A Taste of Home

artwork by Sophia Bueno

By Maggie Li

There’s something about the orange chicken my dad makes that I can’t get enough of. It’s something so inexplicably enchanting and irresistible to the mouth that all other thoughts cease to exist. With just one bite of this savory-sweet delicacy, drenched in a tangy orange-infused sauce, topped with citrus zest, and engulfed in a mouthwatering fragrance, I’m instantaneously immersed in feelings of warmth and ease. 

In 2009, my parents opened Wah Sang, a cozy Chinese take-out spot nestled in a predominantly white neighborhood in Massachusetts. The inside was nothing fancy – just a handful of tables and a large counter where all the food was being prepared and packaged behind it. My earliest memories are intricately woven with the sights, sounds, and smells of Wah Sang. I was there all the time, being that home was 30 minutes away and there was no one to watch over my older sister and I while our parents were working. With my parents engrossed in the demanding tasks of running the restaurant, we had to think of creative ways to entertain ourselves. Running around aimlessly while my parents worked hard, we transformed the dining area into our own personal playground, giggling as we played pretend waiter, taking imaginary orders, and coming up with pretend dishes. Amidst all the munchies and play, I remember trying to help make dumplings, proudly declaring my readiness to contribute. In reality, my efforts were more about playing with the dough than actually assisting in the kitchen. I can still hear my parents scolding me for “wasting” food. My creations were undoubtedly doughy blobs of art than actual dumplings, but hey, what dumplings are perfect anyway? 

Reflecting on those moments, Wah Sang held a deeper significance beyond feel-good food and being my personal playground. With my parents leaving everything familiar in China to embrace a new life in the United States, every day presented us with a new experience. We were one of the few Asian households in the community, but the prospect of a good living space unfolded: a safe location, a commendable public school system, and both of my parents securing part-time jobs that led them all the way to Massachusetts as part of their journey. What’s the worst that could happen? Well, as it turns out, the challenges of adapting to a new culture, building connections, and establishing a sense of belonging were more complex than any of us could have anticipated.

When I was young, I often found myself playing the role of a mediator, translating for my parents due to their limited English proficiency. Whether it involved paperwork, finding services, or resolving customer disagreements, my parents consistently relied on me, starting each interaction with, “No English. Talk to my daughter.” At the time, little me, wide-eyed with pigtails cascading down my shoulders only thought about two things: Fruit Ninja and what was going to be for dinner. In addition, I remember moments of what I think boils down to embarrassment. One incident, in particular, stands vividly in my memory. It was an intense argument with the cable network regarding overcharges my parents had discovered. I found myself on the phone, trying to explain the situation to frustrated adults on the other side. My voice trembled as I struggled to string together coherent sentences, only to be repeatedly interrupted and spoken down to. Unease washed over my entire body as the weight of adult responsibilities bore me down. Confronting the representatives felt daunting, and in my head, I would even side with them. After all, why communicate with a child about matters like surcharges or service upgrades? On some other occasions, I had to mediate disagreements with customers in person who were clearly in the wrong. There were times when customers ate almost all the food, claimed it wasn’t good, and attempted to secure a refund. Despite my parents’ frustrated attempts to transfer their anger onto those customers, I did my best to de-escalate the situation, ultimately conveying to my parents that it wasn’t worth the hassle from the discomfort I felt. Difficult customers came and went. In those moments, my primary concern was making peace, despite witnessing attempts to take advantage of small business owners who didn’t speak English well. Even with my best efforts to understand with my own limited vocabulary, facing those who I felt viewed my involvement as an inconvenience left me feeling small and inadequate. I wanted to fade into the background – to escape the spotlight of embarrassment that seemed to follow me when I least wanted it. It didn’t help that I also didn’t have anyone to share my feelings with. Being one of the few Asian families in the area, it was hard for me to speak about my experiences. Most of my friends didn’t have immigrant backgrounds and just didn’t seem to understand. These feelings turned into frustration and regrettably, my frustration sometimes spilled over onto my parents, even though they didn’t do anything wrong. 

However, throughout years of underlying guilt, the one thing that never changed on days that I needed a pick me up was my dad’s orange chicken. Since settling into the business, not a single day has passed without my parents pouring their hearts into Wah Sang. From the seemingly mundane tasks of restocking and cleaning to the late nights spent inventorying, prepping food, and organizing everything meticulously, their relentless energy is evident in every aspect of their work. Whether it’s folding wontons, battering shrimp, or expertly handling every aspect of our restaurant, they navigate challenges, including occasional language barriers, with resilience. As I observed my mom and dad shape and nurture the small business, transforming it into the vision they had imagined, I witnessed the profound impact of their hard work. They toil every day, and I see the exhaustion when they return home, only to rise early the next morning to start again. As I grew older, I became more involved and over time, the initial sense of shame surrounding myself disintegrated. I’m incredibly proud of us – and especially my parents and all the strides they’ve made so we can live comfortably in the States. Despite English presenting occasional obstacles, they’ve never let it deter them from running the business smoothly. Even during rough times, they viewed challenges as opportunities to adapt and grow, strengthening our journey toward becoming a better business. Amidst it all, I’ve found comfort in the familiar scent of orange chicken, the essence of home, time and time again. 

Maggie is a sophomore at NYU studying Media, Culture, and Communications with a minor in Business of Entertainment, Media, and Technology. She became a member of Generasian seeking a creative outlet and has loved being a part of its community of passionate writers.