China’s culinary civilisation mirrors Chinese culture, embodying the Chinese people’s values, attitudes towards life, and historical heritage. Whether the food on the dining table or the eating habits, they all demonstrate China’s unique cultural traits. I want to discuss something other than Chinese eating disorders in a Western psychological context.
On 21st August, I started my third project intervention-“A Table of Modern Chinese Elegance.” In this intervention, I want to go through the food stories of China’s Z era, I hope to reflect on the changes in Chinese food culture in the new era, as well as the family relationships and social phenomena behind the changes. So, I posted the poster on Chinese social media. Invite people to tell them stories with food. So far, I have received 15 stories and drawn 7 illustrations.
What’s the story?
This is the last can of canned peaches my grandfather opened for me after his cancer advanced. At that time, he still looked fine physically, but I wasn't strong enough and couldn't open the can myself. My grandmother suggested that my grandfather help me, and unexpectedly, he managed to twist it open. That was something we didn't anticipate. After that, about half a year passed, and he had only enough strength left to walk around a little. Then, in November of last year, he passed away. Later, I stopped choosing to eat canned peaches. The taste of the can, actually not very delicious with a strong artificial flavour, lingers in my memory, but because my grandfather opened it, I finished it. Since then, I particularly avoid seeing things packaged in such old-style cans because it reminds me of when my grandfather opened the can for me.
When I was a child, I lived with my grandmother, and she loved to fry potato slices for me. It was really simple, just potatoes with salt, but it tasted amazing. Now that I've grown up and developed my own sense of independence, I realize that parents often unconsciously want to control my thoughts. My thoughts have diverged from my grandmother's, but when I think of "potato slices," I can still feel her love for me. I hope that one day we can find a balance, loving each other while remaining independent individuals. I love her, but I have to love myself first.
When I was very young, I lived with my grandparents in a courtyard. During every Chinese New Year, relatives would bring back gifts, including big buckets of cola and Sprite. There would always be one or two bottles left after the gatherings, and it was something new and exciting back then. However, whenever I wanted to drink them at night, they always seemed to disappear. Later, I found out that the family next door, my uncle's family, took them. They had a cousin. I asked my grandmother if she could save a bottle for me after the gatherings, as I really liked them. On another occasion, I was quite worried until I saw a bottle of Sprite placed in the storage room, then I could finally go to bed peacefully. Later, I overheard conversations among adults. I knew it was my aunt and grandmother talking. My grandmother even gave the Sprite to my aunt when she came to take some leftover snacks for her cousin. Many similar incidents followed, and I slowly realized that I was the one without parents around to protect me. This made me become someone who lacked a sense of security and thought a lot for myself. This has led to my parents often saying that I'm not close to them. I don't blame my parents, nor do I blame my grandmother. But every time my parents say something like that, I feel a bit down. Now, I can buy plenty of cola and Sprite, but I still can't seem to get the understanding I need.
I came to the UK for my undergraduate studies in 2020. It's been three years, and I haven't been home once due to the pandemic and expensive flight prices. But honestly, I think it's also because deep down, I don't really want to go back. I want to escape from my original family. Yesterday, when I called my parents and asked about my grandparents' recent situation, I found out that my grandfather passed away two years ago. He passed away shortly after I left for abroad. I wasn't as close to my grandparents as I was to my grandfather. My grandmother doesn't use WeChat, so I only greet her on special occasions after I left. I didn't teach my grandparents how to use WeChat... My grandparents have always been good to me. They might not express themselves much, but I can feel their silent care. My grandfather was particularly proud of me. He enjoyed fishing, and his skin was tanned. He lived on a small bed in my uncle's semi-basement. Whenever I went to my uncle's house for a meal and visited my grandfather, he would wipe the edge of his bed and ask me to sit there because he thought it was more comfortable. Then he would bring a small fishing stool and sit beside me. Before I went abroad, we had a meal together. I didn't expect that to be the last time I saw my grandfather. My mom told me he's in a place without pain now. During his illness, my mom told him I couldn't come back from abroad, and he understood. Not seeing my grandfather for the last time is my regret. I know what the adults were thinking, but I'm still sad. Why couldn't they call me for a video chat so I could see my grandfather one last time? After I hung up with my mom, besides feeling sad, I suddenly felt hungry. I always thought people lose their appetite when sad, but I really wanted to eat something. There was food on the table, so I chose chocolate. I ate one after another until I finished the whole box. After eating the chocolate, my mood did improve, and I continued to write my paper and carry on with my life. I didn't think about my grandfather's matter until the evening. But this morning, I suddenly understood the adults' thoughts. It's not that they don't care, but they dare not think about it because life has to go on... Every time my mom, who never cries when talking about my grandfather, sheds tears in front of me, I dare not bring it up again.
The script link: http://kck.st/448WFTn
I created a script called "Chopped".The heroine is a Chinese chef in the US called Mei. "Chopped" is a story about food, our relationship with food, and inherently, our culture and our identity. The story comes from a personal place. When I first arrived in the United States, after weeks of consuming burgers and fries, all I craved was a simple bowl of rice. As time passed and I found myself further away from home, I clung to anything that reminded me of my roots—a feeling, a flavor. I learned how to cook here. However, as I started sharing my cooking with others and taking friends to Chinese restaurants, I discovered that my palate was different. Growing up, I was accustomed to spices, intestines, frogs— delicacies not easily found here. My unique palette became a source of intrigue and even horror for my friends. Despite the fact that we spend so much time eating, with three meals a day, I struggled to find someone who truly understood me. Chopped explores a fascinating fantasy— what would a woman do when consumed by anger? I find myself admiring Mei's spirit. She is strong, talented, and completely devoted to her craft. As a remarkable artist, Mei chooses to take an extreme stand against her husband, unleashing her passion and determination. I dedicate this piece to myself and everyone who loves food but has to eat alone.
It was during Qingming Festival when my family and I went back to our hometown to sweep the graves. Apart from some distant and elderly relatives who lived near the ancestral hall and ancestral house, there weren't many people there. Most had moved to the city and were engaged in farming for their livelihoods. I don't remember my exact age, but I was around twelve or thirteen years old then. Since I had always lived in the city, I was curious about rural life. At that time, I was playing and frolicking with my cousin in a small bamboo grove. Accidentally, I hit her head with a piece of bamboo. She cried for a long time. Later, my aunt brought us a plate of scrambled eggs to taste. The scrambled eggs looked like they had a lot of egg whites, but I really liked scrambled eggs, so I happily ate them. After the meal, my aunt told us that the white part was silkworm pupa. I couldn't describe it; you couldn't even tell it was there. I guess it was too small, white and egg-like. Looking back now, it seems a bit horrifying, but the taste really wasn't much different from scrambled eggs.
I'm not a big fan of eating bread, but when it's stuffed with meat and veggies and turns into a hamburger, I absolutely love it. My family doesn't mind me having fast food. When I was very young, my parents would accompany me to buy hamburgers. The three of us would walk hand in hand, buying hamburgers before dinner, laughing all the way home. Once home, each of us would have a hamburger and a cola, enjoying TV variety shows. These are the most cherished memories of my childhood. As I grew older, with increasing academic pressure, I didn't follow the trend of going to the library to study every day like other classmates. Instead, I enjoyed going to the McDonald's downstairs, buying a hamburger, sitting by the window, eating while studying for a while, and occasionally looking outside when feeling tired. One time, while memorizing vocabulary, a sudden torrential rainstorm started outside. I was chewing on a hamburger and watching people on the street running for cover. In that moment, I felt like the safest and happiest person in the world. Growing up, before I went abroad for my graduate studies, my mom knew I would miss the McDonald's in my home country. So, in the two weeks before my departure, she was constantly grabbing McDonald's discount coupons from TikTok. Sometimes she would find a good deal like a 99 yuan combo, and she would message my dad, telling him the whole family would have McDonald's that night. My dad would reply, "I'll be home early today." After going abroad, I would often reward myself with a delicious hamburger after finishing my assignments or exams, to treat my overworked brain. Then, about half a year ago, I met my current boyfriend for the first time. We spontaneously decided to meet up and attend a concert. We couldn't find a suitable restaurant, so we ended up having hamburgers at a fast-food joint near the concert hall. While eating, some sauce accidentally dripped from my burger, and my boyfriend helped me find tissues. This spontaneous choice made our first meeting much more relaxed, and our conversation became more joyful. Although a hamburger isn't anything extravagant, it has played a significant role in my current life. It's a simple delight that makes me feel like a kid every time I eat it. It might sound like a simple account, but I truly adore hamburgers!
I used to frequently enjoy Zhajiangmian (fried sauce noodles) in Beijing. One of my earliest memories of this dish is the one my grandma used to make for me in a small iron bowl, filled to the brim. As a child, I could easily devour two big bowls of it, and when I was full, I'd sometimes playfully tip the bowl over, spilling the noodles onto the ground. Unfortunately, my grandma passed away early, and my mom took over the task of making this delectable dish. Her version was equally delicious, and it became a weekly staple. I left for overseas at a young age, during my primary school years, residing in Australia at the time. There, Zhajiangmian was nowhere to be found, so I eagerly awaited every vacation when I could return home to indulge. Surprisingly, I never got tired of it, even if I ate it for three consecutive days. As I grew older, I continued my studies in the UK during middle school and later in the USA during high school, encountering various cuisines. However, I always felt that Zhajiangmian held a special place in my heart. In college, I had a Korean classmate, and we discovered that Korea had its own version of Zhajiangmian. We decided to try it at a local restaurant, but honestly, it was a bit too greasy for my taste, especially the sauce. From that point on, I preferred making it myself. I even invited my Korean friend to taste authentic Beijing Zhajiangmian, and they loved it. To make it, you start with soybean paste and add sweet bean sauce. You sauté some minced pork in scallion oil, then combine the two. Finally, you garnish with chopped scallions and cucumber shreds. It's truly delicious!
My introduction to Western cuisine was initiated by my father. During my early years, my parents divorced, and I lived with my mother. I could only see my father every few weeks on certain weekends. He was not as thrifty as my mother and was quite lavish with himself, often taking me out to eat when we were together. It was with him that I had my first taste of steak at Outback Steakhouse and my first encounter with pizza at Pizza Hut. In truth, my father didn't have a strong affection for me. As I grew older, the contact between us became increasingly scarce. A decade went by without seeing each other, and my memories of him started to fade. But occasionally, I'd recall those small, tender moments of fatherly love from my youth. It was he who taught me to appreciate a medium-rare steak and meticulously cut it into pieces for me. As I grew up, I continued to prefer my steaks medium-rare, and now, living overseas, I comfortably use cutlery in front of foreigners. I'm grateful that I don't feel timid or awkward due to my lack of exposure to the world. It's in these moments that I can feel the fleeting presence of my father's love that helped me grow, even if just for a brief period.
Chinese people convey emotions through food. This sentiment is introspective, understated, and intimate. It touches the heart in the nuances, a rhetorical device in traditional Chinese literature – using objects to convey feelings. For the next step, I wish to gather more food stories and present the ultimate result as a menu. Meanwhile, I hope to discover something new through these stories. I still seeking.