By Alex Wang
Burgers, sandwiches, and pizza have each spent more time on my dinner table than any Chinese dish. Even a hotdog, whose taste lost its appeal to me after learning of its many health consequences, has had more presence on my plates than delicious and warm dumplings, a staple food in Chinese tradition. Though I vastly prefer the comforts of a warm bowl of rice or noodles stir-fried with an assortment of savory meats and vegetables, it is more often a dry, albeit tasty—at the cost of your health—vessel of processed ingredients and sodium that greets my taste buds.
Am I ungrateful? Far from it. Could my family be a bit disconnected from our heritage? Possibly.
This culinary disconnect from my heritage extends beyond my dinner table to the occasional debates on which number to dial or restaurant to pay a visit to for a meal. One time I asked my mom why we default to American food and she simply answered, “That’s what is available.” It wasn’t hard to see what she meant. The majority of restaurants in my area are, in fact, American. The nearest supermarket primarily caters to American customers with American tastes, whilst the nearest Asian-specialized supermarket is half an hour away. But was that really why we harbor such a preference towards American food? What did having American based things closer by have to do with anything? At that time, I had trouble connecting the dots. I felt like there was something missing; something I hadn’t fully understood yet even if the answer was plain in front of me.
It is only through trips to my grandparents’ house, or vice versa, that I get to experience Chinese cuisine. My grandparents, previously proud owners of an authentic Chinese restaurant up in Maine, are the opposite of my family. Still equipped with knowledge of dishes and recipes from their years before coming to America, as well as a nearby Asian supermarket, my grandparents are far from succumbing to American food. Their low tolerances for burgers or pizza still surprise me. Their recipes, even for everyday meals, boast simple dishes that err on a less sugary side than some Americanized-Chinese foods such as General Tso’s chicken or chow mein. And yet, their food always tastes just as good to me.
On my most recent visit, I was spoiled with a feast offering leafy vegetables, braised pork salted to perfection, rice, and dumplings. It was a lot of food, but also didn’t seem too over the top. The unprocessed offerings in front of me seemed simple, but not in a bad way. The food seemed just right, pleasing an inner goldilocks that I admittedly was unaware I possessed. “Enjoy,” my grandparents had said proudly once the last dish had been set on the table. And I did. One thing is for certain: hotdogs simply cannot compare to my grandfather’s home-cooked dumplings.
Still, my grandparents were able to take it a step further. They had saved the best for last, which of course, was the dessert. The dessert in question, steamed buns flavored with a uniquely sweet red bean paste filling, screamed satisfying perfection with every bite I took. I could not have been happier with any other meal. Burgers and cupcakes could never. Needless to say, I was overjoyed when my grandfather, with a knowing smile on his face, filled a ziploc bag with all the remaining buns as a parting gift. “Enjoy,” he said once again.
The only downside of the red bean bun, an obvious superior to all other desserts, was that we stored it frozen, meaning it required some time to thaw before returning to its tasteful glory. I soon realized that this inconvenience led to the ice cream carton two shelves above constantly being chosen over the bag of frozen buns. It was through our neglect of the buns that I could finally understand the full extent of my mom’s answer, “That’s what is available.” Availability and convenience had replaced cultural food once again.