I found a popular restaurant on Yelp called, “Curry Corner” in Hayward years ago. The owner’s name was Saras. Curry Corner was located in a seedy and dilapidated larger building that was itself part of a sparsely populated strip mall. Saras’ restaurant was little more than a kitchen with a bit of floor space. Her furniture comprised three folding chairs and one small portable playing card table seating four. The dinky, unimpressive space belied the abilities of its owner. Saras was a wickedly good chef. Her food was transcendent.
A friend and I shared the table with a stranger. We collectively praised the food, talked to Saras, and learned about each other. I cannot remember what we spoke on, what we ate, or its specific flavors ten years later. I can still clearly picture the European visitor, my friend, and myself laughing with Saras as we delightedly ate and commented on all the food. My friend and I walked away with full bellies and enriched hearts.
Food is Life
Meal time is very near the heart of Chinese culture. Meals are a time for everyone to (re)acquaint, plan, catch up, reconcile, or toast. We celebrate others by going out to restaurants. We console others by cooking for them (or ordering out for the less culinary inclined). Even casual meet-ups are done over coffee, milk tea, or a patisserie. Parents will reconcile with their children by taking a prime portion of food and putting it on their child’s plate. My pau-pau always made sure to put extra food on my plate, though she never told me she loved me in so many words. Whether quiet or loud, large or small, ornate or simple, familiar or novel, the Chinese meal is a time and place to live with others. The literal translation of, “How are you?” is “Did you eat [rice] yet?”
Many of our friends will rightfully say that neither Dana nor I are fully Chinese. We confess to our shared banana-hood (never proud, always accepted). However, I argue that the meaning and rituals of the meal remain as the last and best vestiges of our Chinese heritage. I can’t speak Chinese, but I will cook a good meal for you if you visit. We will talk during meal prep, the meal itself, and the cleanup. Then we will talk over coffee (the order is reversed for breakfast).
Most indigenous Indonesians do not talk over food. A family may talk before or after dinner, but usually not during dinner itself. One could charitably argue that it allows everyone to savor the goodness of the food. Mealtime itself is usually silent in any case. While not necessarily frowned upon, conversation during eating should generally be avoided.*
Silent eating is the idea most foreign to me out of everything I’ve written about so far. I come from two cultures that view mealtime as a time to share life. If we are not talking about the deeper things, we are at least complaining or praising the food and its presentation. Food without conversation is simply sustenance. My soul starves even though my body feeds.
Selamat Datang di Tempatku
Fortunately, I’ve found that many people here simply enjoy a good conversation. They welcome it most of the time. Many of our Gojek drivers initiate conversation as they deliver us to our destination. People who want to practice their English encourage us to see them again. Neighbors greet us by asking us where we are going. Even strangers will ask, “Apa Kabar?” (the Indonesian equivalent of, “How are you?”), and they actually expect an answer! If one is willing to stop and talk, friends are easily made.
One can argue that such is the same in the States. I’m not so sure. The principal is the same but the conditions are different. No stranger in the US has ever invited me to their vacation after talking for only 20 minutes, or welcomed me because I speak the same language, or greeted me simply because I walked past. Many Americans do not know their immediate neighbors. It takes far more courage or chutzpah to begin a relationship with strangers in the US than it does here with my pidgin Indonesian.
My Chinese heritage tells me that the meal is important. It is so primarily because the meal provides a space for sharing life. The fact that the food provides something to toy with during a conversation’s awkward bits is a bonus. Here, food is food. I titled this segment, “Welcome to my space,” (though no one actually says this, so don’t repeat) because Indonesians seem to carry their shared living space with them and welcome others into it.
Life flows in from every time other than food-time if one is willing to converse. There’s really nothing to be done other than to accustom myself to it. I still do not know how to conduct myself during a meal. I eat too fast because I do not talk. I’m rude if I talk, and I’m rude if I finish too fast. If I eat too slowly, I will starve because I must stop eating when the host stops. I will eventually master feeding my soul and my body at different times. Or perhaps I can learn to live on lattes.
*Itu sebabnya kepadatan restoran tidak tinggi di kota saya.