Three Thanksgivings—and Cultural (Mis)appropriations

Social platforms can feel like packs of angry children circling in shark suits—but sometimes, a sense of kinship connects us even while the algorithms try to tear us apart. Sharon Hom's blog was one of those points of connection for me and the start of a treasured friendship.

In her bio, Sharon sums up her impressive career and fiercely caring heart thus:

I was born in Hong Kong, a city that remains one of my heart’s homes. I was a law teacher for 18 years, and a human rights activist for the past 23 years. How to live meaningfully in a burning world keeps me up at night. But living with my herd of rescued cats reminds me—we become what we save. (The cat distribution system really works!)

The piece below is from her blog post "Three Thanksgivings." Click here to buy her a coffee (or help pay some vet bills). —Jody

I share "Three Thanksgivings" in gratitude for my family. They truly deserve a Homs-at-Home sitcom, written just for them, starring them as themselves, except for me. I’d like Joan Chen to play a glamorous (finally!) version of me.

BIG Turkey and Turkey Chow Mein

My father loves to tell the story about how he got his driving license. He was living alone in New York, working as a waiter in a New Jersey restaurant, trying to save enough money to send for my mother, my brother and me, left behind in Hong Kong. His driving test was close to Thanksgiving. And reading the room, he worries he didn’t pass. He asks the inspector—You like turkey? Reading between the lines, the inspector says You a wise guy, but then, How big a turkey? My father always laughs at this part as he demonstrates holding both arms wide, BIG turkey! Despite his limited English, my father understood turkeys, Thanksgiving, and proudly working the system.

Later, my family ran a small Chinese take-out that was open seven days a week for many years. My father was very proud of it, especially his own cooking. If he knew what it was, he would have given the restaurant a Michelin one star rating. Once he was stopped by highway police for drag racing at night. They asked for his license and registration, then looked at my brother and me huddled in the back seat, in our pajamas. My father responded to this predicament by demanding, Do you know WHO I am. You know Tommy’s China Kitchen on Old Country Road? I’m Tommy. Clearly, the officers were unimpressed. Undeterred, my father continued, You come. Anytime. I take good care of you. Good Chinese food. I do not recall any speeding tickets issued.

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On the kitchen wall, my father taped a magazine photo. On a sandy beach, two people are relaxing in deckchairs, watching the sunset melting into the ocean. He would say that’s your mom and me one day. In the meantime, for years, my mother rolled hundreds of eggrolls and wrapped hundreds of wontons. After school, my older brother worked in the kitchen, and I would either take care of my little brother or help out at the cash register. Before an oncoming rush hour, my father would shout orders, soldiers, get ready for war! Later, I learned how my father had survived the war. After he was buried in a pit of the wounded and the dead, he waited until night and silence descended before climbing out.

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One year, my father decided to introduce turkey chow mein for Thanksgiving. He thought it would be like New Year’s Eve, when there were huge orders of fried rice, spareribs and eggrolls – perfect party food. He said Americans love turkey and people love our Chinese food. But predictably, there were almost no customers on Thanksgiving Day, leaving huge vats of unsold turkey chow mein.

A Horn and Hardart’s Thanksgiving

One year, our neighbor, the Lynches, seeing we were alone, invited my little brother and me to their family Thanksgiving dinner. It was so foreign, a house full of Irish relatives, a huge turkey, candied yams, mash potatoes, pies, and lots of warm noise. I imagined, one day, my family would have a real American Thanksgiving, just like this.

After the turkey chow mein debacle, my father understood Chinese food was not on the menu for Thanksgiving. The next year, he decided to close the take-out and take the family into the city for Thanksgiving. The city! Dressed in my new gray wool coat from the big department store Martin’s, and wearing real stockings, I didn’t mind my freezing feet. I felt like a princess, a Disney princess, an American princess. We visited the Rockefeller Center Tree, all lit up reaching endlessly into the night sky, watched happy people ice skating, and then settled into a Horn and Hardart’s for the Thanksgiving dinner special. We had arrived, finally.

Established in 1902, Horn and Hardart’s was a revolutionary automat chain with self-serving vending machines. More than just an inexpensive place to eat, it was viewed as “a culinary treasure, a technical marvel, and an emblem of the times.” (theautomat.net) So there we were in an almost empty Horn and Hardart’s, with only a few old people, each eating alone. Some glanced over at us, conspicuous as the only family and a Chinese one. We got the full turkey specials and ate while my father’s loud jokes echoed in the empty sad space. This was definitely not dinner at the Lynches.

Soy Turkey Time, or No Thanks

Over the years, the family settled into gathering at my house for Thanksgiving, since I have the longest table where we can all sit together to have a somewhat civilized meal and not the scattered, standing-up-eating style that is a signature of Hom meals. Given my notorious lack of cooking skills, everyone shares in the preparation of different dishes. But I have, to everyone’s surprise, managed a couple of dishes—my special winter melon soup and candied yams.

One year, I decided to draw a vegetarian line. No meat. I would make a soy turkey out of lentils and tofu, shape it like a turkey. Unfortunately, it came out of the oven a hard, flat tray of…well, whatever it was. Only my dear friend and godfather of my niece asked for a second slice. That’s a real friend, my father laughed, but then he complained, What, no turkey? Where’s the turkey?! My sister-in-law, she who solves all problems calmly, quietly, without fuss, had simply roasted a turkey at their house and divided it up into portions for the family to take home. She said, Dad, I cooked it, your portions are in the car. Later, I noticed my father was gone a long time. I asked, Where’s dad, is he ok? I found him out in the driveway, in the car, sampling his roast turkey leg.

The next year the family agreed (reluctantly if I am honest) to a no-turkey, no-meat dinner, as long as also NO soy turkey. We have arrived at our own version of American Thanksgiving. But throughout the usual noise of everyone talking at the same time, no one listening, there is always a sadness for me. Thanksgiving Day is also the anniversary of my mother’s birth. For years before she passed away, my mother was bedridden and would lie alone at home, waiting for her favorites—sweet potatoes, stuffing, and choice turkey pieces that we wrapped for her. Thanksgiving Day is also the day I returned from China with Misha, a kitten I rescued from a Beijing alley. My beloved unique Misha lived 20 years. When he died years ago, I could not imagine being in a world that did not have Misha in it. His story is still waiting to be told, when my heart is ready.

Winter Melon Soup (冬瓜汤)

This soup is a popular comfort/get well soup, but I make my own version in my own style—meaning I add too many ingredients! These are all used for the soup, but usually not all at once. The portions of ingredients shown in my photo make a huge pot of soup for 12-14 people (plus leftovers!)

Ingredients:

• 1/4 winter melon (it usually comes cut up in Chinese supermarkets)
• dried fungus
• dried bean curd stalks
• dried mushrooms
• dried shrimps or dried baby scallops
• water or vegetable stock

Instructions:

1. In hot water, soak separately until soft: dried fungus, dried bean curd stalks, dried mushrooms, handful of dried shrimps or dried baby scallops.
2. Rinse. Some people like to use the water from the dried mushrooms. I do not.
3. For a vegan version, leave out the shrimps and scallops.
4. Cut winter melon into chunks. Leave rind off.
5. When mushrooms are soft, slice and marinate in soy sauce with sprinkle of garlic powder.
6. Boil a large pot of water. You can add a quart of vegetable stock if desired. Then add ingredients, beginning with the dried mushrooms. Add the melon pieces last so they don’t turn too soft. Cover and boil on low heat for two hours.