food network: literary edition

For as long as I can remember, food and cooking has captivated me. 

I come from a family that plans vacations around the restaurants we want to go to. As a kid, I delighted in spending hours in the kitchen with my mom, assisting her with the most menial tasks in preparation for dinner. Some of my fondest memories are simply of me and my family seated at the dinner table - whether that be the elaborate feasts of Chinese New Year or the simple everyday meal. 

Almost a decade later, the childhood joy of a well cooked meal is not lost on me.

Rather, each day I relish my time cooking in the kitchen. Somedays, I obsess over the perfect dish. Lacy-edged cookies that are crispy on the outside AND chewy on the inside. An eye-high, fluffy tiramisu. Other days, I settle for the slightly messy. Roasted vegetables that are burned (we'll call them artfully charred). Pasta that's gone soft from a prolonged bath in boiling water.

Whatever the result looks like, cooking has always been a source of comfort and consistency. The grainy whisper of salt in a bowl, the sizzling spurt of hot oil, the steady click click of a knife against the cutting board - a symphony of sounds that welcomes me home. When nothing else makes sense to me, I know one thing one will:

     sugar. butter. flour. 350 degrees on the oven.

     ten minutes later, and you have perfect chocolate chip cookies. 

a candid photo of me in the kitchen

and so, when it came to write a midterm project, I thought - what's a better opportunity to wax poetic about my love for food? Literally.

After all, food has long held significance in literature. In fact, Dr. Cassarino Stacie, an established poet, wrote her dissertation on exactly that. Whether it be the mood created by the "cold fried chicken" in The Great Gatsby or the symbolism behind the "burnt kidney" in Ulysses, food carries a meaning beyond the physical senses (Cassarino). Food and literature by their very nature go hand in hand: Cassarino writes, "from raw to cooked, words metamorphose like food" (Cassarino). And just as food and words  can both be transformed, they can both be consumed to provide satisfaction (albeit different types).

Amy Tan's Joy Luck Club is no exception to this rule - rather, it is a masterful blending of the two mediums.

As I read the Joy Luck Club, I was immediately drawn to Amy Tan's vivid (dare I say moving) descriptions of food: "chaswei, sweet barbecued pork cut into coin-sized slices...wonton soup with delicate sprigs of cilantro floating on top...fried sesame balls and sweet curried chicken crescents" (Tan 10, 45). 

 

In the midst of the Joy Luck Club's swirling narratives, abrupt flashbacks, and multiple perspective shifts one thing remains consistent: food imagery. 

More than appealing or beautiful, Tan's food imagery is purposeful. In fact, throughout all of the Joy Luck Club, Tan uses food as an unexpected vehicle to illuminate the hidden nuances in mother-daughter relationships, power dynamics, and identity. 

And so, in this blog post, I present to you a menu of sorts - an exploration of food in The Joy Luck Club that will (hopefully) be as much of a literary feast as it is a feast to the senses. 

Now are you ready?

Okay. 

We'll start off with an appetizer on communication. The novel's first mention of food appears right when Tan introduces the original start of the Joy Luck Club. 

The Joy Luck Club was first conceived by Suyuan Woo, during WW2. At the time, Suyuan lived in Kwelin, China - a place frequented by Japanese bombings and upended by political upheaval. In the midst of chaos and poverty, Suyuan sought out a source of joy - and so the Joy Luck Club was born: a weekly gathering of four women who would feast on special dyansyin foods and play mahjong together. Essentially, the Joy Luck Club was escapism - and the food the ladies ate reflects that. Tan describes the vast array of dishes: "There were dumplings shaped like silver money ingots, long rice noodles for long life, boiled peanuts for conceiving sons, and of course, many good-luck oranges for a plentiful, sweet life" (Tan 6).

 From the descriptions of the dishes, we see that food means more than sustenance, rather each dish carries the weight of the women's dreams, hopes, and plans - from prosperity in the form of silver money ingots to conceiving sons. Food thus serves a dual purpose - it is both a symbol of hope and a means to communicate that hope. In the simple act of eating, of indulging in a meal that is luxurious given the women's "meager allowances" (Tan 6), the women shout  an optimism in defiance of their circumstances, and even a declaration of future abundance. 

The Kweilin Joy Luck Club is the first instance where food is tied to communication. But it's certainly not the last. 

One of the major conflicts throughout the Joy Luck Club, is the struggle for successful mother-daughter communication. Indeed, there is a language barrier for each mother and daughter pair: "I, [Jing-mei Woo] talked to her [Suyuan Woo] in English, she answered back in Chinese" (Tan 12). But more than simply a language struggle, there is also a struggle in understanding each other culturally - a conflict reflective of the difference between Chinese traditions and American ones. June Woo describes how her and her mother "never understood each other" - "I seemed to hear less than what was said, while my mother heard more" (Tan 14). 

And yet, when words fail, food fills the gap.

 

No other sentence sums up the relationship between food and communication better than this: "...That's the way Chinese mothers show they love their children - not through hugs and kisses but with stern offerings of steamed dumplings, duck's gizzards, and crab" (Tan 115). Therefore, when it comes to cross-cultural communication, especially the intimate conversations of a mother and daughter, food is not just an aid to language. It IS the language. 

This is something that is true of many Chinese-American mother-daughter relationships. In most Chinese-American households, Chinese mothers don't show affection the traditional way, such as "i love yous", hugs, or kisses - things that are all typical in a Western household (Crisp). Rather, Chinese mothers prefer acts of service (Tim) - a homemade soup doesn't just feel like a hug, it is one.

Beyond love and language, food also signifies the differing societal status of characters in the Joy Luck Club. This is where our entrée on power dynamics comes in.

Cooking is often seen as a maternal, feminine activity (Hsiao). And the Joy Luck Club fulfills this societal expectation - in one meeting of the Joy Luck Club in San Francisco, the women are depicted making the food and taking care of the post-meal cleanup while the men sit back and talk (Tan 11). In another instance, Lindo Jong describes how during one point in her life in China, her happiness solely depended on pleasing her husband, Tyan-yu, with a bowl of noodles (Tan 27). From these instances, it's easy to draw the conclusion that food is a vehicle that only makes women submissive to men, and even subverts the very power of women (Hsiao).

But if we look closer in the text, we see that cooking can actually be a source of empowerment. In fact, the Aunties in the Joy Luck Club take great pride in their cooking. Waverly Jong describes "cooking as how my mother expressed her love, her pride, her power, her proof that she knew more than Auntie Su" (Tan 98). 

Although societal pressure for women to serve their husband in their cooking still exists, by finding personal pride in their cooking, the Aunties subvert the narrative that cooking is done solely for a man. The Auntie's joy in a typically feminine activity demonstrate that strength doesn't exist outside of femininity - but in it. 

But what about a mother daughter relationship - a situation where gender roles are not necessarily at play. How does food play into power dynamics then? 

We find our answer in an unexpected place. 

In perhaps one of the most unrealistic/exaggerated scenes in the book, An-Mei Hsu's mom is depicted cutting a piece of her own flesh to put in a soup that she feeds her mother, also known as Popo (Tan 21).

ok i know this scene was an ~artistic choice~ but literally what the HECK

 As grisly as this scene may seem, in reality it is depicting a daughter's devotion and yielding to her mother. An-Mei's mom's intention in cutting a piece of her flesh is that it will be a special type of "food" that will bring supernatural strength to Popo. In this way, An-Mei's mom's sacrifice is a transfer of power - from daughter to mother. For the broader context of Joy Luck Club, this means that as much as food situations allow opportunities for mothers to express love and care, it is also an opportunity for them to claim their dominance.

 

And lastly, we have our "dessert" course - reflections on identity. 

Throughout the Joy Luck Club, Tan uses food to describe the character's physical attributes (Hsiao) - a baby girl is described as a "sweet bun cake with good color" (Tan 23), Rich is compared to the "coloring of a crab (Tan 115). 

This unusual method to describe the characters only points to the significance that food has when considering the personhood and identity of people. 

Following her mother's death, Jing-mei Woo reflects on the jade necklace her mother gave her - a pendant that is supposed to remind Jing-mei of who she is and her "life's importance" (Tan 119). However, unable to understand the Chinese characters, Jing-mei can't decipher the necklace's meaning. In the very next paragraph, Jing-mei is described cooking a traditional Chinese "spicy bean curd dish," the first time she's cooking Chinese food since her mother's death (Tan 119). By juxtaposing the food and the necklace (a symbol for identity), Tan makes clear that food actually helps Jing-mei understand the meaning of her identity - specifically her Chinese identity. In the act of cooking a Chinese dish, Jing-mei is brought closer to her Chinese culture and understanding her Chinese-American identity - something that she has struggled with.

In one of the final scenes of the book, Jing-Mei is in China and orders "hamburgers, french fries, and apple pie ala mode" to share with her Chinese relatives (Tan 160). These foods are no doubt a reference to American culture. In effect, the picture of Jing-Mei and her Chinese relatives eating the American food in China signifies the bridging of American and Chinese culture - the merging of the two-halves of Jing-Mei's identity, both her American and Chinese side (Hsiao). Food is thus a much needed bridge for grasping cross-cultural identity. 

As we have explored above, there are numerous connotations for food in the The Joy Luck Club. When we understand that food is a symbol for communication, power, and identity we are able to fully grasp the complexity of Tan's meaning - as well as the complexity of Chinese-American mother daughter relationships, cross-cultural communication, and immigrant identity. 

I could tell you more about the literary complexity of food - analyzing every dish, poring over the details and historical context of how it lines up with Chinese food and eating culture. 

But more than an intellectual analysis or lofty literary critique, above all, I find Tan's food imagery meaningful because it is personal. 

It is personal to me. 

In each picture that Tan paints of food and family, I can't help but see my own story and experience reflected as well. 

In reading about Suyuan telling stories of China to Jing-mei, I'm reminded of my own mother, telling me stories about her Chinese childhood. Just as the ladies in the Kweilin Joy Luck Club would feast despite their shoestring budgets, my mom tells me, that despite being born in a rural, not so wealthy part of China, each Chinese New Year table was always laden with dishes and food galore. And now, each Chinese New Year in America, my family continues this tradition. 

okay, maybe not this fancy but you get the idea

In understanding Tan portray food as language, I glimpsed my own experience communicating with my Chinese grandparents. 

For all my life, a silence has existed between me and my Chinese grandparents. A silence born not of a lack of love, but a lack of common language.

But there is one thing we had: jiu cai hezi (chive pancakes) - my grandma’s specialty.

With each bite, I felt her love - building a bridge between the gap that hung between us. Despite my lack of Chinese language, my grandma showed me a new one: food.

Now, over a thousand miles away - my grandparents in Shanghai, me in Michigan - food is still a way we stay connected. Whether it's the nostalgia of eating a traditional Shanghai xiao long bao and flashing back to a childhood trip to Shanghai or simply sending pictures of the latest dishes I've cooked in the family WeChat group, food intertwines our lives in a way that nothing else can.

Even now, Asian American representation in mainstream media and literature is hard to come by - even harder, to find something that is accurate in its portrayal of us. And although the Joy Luck Club is not perfect (it has been very much criticized for its portrayal of Asian stereotypes), I still marvel at the fact that Tan was able to produce something that was so touching and intimate in 1989 (over 30 years ago!).

In between the pages of Tan's Joy Luck Club, I found more than a great book. Rather, I found a mirror. A mirror reflects things of memories past, but more than that, it gives you the recognition of being seen - of being seen by yourself, in a new lens. And for me, that is what the Joy Luck Club was.

the end. thanks for reading! :)