“They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies That Raised Us”

Since getting pregnant with Kaia, I’ve thought a lot about the concept of intergenerational trauma or inherited trauma. I suppose my generation is the first to acknowledge that such a thing even exists and how toxic it can be. In previous generations, it was all about survival. Now, my generation is being more introspective about why we are the way we are, and how the way we are is largely shaped by how we were raised and what we were told was expected or “normal.”

I’ve read more books in the last several years about complicated parent-adult child relationships, dysfunctional ethnic family dynamics, and child-rearing in general. In the last year, I came across a book recommendation, a memoir entitled, “They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies that Raised Us” by Prachi Gupta, an Indian-American journalist who is my age. In her memoir, she details her parents’ journey to the U.S., their path to the “American dream,” and how the model minority myth fractured her family and even potentially even led to her brother’s premature, untimely death.

Prachi is exactly 18 months older than her brother. Her parents told her they had intended always to have two children, and for them to be close in age, because they wanted the two of them to be each other’s best friend; their mom said that they wanted them to take care of each other once they both passed. Prachi and Yush were basically like best friends up until their late teen/early adult years, when their relationship became unsteady due to their diverging views on men vs. women’s roles in society, as well as their family’s dysfunctions.

I really felt for Prachi reading this book; I finished the book within just a few sittings. Even though she specifically discusses the Indian American / desi experience, I could relate a lot to the complexities of the dysfunctions of her family, the verbal and psychological abuse she, her brother, and their mother endured. I could hear the same echoes and pressures of keeping things a secret or “having/losing face” in my own family. And I could especially feel for her in the moment she found out that her little brother was dead. All the things she so eloquently writes about in detailing her emotions around her brother’s life and death feel so eerily familiar, so similar to how I felt with Ed. The only difference was that Yush was a high achieving, outwardly “successful” Asian American, and well, Ed was not. Both were depressed and suffered from different psychological disorders; both felt that they were less than human beings in their on-earth-bodily states. This is a pretty good quote to summarize how she felt about her family in the world:

“I had once thought that I came from a line of Gods, and I had punished myself for failing to be Godlike. But we were not Gods, and I was not the avatar for our family’s unraveling. I was just another product of inherited trauma, unresolved grief, and reactive survival mechanisms, like everyone else who came before me. We were mortals who felt ashamed when we failed to appear omnipotent. Now I see that my job was to release my ancestors from this burden, to allow those who come next the freedom to be ordinary.”

The book ends with her having little to no contact with her parents. The memoir is written as a letter addressing her mother throughout, saying all the things she wish she could say to her, but her mom refuses to listen to. While she yearns to have a close relationship with her mom as she did when she was a child, it cannot happen without the meddling of her abusive, controlling, and mentally ill father.

Even though it’s been a few days since I finished reading the book, I’m still thinking about it a lot. The emotional rawness of it felt so real, so scarily relatable. As a review in The Atlantic wrote, “She explains better than any writer I’ve ever encountered how conflicts that may appear low-stakes—such as an argument over grades or extracurriculars—can tear open an unnavigable gulf.” People always say that certain arguments don’t matter or don’t mean anything — but my general thought is, well, actually, these seemingly little arguments can expose larger fractures that should very likely be addressed before they blow up. I’m happy to see people of color in my generation writing books like this, and also addressing exactly how complex and unpredictable “dysfunction” can look like.

Grocery bagger’s integrity

I was at Patel Brothers in Jackson Heights this morning picking up a few Indian grocery staples before getting some work done at a cafe and then meeting a friend for lunch in the area. At the cash register, one worker was ringing all my items up, while a second was bagging my groceries with my canvas bags. The Indian male worker who was bagging my groceries was likely in his 70s or 80s; he was short, had a bad back with his very visible hunch, and was slowly bagging each item into my first canvas bag. After all my items were rung up and I paid, I thought I would help speed things up given there was someone behind me who was about to be rung up, and we could get done quicker if we both bagged the items. The grocery bagger gazed up at me sternly but grandfatherly, shook his head and wagged his finger with a smile on his face to indicate to me that he didn’t want me bagging my items, and motioned for my second canvas bag to fill it with my items. I let him finish slowly bag up the rest of my items, thanked him, and departed. He gave me a slow smile and a wink on my way out.

I don’t know why, but on my walk over to the cafe, I kept thinking about this guy. He didn’t say anything to me; I’m not even sure if he spoke English. But what’s clear is that he took his job seriously and had a lot of integrity. He knew that if I helped bag my own items, it would have been quicker; two is always faster than one. But he really didn’t want me to do it. And it made me think about integrity. I am not sure what he did for a living before bagging groceries at Patel Brothers, but I am willing to bet that as a little boy, he didn’t dream about bagging groceries in his 70s and 80s. Yet what I also think is true is that given this is his current chosen job, he just wants to do the best possible job he can because he actually cares. And frankly, not everyone cares enough to do the best possible job they can at any job today, especially ones that are higher in pay or prestige elsewhere.

The world of chicken soup

Every culture on earth likely has their version of the restorative, soothing, and homey chicken soup. In the U.S., it’s oftentimes made with a mirepoix (carrots, celery, and onion), lots of shredded chicken, and egg noodles; this is what you picture when you think of a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. A Jewish version may basically be this, but instead of egg noodles, it would have large, fat, airy, fluffy matzo balls (which I love and even craved while pregnant with Kaia). In China, chicken soup has endless variations, but the most basic ones just simply have some ginger or garlic added; the version made for postpartum confinement is made with rice wine, Chinese red dates, lots of ginger, and plenty of chicken and collagen from the bones. In Vietnam, pho ga is extremely popular, flavored with charred onions, ginger, and whole cilantro stems, spiced with delicate fennel seeds.

And then there is Thailand, where, when westerners think of Thai soup, they immediately think of tom yum goong, with its red tinged broth and big prawns. What’s actually more common in Thai home cooking, though, is the favored and beloved tom kha gai, or Thai chicken coconut galangal soup. I’ve been trying to make more soups this year, and this soup naturally seemed to fit on the list of things we’d like to enjoy at home. Other than having a strong chicken stock base and coconut, the soup primarily relies on fresh herb infusions, primarily thinly sliced galangal (of course, given the “kha” in the name), pounded lemongrass, bruised makrut lime leaves, and sliced chilies.

I had all of these items except for the galangal stored in my freezer. So I went down to Chinatown to look for galangal, knowing this would be harder to find. I popped into Hong Kong Supermarket, where very occasionally I had seen galangal before, but it was usually a rare item. When I couldn’t find it, I asked one of the workers in Chinese if they had galangal (in Chinese, it’s pronounced “gao liang jiang”). He responded, “Galangal? We’ve had it before. But I don’t think we have it today. Why don’t you use ginger instead?” and then pointed over to the massive ginger pieces on the shelf.

This guy was clearly Chinese and not southeast Asian at all. No Southeast Asian would ever, ever say that galangal could be replaced by ginger. It’s a totally different world of flavor!! I ended up going to a small Thai shop on Mosco Street to source my galangal instead. And that trek was worth it.

I made the tom kha gai soup today, which came together really quickly, and it was even more delicious than I had envisioned. It tasted soothing, comforting, creamy, and very fresh because of all those fresh herbs. This soup was like the embodiment of everything I love about Thai cooking. As I was sipping it and picking out pieces of woody galangal, I thought about how my Thai cooking journey started, and it was all because of Hot Thai Kitchen. When I first moved to New York and lived in Elmhurst, I was surrounded by endless authentic and delicious Thai restaurants. I marveled at all the different herbs and spices and thought it would be too complicated to make at home. And now 17 years later, with Hot Thai Kitchen’s guidance and expert explanations, I’m making Thai food semi regularly now, and it’s not daunting at all! It’s the evolution of my cooking knowledge and skills thanks to some amazing sources like Hot Thai Kitchen’s Pailin that make their cuisines so approachable and easy to understand.

The “right” way to make stock/bone broth

If you do a quick search online for how to make chicken stock/broth/bone broth, you”ll see that there are endless tips and tricks, recipes, and recipes that claim to be the “best.” What very few of them will do is share that, well, there’s really no “best” bone broth recipe. Is it really necessary to add vinegar to your bone broth process to further “pull” out the nutrients from the bone marrow into your stock? Do you need to do a mirepoix (combination of chopped carrots, onions, and celery) to make the most flavorful stock base? Are onions a “must” in any chicken stock? The answer to all the above is “no,” and “it depends.” All global cultures have their version of bone broth/stock, and every version brings a different type of “delicious” to their culture’s food. When I was recently reading about the popular Thai soup tom kha gai or Thai chicken galangal coconut soup, Hot Thai Kitchen warned to absolutely NOT use chicken stock from a can/carton from your average Western grocery store because it would not have the right flavors for a Thai soup. Instead, she suggests making your own very simply with a few ingredients. A lot of people would be confused by what she means. What she’s saying is that the mirepoix mentioned above, which is usually considered key in ideal western chicken stocks, would not work here, nor would flavorings like oregano, thyme, rosemary, or the related that are oftentimes added to western stocks. Typical Asian-based stocks would be nothing more than the chicken itself, occasionally garlic and ginger, sometimes some onion, daikon, cilantro and scallion stems, and that’s it!

I made my Asian-based stock just like this today, with chicken bones, some chicken drumsticks, slices of ginger, a few smashed cloves of garlic, some frozen cilantro and scallion stems, daikon, onion, and peppercorns. And it turned out the way it always turns out: rich, golden, full of collagen, and fragrant. I’m planning to use it for tom kha gai, maybe some future tom yum goong, and likely a third Chinese or Thai soup. Stock is the basis of all good cooking, and in this house, we definitely lean Asian with our flavors.

Persian Adasi (lentil) stew

While still on my Persian cooking kick, I decided to also make some Persian style lentils, also known as adasi (lentils) stew. I soaked some brown lentils overnight, chopped up onions and garlic, and then simply used turmeric, cumin, and cinnamon to spice the lentils and simmered them for about 45 minutes. And when I seasoned and did a taste test, I just thought… wow. This is so warm and hearty tasting, and there’s no animal product in it at all. And though turmeric, cumin, and cinnamon are all spices that cross both Persian and Indian cultures, the resulting flavor is so, so different than any Indian dal you would ever eat, home cooked or at a restaurant. I was texting this with my Persian friend, who also agreed how interesting it was, while also nothing that at one time, they are all one empire. Then, they broke off and developed their own techniques and ways of cooking that are slightly the same, yet different.

I occasionally still meet people who are anti beans, who think beans are gross, give you gas, and should be avoided. I really think that if they had a lentil stew like this Persian version that they would be hard pressed to say it was revolting.

Persian cooking

Given that we are now officially in spring, the Persian New Year, aka, Nowruz, has also come. At my last company, I made a Persian friend who was on my team, who also loved food. We spent a lot of time talking about food, different cultural traditions, and the first time we met, the two of us were actually charged with preparing food for two days for my team’s offsite at a semi-remote house in Northern California. The more she talked about Persian food, the more I started reading about it and got into it. And so I started experimenting more with Persian dishes like Persian lentils, rice, chicken and fish. I was amazed at how much saffron can be used in Persian cooking, as I’d never really known what to do with saffron before Persian or Indian cooking. I’d bought a number of small bottles of it from Costco, during travels in India, and had been gifted them by Chris’s mom. But given that saffron is actually more expensive by weight than diamonds, I always used it sparingly.

This week, in light of Nowruz, I made Persian sabzi polo, or Persian herbed rice with tahdig, or crispy bottomed rice, as well as slow-cooked salmon with herbs and spices. I had bought a massive amount of cilantro, parsley, dill, and scallions just for these two dishes. And as Chris watched me chop up a bunch of herbs, he looks at all the greens across the kitchen counter and goes, “We can’t eat herbs!” He meant we couldn’t *just* eat herbs for dinner, but because he said that sentence so slowly and didn’t say much after that, he made it sound like herbs were inedible. I reminded him how lucky he is to have such a varied diet with all my creative cooking even when he randomly forgets that yes, herbs actually are edible, to which he responded, “I give you a varied diet by taking you all over the freaking world!” Talk about men who don’t seem to take feedback well…

“This is what it’s like to live”

Unlike most Mondays, today I went to my SoHo coworking space. I was thinking about doing it anyway since I realized I had one March credit I had to use (I get four credits per month; it’s use-it-or-lose-it), and I want to use whatever perks I can get value out of from work as much as possible. But when a Brooklyn friend said she was taking Monday off and suggested we have lunch together, I decided it would be a good idea to meet semi-half way and meet up in Chinatown. We met up at one of my favorite Malaysian spots, Kopitiam, which she’d never been to before but loved (it’s an easy place to love; I have not brought a single person here who did not like it). Since my work schedule was relatively light, we enjoyed char kway teow, pandan chicken, fried duck tongues, Malaysian style French toast, lychee bandung, and iced Milo over two hours worth of chatter.

I told Chris what we ate, and in his usual snark, he made comments about what a busy work day I had and, “That sounds like a very luxurious Monday lunch!” If there is one thing I can never complain about with my current job, it’s the level of ownership I have over my schedule, as well as the flexibility I have to work wherever I want. I’ve had three managers now over the last almost five years, and every single one of them has agreed on the philosophy of: just get your work done, and no one will bother you about when/whether you are online.

It made me think about my neighbor I saw yesterday, who works as a doctor and is originally from Turkey. Her husband is French from France, and they both sound like they have very intense jobs. After their toddler goes to sleep at night, they both have to be back on their computers doing work and emails. She lamented how grueling it is, especially when she has to prepare all of her son’s school meals. It gets really tiring since she’s in the office five days a week, and her husband is in the office at least three days a week. So when she’s doing food prep for the week on Sunday, it’s almost like battling for time because it’s either she makes food OR she spends time with her son. He’s only engaged in the cooking if they’re making cookies, she said with a smile. The few weeks they go back to France or Amsterdam or somewhere where they have family, her parents will come up from Turkey and siblings will come from other European countries, and they will spend quality time together, 100 percent away from work. The kids will play and have fun together, and they will actually relax. She mentioned how it felt like, “All we seem to do here in America as foreigners is work, work, work. It’s so expensive here, so we don’t have a choice but to work around the clock. And so it almost feels like the only time we really get to enjoy life is when we take these trips together and spend quality time as a (wider) family. These are the times when it’s like a reminder to us: this is what it’s like to really live.”

Sometimes, I wonder if the last 17 years of working has really brought me any actual meaning into my life. I haven’t worked to increase equality in the world. I don’t save lives. I’m not researching cures for cancer or Alzheimer’s. I’m not trying to eradicate fake news and educate the masses. I basically have worked for a bunch of for-profit companies where at the end of the day, I’ve worked hard (well, most of the time) to make rich, mostly White people even richer. But then I realize… I have it really, really good. I met my life partner, husband, and father to my Kaia Pookie through work. I’ve met so many good friends and genuinely good hearted people across all the companies I’ve worked at. And I’ve also had a level of work flexibility that most people I know completely envy and wish they had. Life, I suppose, is all about give and take.

Fashionista – everywhere in the U.S. except in New York City

I’ve been called a lot of adjectives, positive and negative, over the course of my life. But “fashionable” or “trendy” are not words that I had ever been called until I started working at my last company. When I used to travel to my last company’s headquarters in San Francisco, I would usually be the most dressed up person in a meeting or conference room. I’d walk through a sea of hoodies, Patagonia fleeces, or North Face pullovers. This was also the case while walking on the streets of downtown San Francisco. It’s almost as though no one even attempted to look nice for work and just wanted to give the “I don’t care what I am wearing” vibe off. Everyone just wanted to look like everyone else! It wasn’t even like I was wearing expensive or tailored clothing; I’d just happen to be wearing a dress or a skirt, and everyone would shower me with compliments on how pretty my outfit was. Then, at my current company, we had a team offsite last year in San Francisco. On my team, I was voted one of the most fashionable, which I found laugh-out-loud funny, as that could not be farther from the truth.

I was reminded of this when I went out for coffee yesterday morning in downtown Denver with a colleague. We were at a coffee shop and grabbed our lattes when they were ready. And as we walked out, a woman almost chased me out to tap me on my shoulder.

“Hey! Sorry to bother you, but I absolutely love your boots!” the woman nearly squealed. “Where did you get them from? They are so cute!”

I thanked her for the compliment and told her that they were from Nordstrom and are actually Nordstrom brand, and I’d purchased them last year during a Black Friday sale. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say I got them from some exotic, foreign place custom made and designed, though I’m sure that would have sounded very impressive. She thanked me for letting her know, and my colleague and I went on our merry way back to our workshop.

“No one ever thinks I am fashionable in New York,” I told my colleague from Texas. “I am only ‘fashionable’ when I go to other U.S. cities!”

Opo squash soup – canh bau – a delicious home-style Vietnamese soup

Lately, I’ve been thinking more about traditional Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai (because I love Thai 🙂 ) meals at home. I think about all the dishes I probably took for granted that my mom, aunt, and grandma would make when I was little, and I’ve gotten some nostalgia for them. A lot of not so glamorous dishes that are considered home-style or home cooking are really what make up the bulk of a traditional Chinese, Vietnamese, or Thai family’s meals, and so I’ve been thinking about how to incorporate those elements into my week to week cooking. Since Kaia was born, I will be honest and say that our at-home meals, unless I’m expecting guests, tend to be a bit disjointed. I will make one Vietnamese dish, then have some Chinese-style dishes made, and then randomly throw in some Instant Pot dal or other quick lentil soup. I haven’t had a lot of time to think through what I want to make, how I will make it, and then how they will all form a semi-cohesively themed meal.

Since I discovered that I can get decently priced and good quality meat at Hong Kong Supermarket in Manhattan Chinatown, I’ve been thinking about all the home-style soups I could make. And one of them was opo squash soup. Opo squash is a common green-colored squash that is used in East/Southeast Asian cooking, and it’s commonly used to flavor soups. When it’s paired with chicken, pork, or shrimp, it takes on a really nice savory, subtly sweet flavor in the broth it’s in. It is hard to describe it accurately, but it’s a very savory, warming, and nourishing flavor that in my mind, sums up Asian style home cooking. I hadn’t had a soup prepared with it for ages, as I know my mom used to make it for us when we were growing up. So when I prepared it on Saturday evening and tasted the finished broth, it took me back to the flavors of my mom’s home cooking back in the day.

So it made me really happy when I showed Kaia the soup, and she immediately loved it. She ended up having three servings of it. I picked out more chicken pieces for her to eat, and she totally devoured them. And surprisingly, she did not hesitate to eat the squash; she probably had just as much squash as she did chicken! Every time she embraces a dish I cook, especially if it’s something that’s more home-style like what I grew up with, I feel like my heart just sings. I’m so happy to give her flavors from her cultures to love and cherish.

Manhattan Chinatown in the morning: when everything comes alive, and you tiao (油条) can be discovered made fresh

I dropped Kaia off at school this morning since I had a 5pm work call that I couldn’t get out of, so Chris picked her up today. Since it’s technically mid-winter recess in New York City this week, kids who are opted in (and paying for) after-school hours can still attend school this week, just that the hours are slightly shorter. Drop-off this week is at 9am (instead of 8:30), and pickup can be no later than 5pm (it’s usually 6pm, but I usually try to pick up between 5-5:10).

Chris has said he prefers doing morning drop off and has gotten into a routine of it. When I have suggested in the past that he make use of that morning drop off time by buying some groceries and baked goods, he’s brushed it off, insisting he doesn’t have time and has a pseudo morning work schedule he has to adhere to. To be fair, he doesn’t really care to explore different shops in Chinatown the way I do, so it’s better that I do these things during the occasional times I do morning drop off. Like any decent sized Chinatown, the real life and energy of Manhattan Chinatown starts early in the morning, when all the produce and meats are getting delivered, when all the bakeries are churning out all their buns and breads and sweets fresh. The really good bakeries open as early as 8am; the shops tend to open around 9. This is the best time to come down here and buy all the freshly made staples for cooking Chinese food at home, such as freshly churned out and steaming hot rice noodles, fresh pressed tofu in endless forms, seitan, and soy milk. By the time I come between 4:30-5pm for school pickup, most of the best stuff has already sold out completely, or they’ve been sitting there, waiting to be purchased all day.

This morning, we arrived in Chinatown a bit early, so I decided to take Kaia into one of my favorite fresh food shops to pick up some things for cooking in the next week. This brought us to Kong Kee Food Corp, which is just a block over from her school. I discovered this spot maybe 10-ish years ago: they make fresh tofu and seitan in endless forms, as well as fresh rice noodles, herbal tea, and soy milk. They distribute to a lot of local supermarkets and restaurants. If you come early in the morning, they have stir fried noodles and rice noodle soup for breakfast that you can carry out. When we arrived, there were already some older ladies who were coming in to purchase breakfast noodles to go. A worker in the back was sitting at a table hand cutting noodles in bulk. Kaia curiously wandered around, looking at all the items in the glass cases and peering up at the female workers. She started giggling when one of them gave her attention; the woman behind the counter was so besotted by her that she took a package of fruit snacks and dangled them out as a gift for her. “So cute!” the woman kept exclaiming.

When I come in to Kong Kee, the items I get the most often are the pressed and five-spiced pressed tofu. I have also previously purchased and enjoyed their fresh rice noodles, which are cut thinly almost like pho noodles, thicker like ho fun/he fun (chow fun noodles), and also in huge sheets for large rice noodle rolls. I’ve also gotten their seitan and enjoyed it. This time, I purchased some seitan (kao fu), five spice pressed tofu as repeat buys. For new items to try, I finally got two sticks of you tiao (the Chinese donut crullers I wanted for jook at home), as morning is the best time to buy these sticks. I also chose a large container of their soy milk. They added some sugar at my request.

Well, according to the Shanghai saying, I already purchased two of the four warriors for Shanghainese breakfast – “四大金刚” Sìdà Jīngāng. The classic Shanghainese brekkie, heavy on the carbs of course, would be these four items: you tiao / Chinese donut stick, ci fan (pressed rice roll), shao bing (Shanghainese flat flaky sesame pancake), and fresh hot soy milk. I can’t wait to have my you tiao later! It’s the first time I’ve ever purchased these sticks whole anywhere in New York City!

When I look at whole long you tiao sticks in Chinese bakeries and food shops, I am reminded of the time shortly after my grandma passed when my mom made a big pot of jook. It was always a treat when we’d have jook at home and also have you tiao to dip into it. The textural contrast between the crisp chewiness of the you tiao against the soft creaminess of the jook was always so comforting and satisfying. My grandma would occasionally buy a bag of these freshly fried sticks from a local bakery, and when we’d have jook at the table, it would be a happy surprise when she’d lay out a plate of the you tiao, already neatly cut into bite sized pieces for us to dunk into our jook bowls. But it was always my grandma who bought them; we never knew what they were even called in Chinese then, and we didn’t know which bakeries to buy them from.

So one day, my mom was determined to resolve this issue. She said we would go out together searching and would find those donut sticks! My mom and I wandered around Clement Street (like San Francisco Richmond District’s mini Chinatown) and went bakery to bakery, peering in to see if anyone sold them. We used our broken Toisan to ask around, but we kept getting negative responses; none of these places made this donut stick. Finally, we got to a bakery off of 6th avenue that had them way in the back, in a big metal bin, all standing upright and tall, waiting to be purchased. We pointed passed the cashier guy and motioned towards the you tiao, and they got excited to have helped us solve our mystery of what it was that we were looking for. In Mandarin, you tiao are literally called “oil sticks/strips,” while in Cantonese, they are known as “oil fried ghosts” or yàuhjagwái. Since then, I’ve never forgotten the name of them. And since then, I’ve also learned that these delicious fried Chinese donut sticks are eaten not just with jook/congee, but also wrapped in fresh rice noodle rolls (a dim sum delight), tucked into Shanghainese shao bing pancakes, and simply ducked into hot soy milk and eaten.

Memories with food are usually the happiest memories from my childhood, but I don’t think that’s unique to me based on all the childhood stories I’ve heard over the years.