Luggage of a Parting Daughter
how my mother packs food for me
I have been catching the cold more frequently in recent months than I am used to. The internet recommends ‘chicken soup’, and since I have finally found a local butcher near where I live, chicken soup was on the dinner menu.
This is the first time since I moved to the US that I made chicken soup in my 400 sqft. studio in downtown Boston. Partly because I still own very little kitchen equipment, partly because my kitchen counter is tiny and I do not want to deal with raw chicken when I could risk splashing salmonella all over things. But anyhow, today was the day.
Aside from the headliner chicken, the first thing I dug out was my giant plastic container of dried Chinese herbal medicines. Everything was in little plastic bags: longan, dangshen, huangqi, dong quai, some assorted dried mushrooms… as I opened these mini pouches, their distinct smells merged mid-air, and I thought of my mum’s magic cupboard where she kept bags and bags of Chinese dried goods, each have their own unique purpose in the foods that she would cook. Only a small portion I would know the names of.
The night before I depart home, she would always have the cupboard open. ‘You should take a bit of everything so you can make soup’ she would say, her fingers running through the pastic bags, each labelled with masking tape. I would stand next to her, thinking how rarely I cook home food now that I have a tiny kitchen and no longer throwing dinner parties for my friends. I don’t want to tell her that I barely ate what she packed me last time.
‘OK but not too much, it’s tiring to carry all the luggage on my own.’ probably the best excuse I could come up with. She would nod, followed by rattling sounds of plastic bags and her gentle mumbling, ‘You need all of these to make good soup… You should make more soup because you work so hard. And also you should take this batch of walnuts and dried jujube to replenish your brain and blood.’
Before long, she has packed enough to fill half my luggage.
There is a poem that we all learn in Chinese elementary school. Song of the Parting Son (游子吟) by Meng Jiao (孟郊).
From the threads a mother’s hand weaves,
A gown for parting son is made.
Sewn stitch by stitch before he leaves,
For fear his return be delayed.
Such kindnessas young grass receives
From the warm sun can’t be repaid.
— translated by Xu Yuanchong 许渊冲
It is only after moving to the US that I really came to understand these words. Meng Jiao’s mother wants him to stay warm, my mother wants me to eat well.
Even when I lived in the UK, my mother would pack me ridiculous amounts of food everytime I visit from London. Including home-made turnip cake, home-cured lap-cheong (Chinese pork sausage), fried seabass, braised chicken feet, cooked wontons for the 3hr train ride. I always pack light for the trip there and come back with backpack 10 times heavier. I guess this is just me missing her :’)
*** footnote from now on ***
*** trigger warning depression ***
so… I am back after ~3 years. A lot of things have happened in these 3 years.
But long story short in 2021 I was recovering from mild depression and anxiety, and it became impossible to maintain both this blog and normal day to day life. Then in 2022 I got a new job, and subsequently moved to the US the day after Thanksgiving (basically Dec 2022). Obviously, moving countries/continents and then adjusting wasn’t easy so I didn’t come back.
Recently I started to reflect on food again, and I re-read some of the old pieces I wrote on this blog. I miss cooking and eating food with friends, and mostly importantly, I feel I have thoughts I would like to share again. So here I am.
I still can’t guarantee on regular postings, and it probably will not go back to being a regular ‘recipe’ blog. It will mostly be mumblings here and there, still about food though and maybe someday climbing too.
For those who decide to stick around, thank you and see you soon :)