New Year’s memories
Chef recalls red envelopes, dumplings and Chinatown parade
It was all about the red envelopes. For kids raised in Chinese American households, the New Year celebration always seemed to revolve around those red envelopes. I just remember being so excited to collect them; I would stack them all up, count them, recount them, and just be so enthralled about getting crisp dollar bills.
But for me, growing up in San Francisco, the anticipation for Chinese New Year usually began a month or two earlier. That’s when my kung fu class would start preparing our routine for the parade. I spent eight years doing kung fu, and every year our kung fu school would be in the parade.
It was incredibly exciting, mostly because it was the only time I knew I was going to be on television. Our routine every year was similar — there was a walking portion where we would do a routine every other block. Then there was the main area, where the cameras were; we had special performances for that.
The kung fu stuff was fun, but the pageantry of the rest of the parade caught my eye, too — especially the drummers. Even to this day, I remember wanting to learn how to play the drums and control Nian (the mythical beast that ter- rorizes towns until scared away by loud noises like drums and firecrackers).
Many years it would rain on the parade, but that didn’t matter. Even if we got drenched during our routines, it was so much fun, with the cameras and the childhood treat of staying up late, past my bedtime. After the parade, the kung fu school would buy us all Chinese food: salt and pepper squid, walnut prawns and those kind of Chinese American classics.
My most vivid food memories of Chinese New Year, however, didn’t come from the parade; they come from my family celebrations.
On the night of the New Year, we would all go to my uncle’s house in the Sunset. Everyone would make and bring their own specialty. My mom had her dish; my aunt had her dish. My favorite? My grandma would make tang yuan, these glutinous rice dumplings, sweetened and round. She would fill them with black sesame paste, and she made them every year.
Part of the legend of tang yuan is that they symbolize family togetherness. We don’t do that big family celebration anymore; instead my parents will host smaller hot pot dinners.
Now that I’m a little older, and now that I’ve been building the restaurant in Chinatown, I’ve come to realize how important it is to have a space to continue cultural traditions and celebrations. I haven’t been to a red egg party in so long, for example.
I got married a few months ago, so this will be the first year that I’ll be giving, instead of receiving, red envelopes. I think that transition is a good metaphor for the way that a new generation must take it upon themselves to keep family and community traditions going. San Francisco’s Chinatown has been losing its banquet restaurants and specialoccasion venues in recent years; one of my goals with Mister Jiu’s is to provide that, and continue those celebratory traditions that have been handed down over generations. Because that’s what New Year means to me.