My therapist, in his infinite wisdom (and questionable comedic timing), once shared a joke that struck a chord: “Chinese culture is old, maybe 4000 years. But Jewish culture? That’s got a millennium on them! The real mystery is, how did we Jews survive for a thousand years without Chinese food?”
While his delivery might need work, the joke itself, like a set of intricate Chinese boxes, unpacks layers of cultural assumptions. It plays on stereotypes, each containing a kernel of truth. The stereotype of Jews as comedians (or aspiring ones), as frequenters (or practitioners) of therapy, and, perhaps most relevantly, as fervent lovers of Chinese food.
I confess, I fit neatly into all these boxes. My affection for Chinese cuisine is particularly profound, fueled in no small part by my three-year immersion in China. As a Peace Corps volunteer stationed in Guizhou Province – a region so central geographically, you could almost pinpoint it blindfolded in the heart of the country – I experienced a China far removed from typical tourist trails.
The experience was, to put it mildly, surreal. As one of the very few foreigners my students had ever encountered, my presence often elicited reactions akin to discovering Chewbacca in the classroom. I was the subject of constant stares, occasional fear, and even unexpected recruitment into the university basketball team (earning me, a Jewish guy, the ironic nickname “Shaq”). There was even the time Walmart insisted I play Santa Claus.
Once the initial novelty subsided and I became more integrated into the community, I focused on my primary role: teaching English grammar and vocabulary to hundreds of students hailing from remote farming villages. In return, they became my culinary guides, introducing me to a spectrum of dishes far beyond the familiar takeout menus, from millipede to chicken feet and a dizzying array of flavors in between.
Unlike David Sedaris – who might hold the title of “world’s least adventurous eater” – I wholeheartedly embraced the food culture of China. And here’s a crucial distinction: I’m referring to “food in China,” not simply “Chinese food.” “Chinese food,” as I understood it before my immersion, was the predictable fare of American Christmas Eve dinners: lo mein, wonton soup, moo shu pork, and the ubiquitous General Tso’s chicken. “Food in China,” the authentic cuisine I discovered, is in a different universe altogether.
I genuinely love both. I love the memory-laden comfort of American Chinese food. But I also deeply appreciate the incredible diversity and regional nuances of food in China. And, adding another layer of complexity, I strive to keep kosher dietary laws. This raises a significant question: can these three culinary worlds – authentic Chinese cuisine, American Chinese food nostalgia, and kosher restrictions – truly coexist?
Over the coming week, I’ll be embarking on a delicious quest to answer this very question. My mission: to discover the ultimate New York City restaurant that harmoniously blends these seemingly disparate elements. As Karl Marx, perhaps the most unexpectedly revered Jew in China, famously declared (or should have), “Working people of the world unite… and find good Kosher Chinese food!”
Stay tuned throughout the week as I delve deeper into this flavorful exploration, sharing my experiences and insights in search of the perfect Kosher Chinese meal in the heart of New York.
