If one were to describe the smell of my college cooking, one would probably say … well, nothing. Most of the time my roommates don’t even realize I’m cooking because I never really need to turn on the annoyingly loud ventilation fan in our apartment. From steamed napa cabbage to practically unseasoned ramen (I find the chicken powder overpowering), my food’s lack of flavor and spice baffles many — especially considering the fact that I grew up in a Chinese household quite familiar with using an extensive assortment of sauces and oils to marinate, flavor and add fragrance to our pretty platters of food. While I can blame a part of my unadventurous cooking on inexperience (the first time I cooked for myself was last year), this disturbingly unseasoned food was my definition of comfort.
This past summer, I traveled back to Hong Kong and the Guangdong province of China, finally satiating the cravings I shared with my mother since our last trip five years ago. This was the first time I visited since experiencing the culinary joys of snacking on freshly steamed street food, having Cantonese morning tea regularly and buying crispy egg tarts from the bakery beside our hotel years ago.
What made the trip even more special was that, now that I was older, I had a greater appreciation for catching glimpses of people’s lives and imagining what my mom must have thought about visiting her birthplace after so many years away. Before, I viewed my trips to Asia as just another opportunity to spend my days eating well, taking pictures for Instagram and buying cute clothes for cheap. Now, I saw the trip as a chance to trace the footprints of my mom’s youth and early adulthood. Visiting the cozy stationery stores she shopped at after getting out of class at Beijing Lu Shopping District, walking by the chic boutiques in Hong Kong’s financial district she passed when coming home from work and talking to family members and friends who had known her before I was born helped me imagine the life she must’ve lived. The most concrete way I got to learn about her life before America, though, was through food.
One of the most memorable local eateries I tried was a small restaurant on a busy shopping street that served hot bowls of congee and noodles with various types of meat and seafood. Out of all the vendors and elaborate restaurants we ate at during our stay in Hong Kong, I think this was my mom’s favorite, too. In fact, she had frequented this exact place 30 years ago, rain or shine. I had just recovered from a stomach bug a few days before, but that didn’t deter us from eating there. Although I was sick, the food was still easily digestible and comforting. My mom said this was because the food was prepared in a manner that promotes good health and longevity, the same goal she hoped to imbue into her meals and lifestyle.
Growing up, my sister and I had our schedule packed year-round. If we weren’t in school, we were either found taking weekend supplementary classes, taking private swim lessons or practicing our instruments. Since my dad was usually busy with work, it was my mom who drove us everywhere and packed our on-the-go meals accordingly. Because my mom was also a pretty busy woman, she made easy, no-fuss meals, including wonton noodle soup, steamed buns and stir-fried vegetables. Though they were once bitter sentiments that reminded me of how I couldn’t indulge myself with oozing burgers, glistening donuts and towering ice cream sundaes every weekend as my peers did, those lovingly homemade meals are now my convenient go-to’s in college.
Looking back now, I’m glad my mom prepared meals that were simple and healthy. She could’ve packed something less nutritious like the notorious Lunchables or packaged Kraft mac and cheese, but she opted instead to have the taste of her hometown in China guide her cooking. She is from Guangdong, well-known for its Cantonese cuisine and — most notably — dim sum. Unlike other Chinese foods that are associated with bold flavors and elaborate garnishes, Guangdong cuisine is less heavily seasoned to preserve the natural taste and texture of its dishes, allowing it also to be minimally processed. Although I didn’t like it when I was young, I eventually got used to this style of cooking, and even started to miss it dearly during my first year of college while I was stuck eating out of only the dining halls.
I found myself craving fish ball congee, choy sum and red bean soup at night. The foods I once viewed as childhood punishments from my strict mom quickly became painfully nostalgic while I lived on campus. What I was relegated to eating instead was chicken so thickly seasoned with garlic I couldn’t get the taste out even with three rounds of mouthwash, and spinach so overcooked it could’ve been mashed into a medicinal paste. I wanted to eat food that was nice to me, not food that would leave me wondering when I would stop being bloated all day. Jokes about bland white food aside, I had a pretty low tolerance against saltiness, and I hated how the food was so obviously hiding underneath layers of excess salt and pepper to cover up the fact that it had probably gone bad.
Every time I came home, I was confronted with the fact that I wasn’t grateful enough for my mom nagging me to eat her freshly made lunches all my life. I regretted ignoring her warnings that I would come to miss home cooking and beg her to let me take some food with me when I went back to campus. Funnily enough, the summer before going into college, I remember counting down the days until I got to move into my dorm. By the time the end of the school year rolled around, I was counting down the days I could eat braised pork ribs and not-overly-cooked leafy greens every day at my small kitchen table.
In defense of my cooking and the food I love, I’d argue that it’s a far cry from bland. It is subtle and delicate. It’s sparingly spiced. It’s enhanced in freshness. It keeps families connected. It’s the taste that has followed my mom through immigration and continues to live on in her children. To cover all that up with an arsenal of unnecessary seasoning would be very much a sin indeed.
Daily Arts Writer Michelle Wu can be reached at michewu@umich.edu.
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