Food: Binding and Bringing Us Back
My mouth watered in anticipation of beans cooked in coconut oil accompanied by chapati– a kind of layered, unleavened flatbread of Indian origin, commonly eaten across East Africa. We were stopping at a tiny stall just south of Mombasa before heading out into the water for a day’s worth of snorkeling. The last time I had eaten this kind of stewed beans, cooked for hours over a low fire until silky soft, was in Tanzania. So much of the enticement of food lies in its familiarity just as it does in intimacy and affection. We love what we love because of how it brings us back to a poignant memory — a different phase of life perhaps, when we were free from what we know now. I drained my cup of gingery tea, relishing in its heat even though it was a blazing day outside. I never take sugar in tea save for situations like these, as per the local custom.
I’m fascinated by how food has the capacity to expand one’s world and open one up to cultural exchanges. Research has shown that an effective way to facilitate bridging cultural divides is by introducing modern interpretations of culture to conversations and debates. Increasingly, food is added to the mix. It provides the perfect avenue for disparate generations, such as Kenyans and Chinese, to find new common ground in the midst of immense cultural differences.
As a Taiwanese-American who has lived in Nairobi for more than a year, I have long since settled into a rhythm here. One of the most grounding aspects of normal life is what I find myself preparing for and cooking in the kitchen. I’ve been rewarded in my search for glutinous rice flour and am becoming a regular at the tiny Chinese shopping center nearby. Despite mostly cooking my own meals, including rotations such as Malawian chicken curry, roasted vegetables, and pan pizza, there are still times I feel a deep craving for Chinese food. Plain old home-style cooking. These are the closest moments I get to missing home. I grew up in rural New Hampshire, and while the sturdy Chinese community was a cornerstone of social life as I knew it amidst the sea of the greater white community, it was a far cry from the niche Bay Area Asian-American culture that recently gained traction in popular culture. While I understand boba culture and the qualities of an ABG, they don’t necessarily resonate with my own experiences.
However, when I watch shows such as David Chang’s Ugly Delicious that contextualize the significance of food in keeping culture and identity alive, I felt connected to the greater Asian American community in a wholly different way. I realized that regardless of geography, the time and effort spent making dumplings from scratch or making the trek to far-off Asian grocery stores represents the importance of what happens in the kitchen. Dishes served at the dinner table can provide a sense of familiarity and comfort in a place where nothing else outside is the same. In a way, my family’s biannual drive to the Kam Man and H-Mart stores in Boston marked the passing of the seasons and reminded me that we care enough about what we eat to make such a trek. Living in Kenya has made me realize that this rooted interest in food is concentrated within certain cultures; not every culture shares the same fervour in terms of planning, discussing, and trying new recipes for dinner as East Asians do.
I took Chinese food for granted while growing up. It was just home-cooking to me. When I left home and subsequently the accessibility of homemade steamed buns and scallion pancakes (we take after my grandmother’s Dongbei roots), I realized how special that normal food actually was. Even thinking about my mother’s yu xiang qie zi brought me back to some of the very first things that I knew and loved– not because they taste the best, but because they were made by her.
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As a whole, Kenyans don’t branch out much in terms of food. Ugali (a boiled paste of maize meal), stewed meat, and vegetables such as sukuma wiki are the main staples. I made a rogue version of chicken adobo and bok choy for two local girls, which they loved. One of them exclaimed, ‘I don’t even know the name for this!’ She went on to say how she wished Kenyans were more adventurous in their palette and cuisine, as the range is quite small. We planned a whole list of things to cook together in the future. I asked her if she liked kimchi, which she had never heard of before. The following week, I made a batch with a Maangchi recipe that we could use in stir fries and stews. In return, she said she would show me her favourite nyama choma joint and teach me how to make mchicha, a type of local greens.
What we eat extends far beyond sustenance. It is an act of cultural expression and identity that can be used to both compliment and denigrate. Popular Facebook groups like Subtle Asian Cooking and Vietnamese Cooking Group are not only fun pages for inspiration, ingredients or technique-oriented questions, but also a welcoming space for home-chefs to show off their creations. The Asian group members seem to enjoy the community and unifying aspect of these groups just as much as they do for the food posts. On the other hand, the Kikuyu, one of the main tribes in Kenya, have the reputation for cooking bland food along with being avaricious. I’ve met Kikuyus who insist upon first impression that they are trustworthy even though they are Kikuyu, and that they how to cook well. These stereotypes run deep and can easily manifest one’s sense of self-perception.
From a historic and geographical perspective, food security in areas with natural advantages in farming have allowed for the development of the most famous and innovative food cuisines since the sustenance problem was conquered. However, this has evolved into a lasting attitude to food that can be seen even today. Of course, the cuisine does vary regionally, from the coast to the west, but in a way that is different from how it is in China. In traditional Chinese culture, the idea of harmony is vital to almost every aspect of life. This is reflected in cuisine, where practically all flavours are used in a balanced way to create delicious dishes and also presented with meticulous attention to symmetry and colours, particularly for special occasions.
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On Kenya’s stunning coast, largely deserted due to the pandemic, I encountered a Chinese American lady who studied food science in university. I had just come in from a swim, and ran into her on the porch overlooking the water. In true Kenyan style, you come across just the kind of people you need.
She had the very interesting perspective that 30 years ago, many parts of China also lacked creativity when it came to food. Meals were simple — rice, sauteed greens, and very little meat. While it is unfair to generalize a country as large as China into a monolith, I can see her point. It takes a while for people to move away from seeing what they eat as utilitarian in order to transform food into creative expressionism. In Kenya, the middle class boom has yet to come. Day laborers tend to eat a large plate of ugali accompanied by some greens and cabbage with only very small pieces of meat; there is little bandwidth available for the average Kenyan to be much more creative about their daily sustenance. The thing about food is that as a form of culture, it is always in motion, morphing even as we speak. And as much as I enjoy trying new flavours, there are moments when all you want to do is return to what you know.
