I love chopsticks. I’ve used chopsticks my entire life—I don’t remember ever learning, just doing, so when confronted with the daily use of chopsticks while living in China it was very easy to dive right in. One way to connect with a foreign country’s culture is to adapt their dining habits. Using chopsticks is fundamental to eating in China and connects the diner not only to the present meal but also to thousands of years of past eating in China.
It’s easy for some Westerners to make fun of chopsticks, but perhaps this is simply because they can’t master their use themselves. For example, Bill Bryson stated “I find chopsticks frankly distressing. Am I alone in thinking it odd that a people ingenious enough to invent paper, gunpowder, kites and any number of other useful objects, and who have a noble history extending back 3,000 years haven't yet worked out that a pair of knitting needles is no way to capture food?” And even the loveable Muppet Miss Piggy insulted chopsticks, noting that “You do not sew with a fork, and I see no reason why you should eat with knitting needles.”
But chopsticks are a very interesting way to relate with food. Rather than piercing and slicing, you gently pick up the food. It’s a much less violent way to approach a meal. Chopsticks also demand a certain degree of mindfulness when eating. It’s difficult to shovel huge amounts of food in your mouth when eating with chopsticks, so the smaller bites might as well be embraced. Note the flavor and texture of each mouthful before going in for the next bite. Enjoy the satisfaction you get from masterfully plucking an item from the dish and popping it in your mouth.
In her Chinese food memoir Fuschia Dunlop explains how the preparation of Chinese food and the use of chopsticks go hand in hand: “Chopsticks, used in China for two, maybe even three thousand years, make their own demands. Knives are almost never seen on the Chinese dinner table, so food must be tender enough to be torn gently apart with chopsticks, or otherwise cut into bite-sized pieces. At grand feasts, you may find whole ducks, chickens or pork knuckles, braised so lovingly that they melt away at the touch of a chopstick, but for everyday meals, almost everything is finely sliced or slivered.”
During one meal in China, a fellow student asked Wentao, our Chinese mom, if he was good at using chopsticks. Obviously expecting a different answer, he looked a little crushed when Wentao replied, “Hmm, not really. Your form is not very good.” Then she proceeded to analyze everyone’s use of chopsticks around the table, offering brutally honest criticism. But when she got to me she said, “Now Maya, you have good form.” Sweet. It was definitely a proud moment for me.
So what constitutes good form with chopsticks? Well, one aspect is the location on the chopsticks where you place your hands. Wentao informed us that only children and foreigners hold their chopsticks close to the pointy end of the chopsticks where you pick up food. As one gets older and more experienced, his or her hands naturally move up the chopsticks, further away from where you grab food.
There are also some basic rules to using chopsticks. For one thing, don’t impale your food with the pointy end of the utensil. Food in China is prepared so that you shouldn’t have to pierce your food, but rather pluck it lovingly from the dish. Sometimes a slippery dumpling can make this difficult, but try to avoid stabbing your food. Another taboo is sticking your chopsticks into a bowl of rice so that they stand straight up in the air. And when you are not using the chopsticks either lay them on the accompanying chopstick stand or on the edge of your plate.
With practice even rice, which many find difficult to eat with chopsticks, becomes easy to eat. Next time you sit down to a Chinese meal, abandon the fork and try out some chopsticks. And if you need pointers, check out these videos on how to properly hold and move chopsticks.
Before delving into the food and dining customs of China in the "This is China" series I'm starting, I just want to say that the most important thing that China taught me about food is to let go. Seriously.
Before I went to China I was reading every single label, scoffing at partially hydrogenated oils and high-fructose corn syrup, fearful of seafood because of the mercury content, and just being way too uptight about what I was eating in general. I still avoid weird stuff in my food when possible, but when I can’t control it I just try to enjoy it. China definitely helped me realize that letting go is often the best thing to do when it comes to food.
Right before I got on that plane to China I realized that there was no way I would be able to have so much control over what I ate while I was abroad. I could barely read Chinese, let alone be able to decipher labels on processed foods, and it would be difficult to know where all my food came from. When I got there I also realized that I was going to miss out on some great dishes if I was over thinking everything I ate. There were probably a lot of weird metals and chemicals in the fish, vegetables, and meat that I consumed, but it tasted awesome and my experiences with such foods helped me adapt to the culture there. It was worth it.
My biggest breakthrough came one day when I was walking down the street and I saw a woman sitting outside of a restaurant that I had eaten at before. She had several heads of cabbage on the sidewalk in front of here and was chopping them up. Putting food on the sidewalk of any city is already pretty gross, but consider this—babies in China go to the bathroom right on the sidewalk. For real. They wear these pants with slits in them so when they’ve got to go, they can just squat wherever they are and relieve themselves. So when I saw the cabbages being chopped on the same sidewalk where I’d seen babies defecate I was completely disgusted. But then I realized, I ate at that restaurant and I was fine. The food was good. I didn’t get sick. How could I possibly know what was going on at any restaurant in Chengdu? And did it really matter that much?
I knew I could either be afraid of everything I was going to eat or just give in and let go. I decided to let go.
Now, four years later, I’ll pretty much put anything in my mouth at least once. I wasn’t too adventurous in terms of the actual food I ate when in China—the farthest I ventured off the beaten path was chicken feet and thousand-year old eggs—but I stopped worrying so much. In this modern world we can either concern ourselves with all the awful stuff that goes on with our food or simply enjoy ourselves. I’m not saying that people should be ignorant about what they eat, but sometimes you just have to let go of that control. And the results, as I discovered in China, are likely to be delicious.
In the summer of 2006 I studied abroad in China. I was 21 and had never traveled to another country (besides Canada, but that doesn’t really count). My experience in China was filled with ups and downs, chaos and confusion, the thrill of new adventures but also a longing to go home. I kind of wish someone had said, “Hey, you’re going to have a life-changing experience!” And maybe some people did, but either I wasn’t listening or I just wasn’t prepared for the effect that China would have on my life.
Now I didn’t just study abroad in the standard, well-known Chinese cities like Beijing, Shanghai, or Hong Kong. I was in Chengdu. “Where the hell is that?” you may ask. That’s what I said too when I first found out about the program. Chengdu is in Sichuan province, way in the mainland of China. It’s got the same population as New York City and yet many people have never even heard of it before. I felt like I was embarking on a journey into unknown territory. And I was. But when I arrived there was so much I wasn’t prepared for. Even though I’d taken two years of Mandarin Chinese, the Sichuan dialect was so different and muddled I couldn’t understand anything. Traffic was insane. Everywhere I went people pointed and called out to me. Babies defecated on the streets. Nobody knew how to properly stand in a line. And I learned about aspects of recent Chinese history that surprised and scared me.
For a while I felt lost and confused. What was I doing in this strange country? I felt like an alien lao wai (foreigner) amidst the crowds of Chinese locals. But there was one thing besides the friendships I forged that got me through the chaotic experience—food.
When I returned home people asked what the best part of the trip was. The answer was always food. When people asked if I would ever return to China, I responded “Maybe. If just for the food.”
Truly, I was in the mecca for food lovers. Sichuan province is known for its exquisite cuisine. I might even be able to attribute my development into a full-fledged foodie as having roots in my time in China. It certainly contributed to my unhealthy appreciation for MSG, and I would never love hot and spicy foods as much if I hadn’t lived there for three months and eaten copious amounts of hot chilies and numbing peppers. If I were to go back now I would be much more adventurous, but I still had some amazing food during my initial trip.
This new series on my blog, This is China (TIC for short), will feature tidbits of my food experiences in China. It will range from dining customs to cooking classes, suan nai to fish heads, and 24-hour train rides to street food.
When I think of China, I think of food. And I hope you’ll appreciate some of our upcoming culinary adventures in the savory, salty, and spicy city of Chengdu.
