Cultural Heritage Through Food
 

     To me, food has not only a taste but also a vivid experience. It’s one of the key connections to my relationship with my family. Every year, we’d get together on Chinese New Year, birthdays, and other holidays for a celebration of Chinese cuisine. My family would be gathered around the extendable table of my grandparents’ apartment, holding bowls of egg fried rice, dàn chǎofàn. There would be platters of homemade hotpot or huǒguō with raw ingredients cooking in a simmering pot of spicy broth, spicy mápó tofu with chilli paste and fermented black beans, huíguōròu, which translates to pork returned to the pot or twice-cooked pork cooked with broad bean paste and pepper. But the most important part of the meal was not the food, but the time we spent together bonding over our familial roots.

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     My taste for spicy foods happened over time, as I have a distinct memory of disliking many of the Chinese restaurants I had visited when I was very young. I believe that it was because I was unaccustomed to heavily seasoned foods. When my family ate làzǐ jī dīng, a spicy dry-fried chicken and shuǐ zhǔ yu, boiled fish in hot broth, I could only sample plain rice or my McDonalds’ Happy Meal. But as I tried more dishes, I started participating more in my family’s dinner times. I specifically remember ordering Chuānběi liángfěn, a cold legume dish made of starch jelly and spicy sauce for warm summer weather. I especially liked the type that was mung bean jelly cut into noodles, as you could quickly slurp them with your chopsticks. Our meals brought together our cultural heritage, and we could celebrate our food and identities.

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     I’ve had many individual experiences with my family when cooking and eating Chinese food. My brother and I have been taught by my mother to wrap wontons--and although I’ve long forgotten the process, those childhood events are still very precious. We have eaten bowls of boiled soybeans together; learning to cook plain dumplings and prepare chilli and soy sauce for dipping. My mother used to buy me sachima from the local T&T; something which I can only describe as a Chinese Rice Krispy. My grandparents made me fried eggs with soy sauce and baked sugary eggs in the microwave, which I loved when I was little. It usually occurred during our weekly visits and for the holiday dinners. My parents have taken me to Chinese outlet malls, where we’ve eaten lunch in small restaurants for noodle soup and frozen desserts. It makes me remember those Chinese stores selling small pinwheels, flowery paper fans, and the Chinese medicine markets; the space filled with traditional and simplified Chinese characters that decorate the entryways. These dishes and tastes have their memories and are relevant to my identity as a Chinese person.

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     Food is a cherished part of me because it relates to my culture, childhood, and family. I have many memories associated with Chinese cuisine, and tasting these dishes gives me a taste of what I’ve missed. Winona LaDuke once said, “Food for us comes from our relatives, whether they have wings or fins or roots. That is how we consider food. Food has a culture. It has a history. It has a story. It has relationships.” This quote also reminded me of Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H Mart, a memoir of her experience of Korean food and culture and dealing with losing a loved one. Chinese cuisine has been incredibly relevant to who I am as a person in terms of my ethnicity, and my personal experiences with my loved ones. Through Chinese food, I can connect with my identity and my family; and most importantly, live those memories with them.