A (Fruit) Basket of Family, Culture and Love: The Nutrients of Life

By Jessica Kwok

When the idea of “fruits” was first proposed, I thought it was too silly to be the theme for our magazine, crossing it off in my mind as an actual option. And then I read the fruit-related prompts and boom, I was sold on the concept. For days after, my thoughts kept circulating with different ideas for a possible piece to submit. The underlying thread connecting these thoughts was my love for fruits.

And upon further reflection, it’s clear just how much fruits have given me throughout my 20 years of life — not just in terms of nutrients, but in warmth and memories. I love fruits, really. So it feels wrong to not include at least a snippet of each passing thought, because like fruits, stories are best shared — with family, friends and even strangers (heyo!).

Family

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. As the resident host family, it’s my personal vote for the “most wonderful time of the year.” Close family friends and relatives gather around our dining table to enjoy an absolute — in both size and quality — feast. The staples include potato salad, baked ziti, mixed cubed vegetables, char siu, pecan pie and, of course, turkey stuffed with my mom’s signature celery and chestnut stuffing.

This whole-day operation is actually set in motion a month prior by the search for the perfectly sized turkey, appropriate for the number of confirmed attendees. Preparation then commences a few days before the big day to allow for the turkey’s complete thawing. And every year, I wake up to the bustling sounds of my parents at work in the kitchen. Even in my sleepy state, I still know my tasks: take over the tiring chopping of the celery, peel the eggs and potatoes, go out and buy any missing ingredients as well as the best pecan pie from my local Italian bakery and assemble the post-meal fruit platter with my mom.

Maybe it’s the fact that the fruit platter is a collaborative effort between my mom and me that makes it stand out in my mind. As I rummage through our fridge, living room or the shelves to pick out the fruits to be featured, my mom channels her inner food designer to create a pretty spread on that one specific flower-printed plate used for these types of occasions. The product differs from year to year, and the fun lies in the distinct fruits we choose to put together. I will admit, though, that our platters are in need of some improvements, as they’re more so jumbles of items than cohesive works. Thankfully, there are many more Thanksgivings to hone our assembling skills. And presenting the platter to the oohs and ahhs of our guests always brings a smile to my face. So no matter how full I am by the end of the main course — and I always stuff myself in classic Thanksgiving fashion — my stomach is ready to welcome the juicy tangerines, dragonfruit, apples, etc. The night would not be complete without those fruits, truly.

In my Chinese culture, fruit is held in high regard and can be found in various facets of our daily life and yearly traditions. There are so many superstitions that the Chinese believe in that I’m unable to keep track of all that I hear from my parents, but it is clear that these superstitions hold great importance based on how my family approaches special events as well as normal situations.

Since my grandma passed away three years ago, the rest of my family has taken over the duties of maintaining the altar in the household. It currently stands three tiers tall in the corner of our living room, and while a bit of a shocking change from what used to be a coat rack, it’s settled in nicely as part of our living space. My mom diligently cares for it now, making sure to cycle out the fruit every two to three weeks depending on the specified dates on the lunar calendar. It’s become routine for us to ensure that the heavens are always able to enjoy the fresh pomelo we present to them on each of the three plates. And when the replacements come through, it’s always suggested to eat the old pomelo for good fortune. I remember this to be the case for any fruit that’s spent time on the altar; my grandmas would tell me to eat this-and-that fruit, as they are blessed with luck.

Then, whenever it comes time to perform our yearly visits to relatives’ homes, it is customary to bring along a bag of in-season or lucky fruits like oranges and red apples. Fruits are the default item to gift as you enter the house and are likely to be received with an “oh, you didn’t have to, I have so many already,” which is often true from a quick glance at the dining table. Even so, I’m a firm believer that you can never have too much fruit and thus I will certainly carry this practice into my future adult life.

And more specially, on the day before Chinese New Year, my family and I wash ourselves with the leaves of mandarin oranges to invite good fortune for the new year. The supply of those specific stemmed-with-leaves-still-on mandarin oranges in supermarkets skyrocket as the New Year approaches; every person is guaranteed to leave with at least one bag of them. I’m not sure how common a practice this is among the community, but it’s very aromatic and refreshing when the last bucket of water is poured over your head, and you step out ready for the coming year.

Love

I wouldn’t say that I get homesick, but there have been times when I’ve really missed the food — the daily home cooked dinners that my parents make for my brothers and me, the random snacks we buy at Jmart over the weekend and last night’s leftovers for lunch — and it’s fruits in particular that I crave the most.

Of course, it’s not that Binghamton doesn’t have fruits to offer; I know where to find them, and they’re certainly accessible with a quick walk to a dining hall or a trip to Target. I’ve eaten my fair share of Walmart green grapes, tangerines and tropical mangoes, but it’s the small acts associated with fruits that I’m missing here.

It’s picking out red apples that my mom inspects before placing them into the bag, knowing that I’ve succeeded in finding good ones for her to use in her smoothie. It’s scanning over the two and a half aisles dedicated to fruits at Jmart wishing I could taste them all. It’s my dad always buying two new bags of tangerines when there’s still enough to last at least a few more days, overstuffing our coffee table’s baskets. It’s the bananas with plastic wrap at the top of the bunch that my mom likes to turn into banana bread if nobody eats them fast enough. It’s my mom always arranging a plate of fruit for my brothers and me an hour after dinner when I was younger and still cutting up whichever fruits I’m craving that night when I’m home for break.

I’m grateful that the drawer we’ve dedicated to fruits in our fridge is never empty, and for as long as I’m at home, I will continue to draw comfort from sliding it open to look at what’s in stock without any intention to eat anything there (a bad habit of mine). It’s simply one of the many signs of love that fruits have shown me, and I know more love will come to fruition for us all.