“Why don’t you try some, darling?” my dayi (aunt) suggested as she slid the porcelain plate in front of my baffled eyes. I carefully gazed at the dish: pig ears, a mountain of brown, gelatinous strips with a white, bony spine running down the middle, alien to my familiar french fries. I shook my head, “No thank you, dayi. I’m not that hungry.” When I visited my family’s homeland at the age of ten, I hardly was brave enough to expose myself to new foods during my first night at the Chinese restaurant. My American taste buds were assaulted by the sight of soggy tea eggs that looked as if they were a hundred years old and chicken feet with the appearance of a shriveled hand. At the dinner table, I quietly watched my relatives devour their array of strange foods while I longed for a whiff of McDonald’s. My core painfully growled, leaving a slight burning sensation of emptiness. I couldn’t stomach my hunger’s cry for help, so I desperately turned to my sister. “Annie, I’m hungry.” “Of course you are, silly. You haven’t eaten since you stepped foot in China!” she grinned while covering her mouth full of tea eggs. “I’m too afraid. Everything looks so different here,” I softly responded. “Well, you have to try new things. How would you know french fries were your favorite food if you never tried it?” Staring at the pig ears, I hesitantly plopped a brown sliver into my mouth. Its crunchy texture and savory soy sauce dressing delightfully danced across my taste buds. My eyes widened with amazement and satisfaction, eager to discover a new world of flavors presented to me: silky tea eggs infused in savory bouillon and crunchy chicken feet delicately dusted with fragrant sesame seeds awakened my Chinese taste buds.
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