Sweet and Sour

Dey Zheng originally moved to New York City in 1994—when his son and interpreter, Riyong, was only two—to cook in a friend’s restaurant, a small take-out place not unlike many others in New York. Formerly a chef at a white-tablecloth restaurant in the Guangxi region in southern China, Zheng stayed in Manhattan for three years, at which point his friend opened another eatery, this one in Washington, D.C., and offered him a job cooking there. Four years of saving later, Dey opened his own restaurant on 11th Street NW in Washington, D.C., China Dragon, with the goal of “[feeding] people with good Chinese food.”

Zheng’s restaurant is his own, but his path is not unique. For many Chinese immigrants in America, finding decent work can be difficult, forcing some to turn to what comes naturally: food. In 2005, there were more than 40,000 Chinese restaurants were open for business in the United States, according to Chinese Restaurant News. That’s more than the number of McDonald’s, Wendy’s and Burger King combined.

But just because they’re opening them doesn’t mean they’re happy about it.

“Very few people open Chinese restaurants [in America] because it’s their dream,” says Jennifer 8 Lee, author of The Fortune Cookie Chronicles, a history of Chinese food in America. “It’s a way of getting from point A to point B. There is a huge theme of self sacrifice: there are long hours, it’s manual, it’s very stressful, the quality of life isn’t great. People who choose to do it do so out of necessity and not a desire to cook for the masses.”

Furthermore, most Chinese immigrants usually can’t even serve the food they themselves and their ancestors have eaten for generations. In fact, while Dey Zheng aspires to feed people with “good Chinese food,” he also admits that many of the dishes he prepares are hardly Chinese. “We mix Chinese food and American culture so that people will like it,” he admits.

The first Chinatowns, which led the way for Chinese American food, began after the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. The law barred virtually all immigration from China and prevented Chinese already in the U.S. from becoming U.S. citizens. Forced to keep to themselves, Chinatowns formed, complete with authentic dining options. But as the years carried on and the segregationist restrictions collapsed, more and more American diners wandered into traditionally Chinese enclaves. Eventually, Chinese restaurants began serving food that’s Chinese in name only.

Indeed, American Chinese food is a cuisine all its own, with its own techniques, standards, and expectations, according to Indigo Som, the artist behind the Chinese Restaurant Project, which uses various media to explore and comment upon American Chinese restaurants. “They know what they’re doing, they know it’s not authentic,” she says. Som says that while she once thought many American Chinese restaurants were just bad, she now understands that American Chinese is “its own category apart from authentic Chinese food.”

Fu Guo, a cook for seven years at Tsim Yung restaurant in Washington, D.C., says a big difference between authentic Chinese food and what’s served at American Chinese restaurants is the presentation of meat. “In China, we eat the fish cooked whole,” says Yung. “Here, you just get pieces.” Jen Lin-Liu, a Chinese-American writer now living in Beijing, also notes that, in China, the chicken breast is the cheapest cut of meat you can buy, meaning it’s shunned by many restaurants. Those differences in cuts are reflected in the menus. “Americans don’t necessarily want to eat chicken feet, but they do want chicken breast. There are different values around food,” Lin-Liu adds.

America’s do-it-fast cooking methods are another difference. American Chinese food‘s go-to cooking methods are stir-frying, pan-frying and deep-frying. Authentic Chinese dishes, however, are steamed, lightly stir-fried in peanut oil, or braised. Heavy batter, deep-frying, and sugar-laden sauces are purely an invention to appease American diners, according to Lin-Liu.

Ingredients can also differ from traditional Chinese to American Chinese restaurants. “You just can’t find all the ingredients here,” says Lin-Liu, who, to ensure her cooking’s authenticity, will often travel with her favorite Chinese brands of vinegar, soy sauce, and spices. “Chinese are really concerned about using the freshest ingredients, and sometimes that is not possible here.”

The difference also lies in the people cooking the food. Some countries, like Canada, have temporary visa programs for chefs, which helps ensure the quality and authenticity of foreign cuisine, even in take-out restaurants. But many cooks who come to America from China are not trained in cooking, taking it up only out of necessity. “The chefs that come to the [United States] are not chefs in China,” says Lin-Liu, echoing Lee’s earlier statement. “They are cooking because they can’t find another job.”

Zheng’s son Riyong, now 17, says he’s not interested in maintaining his father’s business, where his mother also works, when he gets older. After 15 years in America, Riyong has his eye on other goals entirely. “I want to go to college to be an auto mechanic,” he says. “I don’t want to work in a restaurant—it’s so hot and the hours are long.”

The last generation of immigrants may have turned to take-out restaurants to survive, but the next generation of Chinese Americans might look different, pursuing other careers like Riyong wants to.

Lisa Gillespie is a former staff writer for Campus Progress as well as the Managing Editor & New Media Director at Street Sense. She graduated from the University of North Carolina–Asheville.

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