Chinese Southern Belle's Buddha-to-Bubba Stories

Lunch & Learn with Chinese Southern Belle and Farmer D Organics

2009-08-13T00:31:00.007-04:00

I was the featured "chef" in this seasonal "Lunch & Learn with Chinese Southern Belle" with Farmer D in Atlanta. (I suggested Munch 'n' Mulch or Ode to Brassicas...)

Farmer D gave harvesting tips and supplied me with fresh-cut veggies and herbs, washed and prepped outside at the garden center. I turned it into a multi-course gnosh festival that included Thai Basil Lettuce Wraps, Unfried Purple Fried Rice, Daikon Radish Salad and Orange Chicken over Dinosaur Kale. It was a wonderful cook/farmer collaboration and the wraps weren't the only ones that left stuffed. I think I fed the whole block!

It's mostly him in the video but I get the last line. (Hey those are my hands doing the lettuce wraps! ) Fun video and nice to be included.

Go Wok the Garden and enjoy!

Natalie

Racoon Foodie Musings: EDIBLE OXYMORONS

2009-07-13T18:55:00.014-04:00

"MultiGrain Aged Cheddar Cheese Puffs"- 40% less fat, 20g whole grains, but with artificial color and msg added. I blinked to check my vision. How could I resist? They were speaking to me. Tasty but why the additives? I'm imagining an interesting marketing meeting: target group aged 35-45, females, health-minded, like cheese puffs, enjoy outdoor recreation in the North Georgia mountains...

Multigrain waffles at Waffle House? – Waffle House is a longtime family favorite and often the first stop on the way home from the airport. My mom loves their pork chops and for years, it was the only spot for my favorite--grits! So, when I saw the multigrain waffle poster, I was giddy! No more carrying wheat germ and embarrassing my family, right? I ordered one, to the astonishment of my server. Unfortunately, my joy was short-lived and they stopped selling it. I can see the market data now: “a single order from an enthusiastic short Asian woman in Smyrna." Guess that didn't carry enough ROI to launch it up there with the topped, covered, smothered hash browns.

Popular fast-food chain’s new offering: Asian Boneless Sweet & Spicy Chicken Nuggets. Authenticity alert! That’s like Paula Deen coming out with fat-free biscuits. Traditionally, Asians prefer eating the whole animal--with bone, head, tail, skin, innards and all. (Coming soon: “Bones, Heads and Pits”)

Did you know--fried pork skins, a snack that we used to eat on fishing trips to Lake Allatoona, has fewer fat grams than some crackers? Try them dipped in Thai sweet chili sauce for a flavor overload. :)

BYOWG - I carry my own wheat germ in a little pouch in my purse and sprinkle it on WFF (white flour food) as needed. At which point my eating companions move to the next table like they don’t know me...

The Varsity –an Atlanta tradition since 1928, home of the chili cheese dog, fried pies and the Frosted Orange—had a sign that read “we use 100% vegetable oil with no transfats” and “whole wheat bread available on request.” Great, make mine a double order! Krispy Kreme had a similar sign. I'll take a dozen!

Marietta Diner –twice the price for twice the food and a waiting list to get in. Impressive in this economy when many restaurants are struggling. Kids plates are the size of steering wheels. Cakes are 3-storied and photogenic. (I recommend the cheesecake.) The spinach feta pies a.k.a. “spanikopita” bring back memories of the Vassar dining hall and the 24-hour diners in NY and NJ, run predominantly by Greek families. If only they would offer spinach or whole pasta as an option...

Have Your Multi-Grain Pound Cake and Eat It, Too?

I wish that more restaurants and schools would offer whole wheat bread, pasta and multi-grain flours. Flying Biscuit and Thumps Up offers multigrain biscuits. Whole wheat buns are readily available in grocery stores. A change to more whole grain breads and pastas would make a difference. Diabetes is viewed as an epidemic by the medical community, especially among ethnic populations where simple starches and white flour dominate, like in Latino, Asian and Native American communities.

There are other factors that affect our health, of course, genes, stress management, exercise, but with some fairly simple institutional changes, we could have our cake and fiber, too! Here are a few comfort food adaptations that I make that now include whole grains, beans, vegetables, sometimes mixing white/wheat or adding wheat germ.

A few Raccoon Foodie Adaptations:

*Mac n' cheese Deluxe - add small-cut veggies, whole wheat macaroni, topped with toasted wheat germ

*PB & J (& B & A) on toasted whole wheat, add banana or apple slices, sometimes honey instead of jam

*Like Poptarts? Try figtarts - toasted fig newtons...yum.

*Whole wheat cinnamon rolls - reduce the sugar, drizzle maple syrup or honey instead of icing.

* Pound cake - add1/4 cup of wheat germ and substitute whole wheat pastry flour. A pound of organic butter is still a pound of butter, unfortunately.

Besides, isn't the main point of exercise to enable us to eat comfort food?? :)

Country Asian Tapas hosted by Chinese Southern Belle

2009-06-02T12:09:00.013-04:00

Our Country Asian Tapas event Sunday night, May 31 was a "smashing success" as one guest exclaimed. Held at Urban Oasis B&B in Atlanta's historic neighborhood, Inman Park, new friends from around town (and from MD, OK, CA) mingled and munched over a dozen selections of Chinese Southern Belle Asian Tapas creations, including Plum Wine Sangria (couldn't keep punch bowl filled), 5-Spice Roast Beef, "Keng's Wings" Original Honey Braised Wings (they put me through college!) and local/organic Garlicky Greens Stir-Fry.

Big thanks to our partners--Sevananda Natural Foods Market; Slow Food Atlanta; Urban Oasis; New Tricks; China Cafeteria; Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts; and Chinese Southern Belle, LLC.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the fun, delicious evening making new connections and supporting "good, clean, fair food" (a portion of proceeds benefit Slow Food Atlanta).

Maybe this will become an annual tradition....Enjoy the pics!

Natalie

"Culinary Crossovers," Atlanta Journal-Constitution cover story, Food section, 5/7/09

2009-05-18T11:56:00.008-04:00

"Culinary Crossovers," Atlanta Journal-Constitution cover story, Food section, 5/7/09
Entrepreneurial mother, daughter blend their Chinese heritage with Southern ways for entertaining adventures. (Visit link for full online version. Print version included recipes and photos) http://www.ajc.com/food/content/printedition/2009/05/07/chinese0507fd.html

No Biscuit No Cry

2009-05-18T11:28:00.004-04:00

Recently, while arriving early for a class downtown, I went to the Flying Biscuit for a dinner snack. It was in-between meal times and the servers enthusiastically announced “$3 Mimosas!” Not a big drinker, I declined but excitedly noticed it was “Biscuit Happy Hour” on the daily special board. Excited about the prospect of a free or perhaps “all you can eat” biscuits, I asked my server about the daily special. He flew by and repeated “$3 Mimosas!” I asked again and this time pointed to the poster, “What is the Biscuit Happy Hour?” He repeated in the same cheery tone as he flew back the other way, “$3 Mimosas!” A bit flustered and confused, I reiterated, “But it says BISCUIT Happy Hour.” Then, it dawned on me that they were all about the “happy hour mimosas” and this Raccoon Foodie was all about the biscuit! Ha! I had a good chuckle at myself as I munched on my whole wheat biscuit and love bean cakes.

Natalie in a Hoop Skirt! Inman Park Festival

2009-05-06T00:30:00.003-04:00

Thanks to an ebay skirt, wire twine from the hardware store, lace from the fabric shop, an umbrella from the dollar store and my mom's resourceful creativity, we ended up with an impressive get-up for my debut at Atlanta's largest street festival! It was also the debut of the Country Asian Cowgirl (mom), the CSB banner with Amanda and Catherine (we owe you big time) and the return of my high tops!

Hope you enjoy the pictures!

Cross-Cultural Slips

2009-04-23T23:44:00.008-04:00

* Who’s at the door? “Look through the pee hole and check who it is.” (peep hole)

* Where’s Frank? “He’s downstairs getting ready. He takes a long time pimping himself!” (primping)

* “We used to have an old Volkswagon Beetle so I know how to drive a car with a stick and a crutch!” (clutch)

* While reading People magazine, “I can’t believe Angelini and the Pitts are trying to have another baby!” and “I think Bandino is very hot [Antonio Banderas]!” (Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt)

* As my sister was putting tokens in and ushering her kids through the subway turnstile, she waved quickly to her last little one to go through saying, “Hurry up, go, you’re free!” Reluctantly, the child slid under but not without protesting, “But mommy, I’m four!”

The Beat of A Different Hummer

2009-04-09T02:05:00.002-04:00

Steve and my mom have been friends for almost thirty years now. He’s her “fishing buddy” but his nickname to us is Space Alien. Steve’s been by our side through four weddings and a few funerals. He is the only person I know who doesn’t eat anything at my mother’s glorious dinner parties and sometimes, brings his own roasted turkey and canned peas while we feast on a table-full of fabulous Country Pan-Asian cuisine!

About seventeen years ago, Steve bought my mom a birthday gift she’ll always remember. Not because she treasured it but because the story has been retold so many times that we all remember the gift!

According to legend, my mom opened a “mystery gift” and plugged it in. After hearing only a faint humming noise, seeing no other features and having no earthly idea what the thing was, she assumed it was broken and disappointedly, threw it in the trash. “How did you like your gift?” asked Steve. Feeling bad, my mom quickly said, “Fine” and tried to change the subject. Steve continued, “Well, I hope you’ll like it because I special ordered it from Hammacher Schlemmer and it’s been a life-saver for me.” Sheepishly, my mom asked, “What was, I mean, what is it?” Steve said it was a “sleep sound generator,” a noise blocker to help her sleep. “Ohhhhhhh!” as she dug through the trash to find the device.

After that, Steve doesn’t order gifts for Margaret anymore. Now, every year when her birthday comes around, they do the same ritual. He escorts her to the Macy’s Shiseido cosmetics counter and she picks out her favorite facial cream. He asks for the price, and upon hearing, exclaims, “for a GALLON??” He then wraps it and gives it to her after dinner. They have performed this tradition every year for the last seventeen years now. My mother is thrilled with her new Shiseido Man and no more gadgets from Steve go in the landfill!

Register now for April and May events!

2009-04-05T18:24:00.006-04:00

Cook's Warehouse-Midtown (our debut!), "Eggrolls 'n' Sweet Tea, Hands-on class, Monday, April 13, 6:30-9:30pm https://www.cookswarehouse.com/ClassReg/Public/classes.asp?id=2162

Asian Market Tour & Lunch, Saturday, April 18, 10am-1pm Register here http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/62997 or call 800-838-3006

Cook's Warehouse-Decatur, "Chinese Southern Belle Express" Demo & Tasting, Saturday, May 2, 11am-1pm. Register
https://www.cookswarehouse.com/ClassReg/Public/classes.asp?id=2163

Country Asian Tapas with Natalie & Margaret, A Benefit Dinner for Slow Food Atlanta, May 31, 6-9pm, Inman Park. Register here http://http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/63011 or call 800-838-3006

Look forward to seeing y'all soon!

Check out: New Life Journal article (April) "Soul Kitchen" feature

2009-04-01T19:03:00.002-04:00

http://newlifejournal.com/cms/content/view/901/55/

Lost in Translation (a series)

2009-04-01T18:50:00.002-04:00

Cuttlefish jerky. Blood cake. Grass jelly. Beef essence. Beancurd dregs. Love jade jello. I’ve eaten all of these products and while the translation may torture product marketers, they’re some of my favorite snacks and double as great band names!

Being a Chinese Southern Belle, we spoke “Chenglish” sometimes and I’ve heard my share of American idioms gone awry, non-translatable Chinese jokes, Mandarin with a southern twang and different variations of pidgin English. While traveling in Asia, I came across some funny messages: “Salute to the tourists who keep the public hygience;” “The civilized and tidy circumstance is a kind of enjoyment;” and “Heaven destroys CCP.” What we would have called smog, was referred to as “fog” by locals in Shanghai. Hmmm….

In the spirit of Reader’s Digest and Laughter is the Best Medicine, which I grew up reading, here are a couple amusing anecdotes from our family:

“GOU, not GO!”
My sisters came home looking worried and sullen. “We wrecked Mom’s car,” said Leigh. “It was your fault. You were driving!” blurted Pearl. Leigh glared and quickly defended, “But you told me to GO!” “No,” Pearl clarified. “I said ‘GOU’ in Chinese which means ‘enough’ because we were sitting in traffic, you were distracted and our car was sliding forward. I told you, ‘enough,’ because we’re about to slide into the car in front of us!” Well, they both got grounded and as mad as my parents were about a totaled car, they couldn’t help but shake their heads and chuckle in disbelief over the bilingual mishap.

The Pants Story
We hung out a lot at Cumberland Mall growing up since that’s where our family restaurant and jade store were located. My sisters and I worked at the restaurant and often went shopping on our breaks. One day, Pearl came back to the restaurant, out of breath, and asked my dad to loan her some money, fast. “What for?” replied my dad. In Chinese, she said, “I don’t have time to explain, they’re holding my pants!” My nai-nai (grandmother on the father’s side), who didn’t speak English, overheard this and laughed in puzzlement. Well, in Chinese, “they’re holding my pants” means…they’re holding your pants! Later, my dad explained the concept of “layaway” to granny!

Stay tuned for more “Lost in Translation” tales….

Don't Shake the Baby!

2009-02-11T02:00:00.002-05:00

My mom said that I was really hard to care for as a baby. No wonder, I was allergic to over a hundred food items and it was easier to list what I could eat rather than what I couldn’t. Potatoes. Pears. Lamb. Like the shrimp scene in Forrest Gump, my mom made me fried potatoes, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, stir-fried potatoes, braised potatoes, five-spice potatoes…

She remembered the multiple, torturous visits to the doctor for dozens of old-fashioned skin prick-tests. I would scream and squirm while the deed was done, over and over. Compared to today, food allergies in the 60’s seemed much less common, and the public and parents, were less aware and informed, especially in immigrant families.

Problems started after breast-feeding stopped and the milk-washing madness began, when I was less than one. After all, babies are supposed to drink cow’s milk, right? Actually, humans are the only ones on earth to drink the milk of another species. Perhaps health clue #1.

I couldn’t hold my milk and no one could sleep. After trying different feeding and soothing methods, my dad, being the problem-solving engineer, thought that holding me upright and still would keep me from spitting up. So after a stand-up feeding, he would remind my mom and sisters repeatedly, “don’t shake the baby” and I would be held at arm’s length with legs dangling. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

My skin would break into hives and rashes and at 11 months, you didn't think before you itched. I had a perennial blister on my nose from rubbing it against the mattress. My dad, being the evidence-based research scientist, wanted to test the allergy theory. He dipped a chopstick in the egg yolk to my wrist. A ring of welts appeared immediately. When I was a toddler, my sisters had to eat their ice cream bars quickly and furtively, crouched behind the furniture, since I would freak at the sight of the forbidden treat.

Amazingly and to my gastronomical relief, I outgrew all of my food allergies by the time I was three. Hallelujah! Now, I am Iron Stomach Girl! I eat almost everything, have an aversion to wasting food and am a platinum emeritus cum laude member of the Clean Plate Club. Although I am more Raccoon than Foodie, I am eternally grateful for the ability to enjoy a diversity of wonderful food and complex flavors from around the world. And I still love potatoes!

Gourmet Grits and Artisanal Fried Chicken?

2009-02-04T00:12:00.004-05:00

Jennifer Aniston isn’t the only one making a splashy comeback. As a food marketing guru who is in the process of getting “re-orientaled” to the plethora of diverse Atlanta eateries, I couldn’t help but notice the rise in popularity (and price) of Southern comfort food.

When I was a kid in Smyrna, eating out meant being treated to the Fat Boy’s fried chicken (and a fried peach pie), Ponderosa Steakhouse (with A-1 Steak sauce) or later, the fancy Piccadilly’s Cafeteria kid’s plate (and to-die-for pecan cream pie). Today, few places seem to be billed as a “restaurant” anymore but rather a pub, gastro-pub, cafe, book cafe, diner, marketplace, eatery or grill that is Tex-Mex, Pan-Asian, Fusion, Vegetarian, Dim Sum, New World or Tapas serving artisan bread, gourmet grits, microbrewed beer, organic chips, hand-cut fries, multi-grain biscuits, imported cheese, heirloom turkey or heritage grains. As a former school lunch kid and fan of airplane food (gone with the good old days), I’m feeling quite unsophisticated!

Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy (and jump at the opportunity) of eating most of these genres and gastro-delicacies and am a card-carrying member of Slow Food and Georgia Organics. Being a Ponderosa girl, I am more often amused by the creative marketing and happily impressed by the complexity or simplicity of flavors of my meal. Admittedly, there have been times when I’ve ordered a dish that had a description as long as this paragraph and as tantalizing as a Daniel Steele love scene but was left disappointed and hungry. Granted, small is beautiful, food is art and overeating is an American tradition, but satiate my appetite and give me leftovers (how hard could it be at five feet 105-pounds)!

Then there is price. When did a side of grits, collards or baked beans cost five dollars and fried chicken, twenty? Is it a golden chicken? Being the good green shepherd, I also looked into reserving a non-traditional “heritage bird” for my mom at Thanksgiving. The smallest size would have cost nearly $100. Yikes. As a home-style cook and CSA shareholder, I know how much time and effort it takes to grow and cook a good meal with quality ingredients, especially local, fresh and organic. I also realize that in a restaurant, we’re often paying for the ambience, service, etc. Twenty bucks? Hmm....

Maybe it’s a cultural Asian thing. When I was in Bangkok, I discovered that our beloved Pad Thai was actually peasant food costing fifty cents from a street cart (and not on the menu at nice restaurants). No wonder the server looked at me like I had just ordered a hot dog! The same was true for many favorite dim sum and authentic Asian treats. In New York City, my friend and I broke the bank in a “Korean vegetarian shrine.” In Atlanta, the gourmet trend is heading East with several upscale Asian restaurants. I’m saving up for them.

Fortunately for the budget-conscious, on Buford Highway, you can still get a table-full of authentic, cooked-to-order dishes for twenty dollars, including tea, appetizer and dessert! Maybe that explains my reverse-snobbery and love-hate relationship with American/Euro-styled gourmet food. Maybe that’s why we need to change our food and agricultural policies so that the price of organic or locally-produced products are more digestible and accessible. Maybe as the distance between the farm, table and family members has grown, we are comforted by (and seeking?) meals and gatherings that remind us and ground us with a connection to family, culture and community.

In light of the upcoming Georgia Organics annual conference (March 20, 21) with keynote speaker, Michael Pollan, author of best-selling Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food, that’s good food for thought…

Perils of a Raccoon Foodie

2009-01-26T18:40:00.008-05:00

Last night, I had a close brush with… a yucca root! Over the years, I enjoyed ordering and eating one of the world’s staple root starches, a.k.a. cassava, manioc, tapioca, in different forms. I had sampled them fried with a tasty carrot/onion dipping sauce in a Brazilian restaurant, steamed and served with garlic and oil in a Salvadorian café, as chewy tapioca pearls in Taiwanese green "bubble" milk tea and like mashed potatoes in a harvest potluck. But I had yet to make some at home so I picked up a couple tubers from the local farmer’s market.

I had heard that the skin was poisonous so as a precaution, consulted my new “Best Loved and Brand New” 75th edition of Joy of Cooking, a recent gift. There was a special section on yucca, but surprisingly, no mention of its “dark side.” The cooking process read similar to potatoes so that’s how I processed it. The yucca tasted kind of bitter so I decided to check the internet for clues. (Of course, searching anything online, especially a health matter is a guaranteed way of freaking yourself out, given the range of opinions and sources!)

With alarm, I read, “Yucca root should always be washed, peeled and cooked to remove a poisonous and toxic milky latex-like substance this lies just beneath the bark. If eaten, this acidic juice contained in the root and beneath the bark can attack enzymes within human digestive systems, causing discomfort, illness, and possibly death.” Egads!

I have always been proud of the fact that I have an “iron stomach,” eating everything under the sun and friends who know my diverse gastronomical repertoire and principle of “no waste” call me a raccoon. I also had the reputation of being an uber-researcher before making a decision (especially shopping decisions!) After 20 minutes of internet “speed-learning,” it all boiled down to this: There were two types of yucca: sweet and bitter. The latter could kill a cow within minutes. The sweet kind was described as being “less bitter and not really sweet.”

My yucca had tasted quite bitter. Oh dear. Obituary headlines flashed before me: “Cause of Death: Poisonous Tuber” and “Harvard Grad Killed by Improper Handling of Root Vegetable Eaten by Millions Around the World.” Rationality went out the window. My mother would never forgive me.

Well, this Raccoon Foodie had a decision to make very quickly: Stick a finger down my throat or take my chances? Hmmm, time was running out. After twenty minutes, still no nausea or blurred vision. Was there time for one more Google search?

Reluctantly, I self-induced and puked the yucca. (As I sat on the floor of my bathroom hugging the toilet, I thought, “how do bulimics do this??”) Moral of the story: Beware of the “joy of cooking” and cross-check your sources so you don’t get stuck chucking your yucca!

Happy Chinese New Year (Year of the Ox)!

Everything’s Changed But My Name: Part I, Inaugural Reflections

2009-01-20T18:07:00.008-05:00

On this historic day of Obama’s inauguration as President and the day after MLK Day, I found myself reflecting on the state of race relations, politics and family and recalled the development and progression of my interest in diversity, civil rights and multicultural relations.

After high school, I made the conscious decision to escape Atlanta for the “enlightened and cultured” cities of the north. The abrupt change from being the only Asian student from K-12 to being part of a majority group in New York’s Chinatown and multiple Asian student associations in college resulted in mixed feelings, surprisingly. Not only was I no longer “special,” but the amiable curiosity of Southerners gave way to a Yankee amalgamation of indifference, admiration, opportunity and, unfortunately with the rise of East Asia as an economic player, suspicion, resentment and even anti-Asian hatred. We’re not in Smyrna anymore, Toto.

Before college, much of my identity was defined as being the “other.” Now, it was time to forge my own identity. Taking Women Studies 101 in my junior year changed my life. For the first time, my eyes, heart and mind were opened not only to the power and pervasiveness of gender dynamics and sexism, but also to race, class, nationality, sexual orientation and their interplay. Afterwards, I wrote letters to the editor, marched in Washington, D.C. and organized multicultural events on campus, e.g. Race & Humor.

This class and these events re-set my world lens and in turn, set the course for my graduate studies, career choices and interest in community service. Ironically, I came back a liberal and to my chagrin, my home state and parents became Republican. My interests and subsequent jobs were difficult to explain to non-speaking Chinese relatives. For example, there was no equivalent at the time for a “nonprofit,” which became directly translated in Chinese as a “no money organization.” Not exactly something my parents wanted to boast about to friends. Instead, my parents introduced me as their “Harvard Missionary Girl.” After I won local public office, my dad minimized my role as “a sesame seed on a hamburger bun.” As an environmental activist and social progressive, my mother nicknamed me “tree-hugger and greenie.” I figured, the names could be much worse.

During the dark Bush II years (and some of the disappointing Clinton years), I went under, so to speak. Not defeated, but dormant and re-channeled. I focused on the personal and the local, to re-fuel emotionally and financially. I crossed over to the corporate sector and diversified my professional portfolio; ran my first local campaign and served as a town official; supported a local organic farm/CSA; performed in a community musical and played in sports leagues.

During my time as a human relations facilitator at NCCJ (National Conference of Community and Justice) in the late 90’s, many asked me about race dynamics and regional differences. Racism existed in both the North and South, but in different tones. Southern racism was more black and white and overt (e.g. MLK history, KKK, use of “n” word). Northern racism was subtle and often hypocritical (e.g. “I’m not racist, but he’s Muslim.”) Things have changed, especially metro Atlanta. The growth of ethnic business corridors, the Latino population, diversification of the Asian community and transplants from other cities have transformed the social, economic and political landscape.

For years, I remained hopeful that America would re-connect with its founding values and fulfill its promise of a democracy, despite being puzzled and disheartened at the gap between surveys and election results. Now, with a new administration that finally seems to be forged from and dedicated to the values of a democracy for the people and of the people, I’m looking forward to coming out of the political closet, this time in my hometown.

My parents and I still cancel out each other at the voting booth. But the optimism, vision and hope that led them to America of yesterday are the same values summoned by the Inaugural address of today.

The world is shifting in front of my eyes and the earth is moving beneath my feet. Today’s events are making history as I endeavor to capture my parent's historic journey from Asia to America. As I embark on a "new life" in Atlanta on this momentous occasion, I am reminded...

To lose the life you have for greater life;
To lose the friends you love for greater loving;
To find a land more kind than home, more large than earth.
Whereon the pillars of this earth are founded,
Toward which the conscience of this world is tending -
A wind is rising and the rivers flow.

Excerpt from “You Can’t Go Home Again” by Thomas Wolfe

NEW Asian Food/Market Course, Atlanta - March 26, 28

2009-01-14T21:07:00.002-05:00

Registration has started for my new Asian Market/Food course in Atlanta, "Eggrolls n' Sweet Tea" (March 26,28) at Evening at Emory, visit www.EveningAtEmory.org or http://cll.emory.edu/eate/classes.cfm?cla=-137736890&pt=3

Atlanta locals: Please pass the word around for our debut event! Happy Chinese New Year (Ox)!

20th High School Reunion

2009-01-12T21:01:00.005-05:00

With a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, I made a last minute decision to fly home for 24-hours to attend my 20th high school reunion. (“I already made you a name tag!” Julie lobbied.) My decision surprised everyone, including myself. “I thought you didn’t like high school?” True, I graduated and never looked back. I borrowed frequent flyer miles and had to fly back (to MA) the next morning, but those four hours changed my life.

The occasion was surreal. Except for a couple of girlfriends, I had not seen anyone for decades. Most arrived with their spouses or friends; I went solo. Many of the guys who were hot were not anymore. The geeks turned into hunks and I hardly recognized others. My small circle of girlfriends looked radiant with their partners; single and married guys flirted with me and I found common ground with classmates I barely knew. Later that evening, I overheard one of the guys whisper, “When did Natalie get so hot??” That made my evening. Actually, it made my year. I had finally come full circle and been redeemed for all those dateless pre-college years!

Maybe it wasn’t so much high school that I disliked. Maybe it was me who I disliked. The environment was different and I was different inside. Before Asian models were popular and Asian food became trendy, my family was the only source of positive reinforcement. I didn’t fit most Asian stereotypes, e.g. being good at math or science (I had to receive tutoring), being quiet or reticent (one teacher complained that I “asked too many questions”), non-controversial (I led a workers protest at Pizzaria Uno’s) or lady-like (I loved competitive sports and owned a BB-gun). I felt like one big five-foot-tall walking paradox!

Many high school classmates had known me since first grade and were as friendly as you could expect teens to be in a peer-pressurized culture. Thanks to a small group of sweet girlfriends who looked beyond the “color and coolness” lines, I was included in many social activities. Since then, my looks or interests haven’t changed that much. What has changed was inside of me – more confidence, more passion and acceptance – for who I was and wanted to become.

If you have the opportunity to go back to reunion and you didn’t like high school either, you might re-consider. Not only was it the best night of my year, it was the healing and closure I needed to look back through a new lens and to move forward with confidence.

My Christmas Birthday

2008-12-25T02:34:00.006-05:00

Happy Christmas Birthday to Me!

My dad decided on my name in his typical, logical way. He researched it and Natalie means "Christmas baby." That afternoon, my mom went into labor and had to drive herself and my non-English speaking grandma to fetch my dad at the park. He was playing football and jumped in the car covered in mud. I was born that night at 10pm. Since everyone predicted that I was going to be a boy, my Chinese name includes the character "brother."

Being a Christmas baby has always provoked interesting reactions. Most fall into one of two camps--those who think it was great and those who think it would suck. I always thought it was great because my family would overcompensate when I was a kid. I guess they felt bad since I got 1 for 2-fer gifts and it was the easiest birthday to remember--and to forget.

I never thought it was a drawback. I, actually, would receive the biggest pile of gifts and get a birthday cake. So, I didn't really miss having friends over for a party. It was always a family affair and that was fine. Of course now, as an enlightened, progressive, non-materialistic, eco-friendly, solstice-celebrating adult who eschews the over-commercialization of the season, gifts aren't that important (unless it came from the Patagonia or REI store...) :)

After the divorce and the growth of extended families, it's been hard to get everyone together. Those were tough milestones at first--shuttling between parents, sisters moving out of town and out of country, the first Christmas away from Atlanta. But Christmas was a special holiday, not because we were Christians, but because it was my birthday and I always came home for my birthday.

Now, for the first time in 15 years, I was home for Christmas to celebrate a milestone birthday, not as a visitor, but as a resident. Ironically, it felt like a non-event. Both my sisters and my dad would not be here and my mom and I were not sure how we would spend Christmas until yesterday. I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself, even though I knew I was one of the luckiest people on the planet. Where was my family on Christmas? I couldn’t just call a friend to go out, everything was closed. What was going on?

Let's see, last week I celebrated the Winter Solstice with 30 new friends. Tonight, I added an uncle, aunt, four cousins and 4 "new" nieces and nephews. On Christmas Day, my mom’s best friend will be hosting a dinner for us. The next day, we will visit with another aunt, uncle, cousin and 2 new nieces, all of whom I haven't seen in over a decade. In addition to the local events, we were welcomed to join several out of town celebrations.

The usual suspects weren’t here, but my circle of family and friends was growing. Yes, this year my Christmas Birthday will be different. In years past, my family celebrated me and my homecoming. Now that I live in Atlanta, the best reason to celebrate was local! The birthday wish had been granted and now it was time to re-connect and create a new circle.

My Dad, Johnny Cash and Whoppers

2008-12-16T23:25:00.000-05:00

My father was one of the first Chinese graduates from Georgia Tech and lived in Little Five Points in the early '60's. I realized later why he looked so alarmed when I first informed him about renting a studio there. His recollection of the neighborhood was still as a shooting gallery and gang base. He recalls how all the Asian students "could fit in one classroom" at Georgia Tech and how he ate chili dogs at the Varsity a lot, not because it was trendy, but because "it was all I could afford!" My dad is very proud of the fact that he has been successfully self-employed for his entire career and as he puts it, "never received a paycheck from anyone." Even though I received scholarships and did work-study, his talent and success as an engineering consultant, entrepreneur and businessman supported me through school and the early years of my career. For this, I will be forever grateful.

Now he is creating another chapter as a retired engineer and monk-in-training.

My father is the last person you would think of to take up yoga, let alone to become a yoga advocate! He never liked sitting cross-legged on the ground due to his inflexibility. Trained as a researcher and engineer, he lived and swore by proven methods, scientific reasoning and logic over any emotional healing or holistic “mumbo jumbo.” After suffering a debilitating injury that left him in a wheelchair, he ;earned a form of transformational self-healing and recently played competitively in the ALTA tennis league at age 71!

Do We All Look Alike?

2008-12-16T23:24:00.001-05:00

Most of us are familiar with the stereotype that “Asians all looked alike” but in a sea of whiteness, I stuck out like a foreign exchange student! I distinctly remember being called to the principal’s office when I was in 3rd grade to help translate for a visiting student. The only problem was, she was Japanese and I was Chinese!

Then there was Nina. A Chinese student who joined my elementary class briefly, for less than a year. You would think that I we would have bonded and formed an Asian alliance of two. Yet, oddly and sadly, I felt uncomfortable and distanced myself as far as possible from Nina. Ironically, I had tried so hard to fit in as an “American” that her presence reminded me of my real identity and the part of me that I wanted (and others) to forget.

My Mother: Country Asian Cooking & Teacher of the Year

2008-12-16T23:18:00.002-05:00

My mother was born in Hunan, China, grew up in Taiwan, and immigrated to the U.S. in the early 1960’s, first to Houston (“where I have a Jewish mother”), then to Atlanta where my dad was studying at Georgia Tech.

As a fourth and fifth-grade then a gifted program teacher, she was beloved by her students. She was a creative sparkplug in the classroom, incorporating multidisciplinary or complex subjects like aviation, bridge-building, world trade and/or Chinese literature when other teachers stayed with more traditional topics, and even more popular on the playground, as she taught (and played) sports like Chinese dodgeball and Double Dutch jump-roping. More than once, she was selected Teacher of the Year. Reflecting wistfully,"Under today's bureaucracy and policies, I probably couldn't teach or do half of the things I did, for fear of liability or parental complaints."

My mom invented fast food Chinese long before Panda Express ever came along. She told friends, “I worked full-time as a school teacher, had three kids, and they didn’t sell tofu or soy sauce at the local Winn-Dixie grocery store back then. Who had time to make dumplings for dinner!” She also preferred a cast iron skillet to a wok. After 40 years, she still uses the same skillet which is a permanent fixture on the stove. "Woks are wobbly and didn't work well on the electric stoves popular back then."

My favorite dishes included: “Pepper Steak n' Fries," Scrambled Eggs & Grits w/Preserved Radish," “Five Spice Rutabaga" and “Hot Hunan Catfish.” Instead of soda, we drank honey water and made honey popsicles. Baked items, like bread or pastries were virtually nonexistent. Fruit was dessert. Kind of like Atkins pre-Atkins. According to my mom, she was "not really a great cook, but fast." And she cooks fast "because I'm hungry and recipes make me dizzy!" But don't ask her to bake. "I prefer to cook a 5-course meal than make a cake!"

At the urging of her friends (and frequent dinner guests), my mom taught the first community school Chinese cooking class in the area. Even though I was only ten, I helped her and we did it together. The hardest part was creating the recipes since there were none. I sat perched on a stool beside her and the blazing cast-iron skillet with ingredients flying, trying to scribble “pinch of this, pinch of that” on an index card while my mom created. After teaching school for 15 years (and a divorce, unheard of for a Chinese couple at the time), she made a mid-life career change and became a successful self-employed businesswoman.

We are now preparing to teach an Asian market and food class at Emory University (March, 2009) called "Eggrolls n' Sweet Tea" Check out the course listing: http://cll.emory.edu/eate/classes.cfm?cla=-137736890&pt=3

Only Asian Kid in School

2008-12-16T22:29:00.000-05:00

I am proud to be Asian today and the beneficiary of modern positive stereotypes, but for the first 20 years of my life, I did everything I could to avoid being called a "chink." I wanted so much to fit in, to be "all-American," to be blond and buxom. To no one’s surprise except mine, it didn’t work. In contrast to the popularity of Asian fashion, food and culture today, in the homogeneity of 1970 Smyrna, kids and teenagers were relentless and made fun of anything and anyone who was different. So even though I spoke with a strong Southern drawl, loved chicken pot pies and read Reader's Digest and Judy Blume books, I was still a "foreigner."

How did I try to fit in? I wore blush to liven up my hopelessly pale cheeks and desperately curled and permed my flat, straight-as-an-arrow hair to get a wiggle of body. [Later, can you believe girls would PAY to have their hair straightened!] I wore a padded bra even though I didn’t need one. I avoided speaking Chinese in public. Still, our mere appearance in stores and on the street elicited racial jeers and the assumption of being a foreigner.

The ugly stuff – name calling, taunting, mostly from strangers—traumatized me, from pre-school to high school. I never understood the “kids will be kids” justification. I still cringe when a school bus full of kids or a carload of joyriding teenagers drive by.

As the only Asian kid in school, everyone thought I was “good at math" and "cute like a chinadoll.” Actually, I loved Language Arts and Social Studies and had a penchant for competitive sports. I had a circle of smart girlfriends and a few guy friends, either geeks or jock pony-tail pullers. One advantage to not belonging to any circle was that I had a diverse range of friends. I was turned down by a sophomore to the junior prom. (I went anyway with my brother in-law's younger brother, a studly, 25 year-old Latino from Venezuela!)

But no boyfriends. I never got asked out on a date or had a kiss before college! My fantasy was to have someone "have a crush on me" or "to go (steady) with a boy." (When I told my mom the latter, she asked, "Go where?") For better or worse, I had to wait.

The Family Restaurant: Eggrolls n' Sweet Tea

2008-12-16T22:28:00.000-05:00

I started working at my dad’s Chinese restaurant, Eggrolls By Keng, and jade store, Jade By Keng, in 1976 when I was 8 years old. Even though I barely stood over the counter, my mother said I had a knack for marketing and customer service. Next door was a Mexican jewelry store with beautiful silver buckles and turquoise earrings. We played with their kids and my mom ended up becoming best friends with Veronica and John. Ahead of the trend, both stores ended up closing after several years.

Eggrolls By Keng was the first Chinese restaurant in a mall (pre-Food Court era) and the only one with a steam table! My dad really was before his time and his business model, reputation and success are heralded by Chinese business owners in Atlanta even today. Unlike many other immigrants who went into the food business full-time, my dad already had his own career as an engineering consultant. He opened the restaurant and jewelry store so that my relatives could come over to the U.S. and have work.

Like the restaurant’s name, we served fresh, handmade eggrolls and my dad’s own sweet tea recipe. Before we opened, other restaurants served eggrolls that were mass-produced and frozen with stringy cabbage and colored meat bits —ugh! People hiked across the mall for our sweet tea and eggrolls! Even my dad, who preferred BK Whoppers, enjoyed eating our fresh eggrolls.

My aunt made our eggrolls by hand and with fresh ingredients. I was only eight so I got drinks and took money. I was queen of the Coke machine and stood on a beer box to reach the cash register. Some customers would see me and hesitate. After a while, regular customers got to know me and would even tip me! I also helped in the kitchen, making ground beef for the eggrolls in an industrial meat grinder and de-leafing the celery. My sisters worked there after school. To this day, my sister says she can’t eat snow peas because of the “trauma” of “shucking 50 lbs of snow peas” for hours. My mom taught school and came out on the weekends. I missed some football games on Saturday nights, but most of the time, it was interesting and I got paid.

As I got older, I realized how hard the restaurant business was. The hours were long and the work was not glamorous. Even though I worked more than most of my friends, my parents and sisters put in double shifts in the early years. And we had servers and cooks who worked every day. It took a toll on our family life and on my parent’s marriage. At the same time, it taught me the value of work and our sacrifices and it’s success laid the foundation for our college tuitions and eventually, a suburban, middle class life.

From Buddha to Bubba

2008-12-16T20:45:00.000-05:00

As one of the few Asian families in Smyrna, Georgia, my sisters and I learned quickly about the meaning of being Chinese-American, about “being different." When we were young, my parents penalized us a dime for every English word spoken in the house. It was their desperate attempt (against the odds) to help us speak Chinese and to maintain some connection to Chinese culture against the backdrop of our American-styled lives, which included high school pep rallies, Waffle House and pinball games.

My father listened to Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson and preferred hamburgers to Chinese food. My mother ate more often with a fork than with chopsticks. Amazingly, we seemed to find a balance between the two worlds of eggrolls and sweet tea. Despite our protestations, the Chinese-only language policy held firm.

Fortunately for me, their efforts were successful. Being able to speak Chinese meant more than being bilingual; it opened the door not only to learning about my own heritage, despite never having lived in China, but also the opportunity to share my “other half” to friends and colleagues.

Mall Kid and Arcade Whiz

2008-12-16T20:39:00.000-05:00

I started working at my father’s Chinese restaurant, Eggrolls By Keng, when I was 8 years old. I was queen of the Coke machine, stood on a beer box to reach the cash register, and made ground beef for the eggrolls in an industrial meat grinder. Some may call it child labor, but I thought it was fun.

On breaks, my dad gave me quarters to play at the arcade. Later, my friends would marvel at my prowess of playing Foosball, Air Hockey and Whac-a-Mole. I knew all the business owners and had favorite mall amusements – like playing with the calculators, wandering the bookstore, eating nut samples or sniffing the cigar and tobacco room.

Occasionally, there were special events. My mom entered me in the Little Miss Cumberland Mall pageant when I was 6. The announcer said, “Natalie likes gymnastics, has a dog named Plunkie and wants to be a surgeon.” I didn’t win but I got to keep the new dress! One night, I stood on one leg for 6 hours to win a year’s supply of Bubble Yum, sponsored by the Guinness Book of World Records. I didn’t set a record, but I won the bubble gum!

Surprisingly, I also had the opportunity to learn ice skating in Georgia! I loved to skate, but hated the snobbery and ostracization. I didn't have the right clothes or skates. I was the last in my group to graduate from rental skates even though I was one of the best skaters. "Real skates" were extremely expensive. I earned my way up from Sears skates to a used pair to finally, my own pro skates. I would arrive at the mall, still wearing my skates (with guards over the blades) and show off my balancing skill and skates!

In the Heart, A Brother

2008-12-16T20:28:00.000-05:00

As a true “Chinese Southern Belle,” I was born a first-generation Chinese-American in Atlanta, Georgia and grew up in what was then, the small town of Smyrna, “Jonquil City.” My parents immigrated to the U.S. in 1961 on academic scholarships to graduate school. Since I was the third and youngest daughter, everyone predicted, by hunch or by hope, that I would be a boy, since my mom already had two girls. According to Chinese tradition of favoring male children, conventional relatives would give their condolences at the news of a baby girl, and congratulations at the news of a baby boy. Legend has it that many a wife or concubine was doomed to suffer from a lifetime of guilt and poverty or even death for not delivering a son.

Fortunately for me, my father adored me. As my mother often pointed out, “he spoiled you from the moment you were born!” Even my name is symbolic and auspicious: “ti” means humanitarian and is composed of the characters for “heart” and “brother.” Chinese people take their names very seriously as an embodiment of the person’s character and family reputation.

Whether it was because we had no brothers or the fact that we lived in the Deep South, my dad took us fishing (“you can bait your own hooks or sit there”), camping, shooting, motorcycling, and hunting. I owned a Daisy BB-gun rifle and later shot a Kit 22 and a 44-Magnum. I don’t remember many pink things in my room. My mother held her own as the avid fisherperson and Chinese dodgeball viper in the family.

Chinese Southern Belle - Intro

2008-12-16T20:13:00.001-05:00

I started documenting, writing and sharing my Chinese family’s history and journey, in China, Taiwan and the Deep South with the hope that it would add an entertaining and enriching cross-cultural dimension to the tapestry of Atlanta’s history. It was a journey marked by a constant juxtaposition of cultures and customs, from egg rolls and Big Macs to Taoism and Dow Jones.

Asian American culture has come a long way since my parents landed in Houston, Texas then Atlanta, Georgia in the early 1960's. We were the only Asian family in the neighborhood and tofu and soy sauce were unheard of in the local grocery stores. Now, of course, Asian food and culture, in all its diversity, is accessible and very popular. Many of my friends have traveled to China and now teach me about the nuances of taichi, karate or Indian yoga. The cooking class my mother taught in 1988 stretched culinary boundaries with Hot and Sour Soup. In 2009, our new course will cover sushi, bibimbap, pad thai and a tour of an Asian market the size of Wal-Mart.

While the motivation was personal, I also hope that these stories will help create a stronger, shared sense of community across our differences and similarities through an appreciation and remembrance of one family's immigrant experience. Perhaps, we will find insight and inspiration in the commonality of the American experience.

May we all enjoy more cross-cultural friendships, potlucks and eggrolls n’ sweet tea!

Happy Winter Soulstice!