“One… Two… Three…” I used to count the number of times that my mother’s kitchen knife would hit the cutting board while she prepared dinner. There’s a certain solace that comes with the sputter, sizzle, and steam of a hot cooked meal. I remember sniffing the air and letting my eyes roll back in pure bliss, my sister would join me. Cheeky grins plastered across our faces— we’d ask “what’s for diner” in unison.

 

As if the spices actually had some physical affliction she took on an accent indicative of her motherland. Smirking, my mother would warn us not to come into the kitchen. She did not hesitate, however, to show us the ingredients. With an intentful look in her eye, she would hold up each ingredient one by one. “Adobo, aceite, ajo, arvejas, cebollas, limón, tomates, pimientos, pollo, y por supuesto arroz.” Seeing the perplexed look on our prepubescent faces she’d translate “Adobo, oil, garlic, peas, onions, lemon, tomatoes, pepper, chicken and of course rice.” Her Hispanic accent bleed through into the next sentence, which was always “Arroz Con Pollo. Remember this girls, this comes from your people.”

 

Let me explain. If you don’t know me very well you’re probably wondering why someone with the last name Chin is writing about Spanish culture. I’m actually of mixed descent. My parents are both first generation immigrants from opposite sides of the earth. My mother is from Ecuador, and my father is from Hong Kong.

 

It was difficult picking an object that accurately depicts my different heritages. After a few days of grappling with what I would chose it finally came to me. Arroz. 炒飯. Rice. I know what you’re thinking, how typical— rice is pretty much stereotyped as the staple food of Asian culture. Although that is true, Ecuador values rice as a vital part of the national gastronomy. Rice is undoubtedly ingrained in Hispanic culture and Asian culture.

 

Growing up, my mother cooked authentic Hispanic meals, arroz con pollo is by far my favorite. Similarly, when my mother attended college as a nontraditional student, my father started cooking more frequently. Having the two of them as my parents, I could always anticipate rice at dinner time. Only, each of my parents used it in a different ways. Rice has the ability to take on numerous cultural identities.

 

When my father cooks rice he usually makes Nuo Mi Fan (糯米饭) or “Sticky Rice.” I can confidently tell you that our family has the best sticky rice recipe. There is no combination of pork rib, scrambled eggs, scallions, shrimp, and rice that can top it. In our family, we use a recipe that was passed down from my late grandfather. When my father was a child his father worked as a chef in Boston. My grandmother, or as we call her “Amah” inherited the responsibility of cooking for the family during large reunions. My Amah also makes a large amount of Zongzi (粽子), which is pork-stuffed glutinous rice bundled in banana leaves.

 

My immediate family lives in Upstate New York, but much of our extended family on both sides live in New York City. As a child, I would wait eagerly for my parents to return home from their city trips because they would bring home these vibrant cultural dishes. When I have to think back on what truly unites the two halves of my cultural identity I can’t help but think of food, and the delicacy that is rice.