Food & Representation

Food & Representation Š Dec 2018

What did you eat today? For breakfast, was it a perfectly fluffy pancake homemade with your mom’s love or banana put into your tote in a hurry? For lunch, was it a bento box with the sticky note saying “you got this” or the refrigerated sushi from the convenient store downstairs? For dinner, was it Chinese food takeout or tacos and Michelada? And somewhere in-between, did you grab maybe a Starbucks, a slice of pizza from your boss’ birthday surprise party, or a protein bar from vending machine?

Did you just spend a solid 2 minuets to recall what you actually did eat during the day, holding a cup of Greek yogurt or a guilty donut? No pressure. Even If you really couldn’t come up with all the random stuff you put on your plate at school cafeteria just six hours ago, it’s obsoletely normal – we don’t pay attention to our everyday consumption. We eat and we digest, and we forget it after the bathroom. Cooking is definitely too much work, so we get takeout and have it while watching TV; sometimes even chewing is too much work, so we drink smoothie with fifty different kinds of fruits and vegetables and a scoop of protein powder. If we don’t have time for a super healthy (that’s how they advertise it) shake, we take some vitamin pill.

However, we have all underestimated the food and its power. It means so much more than that meagre amount of calcium, iron, zinc and other micronutrients. Carrying a whole lot other ideological significance derived from histories, personal experiences, and environments, food, without out our notice, is not only nutrition, but also representation.

Those pancakes you make every morning at 7 o’clock exactly as fluffy as the ones your mom used to make them represent family and tradition. A bento box in which the scrambled eggs shapes like a sun with a smiley face represents ritual and competition. A Starbucks represents capitalism and globalization. A pizza represents fast food culture. And the Chinese and Mexican restaurants you go get takeout, owned by people who are in diaspora in this melting pot represents their culture.

Our last issue in the year of dog, we will discuss food and representation with a focus of Chinese in America. Including different creative forms from monologue script, to book review, to video, to drawing, this issue asks the question: how does Chinese food mean differently to the second-generation immigrant ABC (American born Chinese), the firstgeneration immigrant CBA (Chinese born American), international students CBC (Chinese born Chinese), and ABA (you can probably guess what this abbreviation stand for); how’s the relationship between food and the environment where it is represented? And between representation and adaptation? Can representation be truly and literally authentic?

I hope that, after reading this zine, you will find answer to these questions, or you will go on look for your own answer. But more eagerly I hope next time when you are dipping your chicken tenders into the ketchup, maybe you can pay an extra minuet and some extra thoughts into it, because consuming that fried meat coved by sour-sweat sauce could be one of the most profound actions you do during the day.

Enjoy reading and eating!

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Woman Warrior: A Work of Translation Woman Warrior: memoirs of a girlhood among ghosts is a different book. Although it is written by Maxine Hong Kingston in English and read mostly in the English-speaking countries, it involves elements of translation, in cultural terms. The talk stories, the legend of “Fa Mu Lan”, “barefoot doctors” and “the Big Six” ... These idioms and traditions which have only existed as oral accounts in the Chinese context are translated into literary treasures and introduced to a broader audience. This distinctive characteristic of cultural translation brings along itself phenomenal popularity but also simultaneously brings about negative reviews questioning its cultural authenticity and its representative legitimacy. The critics, mostly Chinese scholars, accused it of using the “typical” oriental symbols to win western readers’ favor. By doing so, it stereotypes the culture and distorts the foreignness.

However, despite the ongoing debate on writer’s “ethic” to take readers’ opinion into consideration while writing, the spearhead of those criticisms is pointed in the wrong direction. Growing up culturally bilingual as an immigrants’ daughter, the second generation in the new land, Kingston should by no means categorized into the single cultural profile, which is also a stereotypical label created by a binary system. She is neither a western orientalist nor a representative for Chinese culture. As claimed clearly in the title, the book is a memoir. The dreamlike atmosphere, the illusionary talk stories, the fragmented structure and the assorted symbols taken together imitate a unique version of reality through the lens of memory.

Kingston has no intention to lump together instances of cultural semiotics to attract eyeballs, but rather portrays a noteworthy experience of Chinese-Americans, a minor group not often called by name in literatures. To some extent, the popularity that The Woman Warrior has received can be considered as a victory of minor literatures, one characteristic of which is that "everything in them is political”. Because, according to Deleuze and Guattari’s interpretation on the minor Literature, “its cramped space forces each individual intrigue to connect immediately to politics”, the critics then consequently neglect the intimate and intensive self-analyzing part of the book.

Their condemnation is scapegoating and is “scolding the locust while pointing at the mulberry” (a Chinese way of saying “abuse a person by ostensibly pointing to someone else”), to air their grievances towards the widespread conception of Orientalism.

The interculturality in Chinatown creates a motley world; the intertextuality leads to a more comprehensive unfolding of the text. The book is also translated “back” in Chinese, and as Benjamin claims, “a specific significance inherent in the original texts expresses itself in their translatability”. Translated to Chinese, the exotic becomes cliché and the shocking becomes exaggerating. Those elements after all lack a certain measure of translatability and can only survive in the English context. However, at the same time when they are washed off, the “inherent specific significance”, which in this case is the identity-seeking amidst childhood, poverty, family ad insanities, shines out of the text. “What is Chinese tradition and what is the movies?” Those intensely personal moments prove to be universal and always compelling regardless of the language, which also counters the aforementioned criticism.

Isn’t this process of deciphering the internal conflicts and searching for the vocabulary to communicate also translation? The book as a whole is a work of translation, wrestling with the utterance and the interpretation of meaning, with the verbal sign and the essence of the word.

Then, isn’t every writer a translator? They confront this otherness, which emerges from the depth of personality in every human being and which has, since the collapse of The Tower of Babel, caused endless misunderstanding, in pursuit of a universal communication. Maxine Hone Kingston is another woman warrior who brought her own song from a savage land, a girlhood among ghosts. It translated well.

Remembering Wang The day before leaving/ I woke up and had some porridge/ with some pickled vegetables/ At noon, we ate dumplings/dinner, Hot pot

I ate too much/ When the flight flew across the Pacific Ocean, I vomited From then, that day seems to stay there, in my sense of taste The Chorus That’s’ all?

Wang August 2016, finally I had to leave.

I didn’t sleep very well the night before/ When I woke up, there was already a bowl of porridge on the table/ The most common plain porridge, thick and glutinous/ Of course, grandma made it. no one else could make this kind of porridge/ The portion of rice and water needed to be right. And some beans/ They should be stewed all night/ Grandma heard me eating. She got me some pickled cabbage/ Sour, spicy, salty, all strong flavors/ When my taste buds were awakened, I was awakened too Near noon, all family sat together and made dumpling together/ Pork, leek, carrot, wood ear, and shrimps/ The most common stuffing in our house/ Leek brings flavor, pork brings nutrition, carrot brings colors/ wood ear brings crisp, shrimp brings umami/ Put all these filling in thin and tender dumpling wrappers/ Seal the edges with delicate pleats After we finished/ Grandma put all dumplings into a large pot of boiling water/ She used a big ladle to stir the water so gently and continuously/ Only after several minutes of ups and downs, those dumplings all floated to the surface/ By that time, they were filled with air and swollen/ and the dough became transparent/ Ladle them all out, put in plates, and serve on the table/ My grandpa announced before we all started eating/ that he put a candy in one of the dumplings.

After a lunch like that, it was hard to decide what to have for dinner/ In the end, we all voted on the Hot Pot restaurant near home/ A hot pot, filled with/ beef stock with white peppers and red peppers, sliced marbled mutton, crisp vegetables/ When the soup started boiling, the atmosphere started boiling/ Hot and spicy, it can make your eyes water.

I ate too much. I was so full/ In the early morning, I went on the plane with satiety/ A few hours later, when the flight flew across the Pacific Ocean, I vomited/ in the poky restroom on the airplane.

From then, that day, seems to stay there, in my sense of taste.

The Chorus That’s’ all?

Wang August 28th, 2016, yes, this is the day I’m finally leaving for a continent across the sea/ I’m going to a college.

I didn’t sleep well last night/ My body kept reminding me of my stress/ You are going to a place that has twelve hours day and night difference/ So, I’m now awake from a long sleep, but feel even more tired/ I didn’t think I would be nervous like this/ however, your body never lies.

Go out to the kitchen, I see a bowl of porridge on the table for me/ My grandma always made this kind of porridge/ When I was little/ I had a bowl before walking to school/ and so, I would feel very warm inside even on a winter morning/ Grandma hears me eating/ she leans out of the other room/ asking me weather it’s too plain, “do you want some pickled cabbage?”/ I say yes please!/ She ladles some from that glass jar.

Mom and dad come back from work near noon/ They had a fight a few days before. For some stupid reason/ The fight ended as I yelled at them: “What would you guys be like if I were gone?”/ They were silent. They were too used to be together as parents, not as couple/ I was worried. I didn’t know whether I should leave/ But today, I’m leaving anyway.

We are having dumplings for lunch/ I have to, because Chinese believes “noodles for welcoming, dumplings for seeing off”/ Having a decent meal of dumplings/ can guarantee me safe and sound on the trip.

I love dumplings/ No matter how fancy the filling is/ it is sealed in inconspicuous wrappers/ My grandma often warned me/ the one that were not well made can break and its filling would all come out/ people are like the dumplings/ you should be humble and modest, covered in your wrapper/ and only after going through ups and downs in boiling water/ we can see who keeps to themselves and who gives the game away and who has no filling inside.

Before we start eating/ My grandpa makes an announcement that he has put a candy inside one of the dumplings/ The one who eats that dumpling will have good luck.

I’m eating so fast and eating a lot/ I have to get that candy/ Suddenly, somehow, luck means so much to me/ Why. What am I thinking?/ I just keep cramming dumplings into my mouth/ until my uncle has it/ So does it mean that the others who don’t get the candy will have bad luck?

I just realize that I almost chocked myself/ I probably really need a hint of good luck/ When the future is not unfolded/ I start being superstitious about these things/ to relieve myself a little bit.

That’s’ all?

We went to the hot pot for dinner/ Of course, nothing is more suitable for big family gathering/ When the soup starts boiling, the atmosphere is also boiling.

I stand up, proposing a toast, saying something about gratitude and goodbye/ Like a real adult/ My grandma turns around and wipes her eyes/ When she turns back to me, she sees me looking at her, concerned/ She says: too hot too hot it makes my eyes water.

After dinner, I feel really really full, almost bursting/ At the airport, I embrace everyone and tell them not to worry/ My grandma gives me a mason jar of brown sugar and ginger power/ “If you ever feel sick, drink hot water with this, you will feel better.”/ Everyone cries a little.

A few hours later, when the flight flew across the Pacific Ocean, I vomited/ in the poky restroom on the airplane/ When I came back to my seat/ a fly attendant comes to me and asks if she can bring me anything/ “A glass of hot water please.”/ I drink it mixed with grandma’s magic powder.

From then, that day, seems to stay there, in my sense of taste/ Familiar and stubborn/ I remember it all too well/ when I couldn’t read the labels of food in the dining hall/ when I have no place to go during thanksgiving break/ when I’m sick.

I blame these tastes/ They are becoming something holding me back/ I’m now in a special location system/ I’m inseparable from my unescapable past.

I once obstinately decided that I would not have Chinese food again/ But at the end of the day, a simple black sesame soup/ can give me all the comfort I need/ And everything seems not so bad again.

I don’t know. If I don’t forget the past, can I see the future more clearly?

The Chorus Okay A turkey burger and some fries…That’s all?

Wang Could I also have some broccoli, please?

The Chorus Sure!

Chop Suey: On Dish in Two Restaurants Chop Suey, the once most popular dish that represented Chinese food has disappeared. Until one day this name flied into their mind, people didn’t realize that they hadn’t seen it on the menus, in the movies, or among the gas station’s sandwich options for a while. They didn’t know when or where it was not there anymore, but they knew that it didn’t happen in one night, because their kids had never heard of these two words. “Chop Suey? Is that even a real thing?” The kids asked. What they didn’t realize is, gone together with Chop Suey are the struggle of the Chinese immigrates in last century, the craze for the east, the misrepresentation of Chinese culture, the veil over Chinaman, and very “unfortunately” also the excitement of being adventurous and going into Chinatown.

"When we first came here, we didn’t have much money, so we opened a take-out joint in the black neighborhood, and the best-seller was Chop Suey.” The owner of Joy Tsin Lau in Philadelphia Chinatown, who is known as “Er Jie” (the second oldest sister who usually in charge of household affairs) in the community, reminisced about the earlier years. Chop Suey was the best-seller for a reason. It was affordable for both the owner and the clientele.

The ingredients were cheap meat that was actually leftover bits, canned mushroom, water chestnut and bamboos shoot that wouldn’t expire in another hundred year, and vegetables from Chinese farmers in New Jersey. The secret of this dish was the gravy, which was made simply by putting starch into the vegetable stock. However, all of these scraped together and put on top of the white rice made a more proper meal than a hot dog at the same price, which is very attractive to the hardworking but hard up people in the neighborhood.

A hundred mile and four decades away from Er Jie’s little take-out joint, there was a hip “whites-only” night club in New York City featured black musicians and dancers, called the Cotton Club. It also served Chop Suey. In fact, there were a variety of Chop Suey on their menu: chicken, beef, vegetables…On the cover of the menu was a black server inviting three white guests in ornate evening wear. These guests didn’t come for having a mixed vegetable over rice; they came for this setting, for a night of entertainment, of sing and dance, and ball floor and high ceilings with crystal chandeliers.

We can see that Chop Suey had different meaning in these two restaurants. The server, the clientele, and the setting were all influencing factors that change its meaning. To Er Jie, Chop Suey was her living source, without which she didn’t have any means to make money in a foreign country. And people whom Er jie served came to her joint to get an affordable meal. To the owner of the club, Chop Suey was an insignificant embellishment on his already splendid establishment. What were in the food didn’t matter anymore. Be it left-over bits or tenderloin steak, fresh organic vegetables or canned vegetables. How and where the food was presented mattered. Did it have a cilantro on the top? Did they serve it with a fine piece of porcelain? Was the lighting not too bright or damp but perfect for a recreational atmosphere? Was there a celebrity guest performing that night? Although these materialistic and artistic objects are not on the menu, they are what the cotton club sold.

More importantly, what the food represented mattered. The club took advantage of the exoticism to attract American parvenus who wanted to have a bite of another culture. Black entertainers were this club’s main attractive feature because of the same mentality – the fascination with otherness. The act of watching and consuming, however, were not about appreciation or acceptance. Quite the opposite, it devalued and objectifies a culture into a merchandise.

So, when the clientele pointed to Chop Suey, a weird-sounding name on the menu, “is this what people would eat over there in China, a faraway mysterious land”, The owner of the Cotton Club would say yes.

For people coming from China though, Chop Suey wasn’t something that they ate, and didn’t represent home to them. If anything, it rather represented America. It represented the hypocrisy of this free nation, this promise land, this melting pot, where you didn’t get the chance to achieve whatever dream you had, where hard work didn’t guarantee better life because of the glass ceiling, where people were not interested in you but in your exoticism, where assimilation was so hard that you had to stay in you designated corner.

In the new century, despite all the hardship, Er Jie has built her little take-out joint to a huge beautiful restaurant with banquet hall on the first floor and Karaoke on the second floor. She also brought up her six younger sisters and brothers to be either doctors or doctors. Her view of her restaurant shifted from relying on it to survive to introducing dim sum, the traditional Chinese food as a representation of culture. This new idea seems great as she as Chinese people finally reclaim their right to the culture; on the other hand, it sounds a lot like that of the cotton club who was long closed. Food’s cultural reference is once again made into a selling point. We can’t help but asking: is it an unavoidable Capitalism Complex that everything is goods?

Fortunately, unlike Chop Suey, Dim Sum is not the one and only representation of Chinese food and Chinatown is not the one and only place that one could get a glance of China anymore. More and more Asian representations are available, from musical platform like 88 rising that promotes Asian hiphop to all the reginal cuisines. More and more cultural representation from other cultural minorities also springs up. The danger of single representation is that you reduce a culture into one thing. Each individual representation contains a heterogeneous compilation of the culture, which is what we should celebrate.

Hot Pot In Dorm

Seasoning

Utensil

Sesame Paste, Fermented Bean Curd,

Electrical Pot, Laptop

Peanut Butter

Ingredients

Time

Thinly shaved lamb, Chinese Cabbage,

< 10 min

Died Noddle, Egg, Frozen Tofu

services What’s the hardest thing about moving to a new country? Before I came here for college, I thought the difficulties could be language, cultural barrier, work load, or loneliness... the only thing that i didn’t come up with but was proved to be the hardest is in fact not being able to have Chinese food, which in China, we call it just FOOD. School dining hall does have a variety of options: fruits sweets breads meats. But they are not the food that I used to eat every day. You see, when we miss home, we don’t necessarily think of a place to be. The object of our sentiment is always more easily attached to a smell or a taste or a sound. Once we started missing it, hundreds of thousands of sentiments inundate us. So, after the first couples of weeks of excitement for new environment new food new life, I started to get constantly overwhelmed by both the amount of homework and the intense craving for Chinese food. The only way to be fulfilling, both literally and metaphorically, is to have a hot meal, like noodles. Instant noodle would be a convenient choice, but it’s not healthy, and eating ramen along in the dorm at night is even sadder than being hungry.

That was the time when a quick hot pot noodle was created. I needed something easy to make with ingredients easy to get but like an actual decent tasty hot meal. Noodles were the first choice because they were easy to cook, and I happened to have a small noodle pot. Besides, I always like eating noodles. At home grandma often makes noodles. She often tells the story of me growing up eating how much noodles. That’s forever my favorite dishes. I don’t know how to leaven dough or roll noodles though, so I would go to Chinatown at the begging of the semester, to get dried noodles. Shaved lamb, cabbages and frozen tofu are typical hot pot dipper which create delicious stock. The former two I had to get from Chinatown too. But tofu was actually from school dining hall salad bar. Also from dining hall are mushrooms, spinach, and eggs. I did make some effort to make this noodle more “luxurious” without spending more money. So this recipe turned out to very economic, healthy and satisfying. Oh right, the sauce is very important as well. It’s a typical hot pot sauce for dippers, so basically the idea is to have an instant hot pot than an instant noodle. It finalized the meal by making it flavorful.

Now reflecting on the process of creating this recipe, I feel very connected to the older Chinese immigrants’ story about creating Chop Suey. I for sure have a life so much easier, but I continued the spirit of scraping together everything possible and to make a good meal. A quality of immigrant shines through making food – CREATIVITY. Why people never talk about this quality! Being tough, persevere, hardworking is helpful in a hard life, but also being creative is even more important to make the life better. The diaspora actually pushes people to a certain extent that something so beautiful bursts forth from desperation and helplessness. Maxim Hong Kingston is among the above-mentioned people too. Women Warrior is such a great example of the creation inspired by life in exile.

Repeating the same Mulan story idea is just not fun! Authenticity doesn’t better representation. Claiming authenticity is a hypercritical act like the cotton club’s claim about Chop Suey. Adaptation betters representation.

Adaptation is our effort to cope, to reconcile, to live. So while doing it, we represent and interpret our culture by representing ourselves who as human beings are fundamentally complex and heterogeneous.

I have talked a lot around the differences of each type of exilic identities are, but in the writing process, It’s amazing to me how much similar all the immigrant stories are. I want to end my magazine on this harmonious and hopeful note. Nietzsche said, “you must have chaos in you to give birth to a dancing star”. I found so many dancing stars in the chaos of diaspora.