::cooking in chinese::

The natural outflow of the heart, that God intended, is love. The natural outflow of love from Chinese people is good food.

I step into the kitchen, ready to help with dinner prep. I see someone washing dishes, one person deboning a chicken, someone else mixing something in a bowl, pots of water boiling, a guy chopping veggies but the thing that hits me is the language. All that I hear is Chinese, Mandarin or Cantonese, I can't even tell. But it's being vigorously jabbered around the kitchen as someone asks a question, someone else responds, comments and opinions are flying around and it all blends together for me.

"Wait, wait, time out", you're thinking. "Don't you, Francesca, speak Chinese? Aren't you at least Asian the last time I checked?" Yes, I am still Asian and yes, I am Chinese. But no, I do not speak the language. I wish that I could but being of the third generation, I'm not bilingual as most of the second generation are, like my parents.

Anyways, I listened to these adults, these first generation immigrants, cook in their heart language. I washed a colander of carrots and emptied rice cakes into a bowl but I am far less qualified to cook and completely in the dark in regards to the conversation. I knew it would take them more energy to speak to me in English than to let them cook in Chinese so I quietly left and decided to set the tables instead. But I was given a glimpse of the culture and generation that I am not fully part of. There's a cultural gap that exists between the Chinese and the American. There's a generational gap that exists between the first and second generation, the first and the third, the second and the third and so forth. There are things that I don't understand or that nuances that I miss because I am not part of that culture or that generation.

The differences come in things like eating rice porridge with scrambled eggs, fried spam and pickled veggies for breakfast. The fact that everything perpetually starts 10, 15, 20, even 25 minutes later than on schedule, a horror by Western standards. The communal aspect of cooking and cleaning up together, whether or not you are "supposed to", everyone pitches in to get the job done. I have to explain what 'charades' are for a group activity. You can say, "take a hike if you're an engineer", and have half of the people get out of their chairs. I learn that nearly every adult has a Ph.D in some field or another. The tables are set with bowls and spoons but rarely with cups or pitchers of water. There is soup or porridge at every meal which is hands down more popular than PB&J sandwiches. The hot chocolate packets that were brought are nearly untouched but I've seen more cups of tea and hot water than I can count.

Young adults sorority picture, don't ask me why

Yet, the age-old question, are we really that different? The teen boys wrestle with one another and toss the football around. The kids are having lightsaber fights and challenging each other to games of Jenga, Connect Four and chess. The food is delicious and everyone enjoys table fellowship, even if half the room is buzzing with Chinese and the other half with English. Laughter rings out as we play games together, tease one another and share love stories of how couples met. Nature is duly enjoyed between the rain showers of drought-stricken California. The struggles of keeping a Sabbath, of trying to live out simplicity, of working to listen to those around us, of past guilt and shame and of living out faithful Christian lives are shared openly. Listening and being heard is still critical for relationship building. Community is evident through the meals, free time, teaching times and listening groups even though it was only 4 days long.

So cooking in Chinese reminds me of my heritage, of the legacy that I am given by being Asian and Chinese but it's not a difference between me and them. They're broken people in need of a Savior and so am I. The community is palpable in that kitchen and that's what God delights in. I love eating the delicious food that comes out of it and that's all that really matters, right?

Reflections from the retreat