Part of identity is food. How? Why? What does this have to do with representation and my version of home?

For me, the importance of representation stems from validation. What I’m doing is ok and acceptable not to just me and people like me, but everyone around me. Then I won’t be a threat. No one will want to make me leave and leave has many definitions.

So when I cook corned beef hash or any other home comfort foods (because I am reminded of feeling safe and allowed to be myself) I will get defensive if one of my cauliflower roommates walks into the kitchen area and asks if the trash needs to be taken out. And no, it wasn’t a misunderstanding. Sniffing the air and reeling back is an invitation for me to knock your nose off your face. White people white peopling, smdh.

Most of us have food provided to us by our parents or parent like figures. What we get from our culture, if taken out of our community, is from our care takers. So the parts of our culture is not just a national matter but a family matter as well. Whether or not that includes a biological element is up to the person but the concept of family is at the very least, somewhat formative to our personhood.

So to find my food disgusting is like finding me disgusting. If my food is unpalatable, I am unpalatable. The food is not just sustenance but memories of happiness and existence for me.

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With a group of friends/classmates, we went to a Korean restaurant, Hot Stone, in downtown Olympia. This place was special to me because it was formerly a restaurant called Chopsticks which was primarily Japanese. The style of food wasn’t what I cared about but the fact the every time I brought someone, they loved it. I loved it too so I felt it was a mutual strengthening of our relationship – which it was. I didn’t take just anybody to Chopsticks. Primarily, it was my kids or dates and only twice did I bring friends. When I didn’t feel like living anymore, when my son got dumped by being cheated on, when my best friend’s father died – we went to Chopsticks to feel at home.

I can’t speak for them as my children are white and my best friend at the time was also white but for me, I felt Chopsticks was home or at least, homely, because I could eat food that was sometimes the butt of a joke on tv. The servers or cooks were happy to make them for us with no judgement. I got to know them.

So to come back to Hot Stone, Chopsticks being closed down and given to the son, it felt like a next generation. It wasn’t like losing a limb or a loved one, it was just coming to terms that people grow up and change.

I was there with different people – people I can relate to. Even though our experiences weren’t the same, they were similar. I didn’t have to make cracks at my white son for not eating rice daily – I could talk with a pal and how much we love somewhat crunchy rice since the pot is so hot it keeps cooking outside the wok. (The cronch.)

People like me. Food brought us together (among other things). Food created a sense of belonging, akin to that of representation. A childhood of taunts and chides for my food didn’t mean a god damn thing in those hours. Goat, “exotic” seafood, and somehow, even rice – I’ve been teased over eating these things before. Now I was encouraged to eat fermented vegetables. It’s refreshing.

Side Notes:

I’m thinking about my rough draft and I understand my biggest problem. It wasn’t the information I needed more of. I need a narrative. I have a lot of new ideas and will probably hit up the writing center.