Hamburgers? Hot dogs? What about lo mein, or General Tsoâs chicken?
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Sunday, November 19, 2017
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Anthony Cotsifas
What do you picture when you think of âAmericanâ food? Hamburgers? Hot dogs? Turkey and mashed potatoes? What about lo mein, or General Tsoâs chicken? Almost one-third of Americans have ordered Chinese takeout or eaten in a Chinese restaurant in the last month, the TED resident Katie Salisbury tells us, and there are more than 40,000 Chinese restaurants in the United States, nearly three times the number of McDonaldâs franchises.
This week we explore Asian-American cuisine and take a glimpse into the harsh realities of being a Chinese restaurant or takeout worker in New York.
[Excerpts From âAsian-American Cuisineâs Rise, and Triumphâ](
[](
Anthony Cotsifas
By [Ligaya Mishan](
The history of Asian-American cuisine goes back to the first tearooms and banquet halls set up by Chinese immigrants who came to seek their fortune in Gold Rush California in the 1850s. By the end of the 19th century, despite Congressâs passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882 and attempts to condemn San Franciscoâs Chinatown as a threat to the American way of life â âin their quarters all civilization of the white race ceases,â declared a pamphlet published by the Workingmenâs Party of California in 1880 â Cantonese restaurants were all the rage in New York. The food was cheap and fast, swiftly stir-fried in woks, a technique that remained a mystery for decades to most in the West. (One journalist, touring a Chinatown kitchen in 1880, did wonder if âthe funny little things we saw at the bottom of a deep earthen jar were ratâs-tails skinned.â)
When outsiders came flocking in the 1890s, Chinese chefs altered and invented dishes to please them. This was less concession than calculation, capitalizing on opportunity. The work of immigrants â in food as in the arts â has always been dogged by accusations of impurity and inauthenticity, suggesting that there is one standard, preserved in amber, for what a dish should be or what a writer or artist with roots in another country should have to say. Itâs a specious argument, as if being born into a culture were insufficient bona fides to speak of it. (Immigrants are always being asked to show their papers, in more ways than one.) The history of food, like the history of man, is a series of adaptations, to environment and circumstance. Recipes arenât static. Immigrant cooks, often living in poverty, have always made do with whatâs on hand, like the Japanese-Americans rounded up and shipped to internment camps during the Second World War, who improvised rice balls with rations of Spam, and the Korean and Filipino-Americans who, having survived on canned goods in the aftermath of war, eked out household budgets by deploying hot dogs in kimbap and banana-ketchup spaghetti.
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Anthony Cotsifas
Almost every Asian-American chef I spoke to â most of whom are in their late 20s to early 40s â came to the U.S. as children or were born to parents who were immigrants. (In 1952, the last racial barriers to naturalization were lifted, and in 1965, immigration quotas based on national origin â for Asia, 100 visas per country per year â were abolished.) Almost all had stories of neighbors alarmed by the smells from their familiesâ kitchens or classmates recoiling from their lunchboxes. âI was that kid, with farty-smelling food,â said Jonathan Wu, the Chinese-American chef at [Nom Wah Tu]( in New York. âI still feel that, if Iâm taking the train with garlic chives in my bag.â
So these chefsâ cooking, born of shame, rebellion and reconciliation, is not some wistful ode to an imperfectly remembered or never-known, idealized country. Itâs a mixture of nostalgia and resilience. It wasnât taught â certainly not in the way other cuisines have been traditionally taught. Graduates of the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, N.Y., recalled that little time was devoted to Asian cooking; at Le Cordon Bleu in London and in Paris, none. One instructor took offense when Preeti Mistry, whose Indian-inflected restaurants include [Juhu Beach Club]( in Oakland, Calif., likened a French stew to curry. Another told David Chang that pork stock, essential to tonkotsu ramen, was âdisgusting.â
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Anthony Cotsifas
Any immigrant is an outsider at first. But for Asians in America, there is a starker sense of otherness. We donât fit into the American binary of white and black. We have been the enemy; the subjugated; the âlesserâ peoples whose scramble for a foothold in society was historically seen as a menace to the American order. And yet weâve also been the âgoodâ immigrants, proving ourselves worthy of American beneficence â polite, humble, grateful, willing to work 20-hour days running a grocery store or a laundry or a restaurant that will never be âauthenticâ enough, to spend every dime on our childrenâs test prep so that they get into the best schools, because we believe in the promise of America, that if you work hard, you can become anyone. If you try hard enough, you might even be mistaken for white.
Among the children of immigrants, Asians in America seem most caught in a state of limbo: no longer beholden to their parentsâ countries of origin but still grasping for a role in the American narrative. There is a unique foreignness that persists, despite the presence of Asians on American soil for more than two centuries; none of us, no matter how bald our American accent, has gone through life without being asked, âWhere are you from? I mean, originally?â But while this can lead to alienation, it can also have a liberating effect. When you are raised in two cultures at once â when people see in you two heritages at odds, unresolved, in abeyance â you learn to shift at will between them. You may never feel like you quite belong in either, but neither are you fully constrained. The acute awareness of borders (culinary as well as cultural) that both enclose and exclude, allows, paradoxically, a claim to borderlessness, taking freely from both sides to forge something new. For Asian-American chefs, this seesaw between the obligations of inheritance and the thrill of go-it-aloneness, between respecting your ancestors and lighting out for the hills, manifests in dishes that arguably could come only from minds fluent in two ways of life.
[Read the [full story](
As American as Chop Suey
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By [Katie Salisbury](
Chinese food is as American as apple pie. But the dishes and flavors conjured up by the words âChinese foodâ in a given personâs mind often depend on where they live. Just like regional dialects, there are many varieties of what can be considered Chinese food. At Trey Yuan in Mandeville, La., itâs alligator stir-fry and crawfish with spicy lobster sauce. In the outer boroughs of New York City, Chinese takeout-lovers call it hood food: pork fried rice and egg rolls the size of burritos. In San Gabriel Valley, Calif., dim sum reigns supreme. How we like our Chinese food is not just a reflection of our palates, itâs an expression of who we are.
That is why itâs fitting that Ligaya Mishan settles on the term âAsian-American Cuisineâ for whatâs happening now in the culinary scene with chefs like Diep Tran, Justin Yu, Niki Nakayama, and Chris Kajioka. This new generation of culinary stars is mining the nostalgic textures and tastes of their ethnic heritages and at the same time embracing elements of classic American cuisine. The result is food for Asian-Americans by Asian-Americans â a movement that is more revolutionary than it sounds.
In my own work with Chinese restaurant workers in New York, Iâve come to realize that our beloved institution of Chinese takeout is little more than a means to an end for many Chinese immigrants, much less an expression of their identity or even of their dietary preferences. What surprised me most about the conversations I had with cooks was how little of themselves they put into the food they serve. Most of them are in the industry not because they love food, but because itâs a job they can do without speaking English or having a college degree. So they make the food we like to eat and keep what they like â king crab legs, delicate-skinned wontons, noodles in a fish-based broth, savory fried donuts flecked with scallions â off the menu, only to be eaten with their co-workers-cum-family in the back of a kitchen, between orders.
[Watch Ms. Salisburyâs [TED Talk](
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