses at the food I ate.
Eventually, I started secretly skipping lunch and throwing my mom’s food away the second I got to school. I was so concerned with making those around me feel comfortable that I was willing to abandon my culture and my identity to do so. And it wasn’t just me. I would often overhear my parents argue about what to pack for their work lunches. I distinctly remember one day when my dad refused to bring suāncài yú (Sichuanese hot and sour fish) in order to “not offend the coworkers.”
We were walking on eggshells all the time. For my family, this was the reality of being Asian American immigrants: we were strangers in a country where we were full-fledged citizens, trying to live a quiet life without offending anyone with our culture.
Photo by Kevin Vigerie
When I finally began embracing my culture in college, I noticed the foods that kids had once made fun of me for eating were starting to become trendy. Regional Chinese food from places like Xiian, Chengdu and Shanghai were becoming more mainstream. I started seeing things like cumin lamb, Chongqing chicken and soup dumplings pop up on more and more menus. Foodies from all backgrounds were starting to take notice of the depth and diversity of Chinese cuisine. For a while, I thought that times had changed and that being Chinese was no longer something I would constantly be made consciously aware of.
However, when COVID hit, the thin veil of optimism that I had placed over myself was quickly stripped away. From media reports characterizing COVID as the “China virus” to social media commentators characterizing Chinese people as savages for eating bats, the anti-Chinese rhetoric — which quickly morphed into anti-Asian rhetoric — began to undo any progress that I thought I’d seen over the past decade. As the rhetoric escalated into hate and spiraled into violence against Asian Americans, I began questioning my identity again. When a man tried to spit on me on my way to Whole Foods, I thought to myself, “At least he didn’t try to do anything worse.” I began scanning my surroundings more often and became more aware of the space that I was occupying. Once again, I was walking on eggshells.
The events of these past few weeks have broken my heart. The lives that were taken in Atlanta on March 16th were full of promise. Their stories reminded me of my mom, my friends, and the countless other Asian American women I’ve crossed paths with during my life. Seeing their names flash across my screen made me think that this could have happened to someone I knew and loved, and it made me realize just how far we are from reaching a point of mutual respect and understanding.
Photo by Debbie Tea
*****
If this post feels a little raw and disorganized, it’s because I’m not good at writing about this kind of stuff. In fact, I’ve never written something like this before. However, I started this food blog with the goal of introducing people to all different kinds of foods and cultures, so I felt that it would be appropriate to put some of my thoughts and experiences about my own culture into words.
I hope that as America falls more in love with Asian food, it can eventually fall in love with its people too. I hope that the next time you go out for hot pot, ramen or Korean BBQ, you will pause for a second to appreciate the rich cultural histories that enable you to enjoy such a delicious meal. I hope that someday in the not-so-distant future, we won’t have to walk on eggshells anymore.
With Love,
Alice