I grew up as a first-generation immigrant to traditional Chinese parents. Food was something that I was actively embarrassed about growing up and sought to avoid for years. I can’t count the times my food has been on the receiving end of comments like, “OMG ewwww, what IS that?” (usually delivered with a nose wrinkle and a step backward). But for my parents, food was one of the few ties they had back to the country they had just left. Our neighbors’ fridges and cabinets may have been stocked with Hamburger Helper and cold cuts; mine was filled with pig's feet and tofu. It wasn’t until I started school in kindergarten that I realized my family's meals weren’t the norm in our city.

I was 5, and my kindergarten teacher had just told the class that we were going to have an ice cream sundae party and that she would bring in tubs of ice cream, but we were responsible for telling our parents to help us bring toppings. My family had been in the country three years at this point and we were very familiar with ice cream — that’s something we had in China, too. But toppings? What was a sundae? (“Ice Cream Sunday? But this party is not on Sunday,” I remember my mom telling me, perplexed.) From what I could gather from the other kids, a topping was something you put on ice cream, so I relayed that to my mom who remembered all the complicated ice cream concoctions and desserts she used to have in China, went into the cupboard, and pulled out a can of red bean paste. For those unfamiliar with dou sa, it’s deep maroon in color — almost blackish brown — and DELICIOUS. It’s a staple in Chinese sweets and a trendy food item now...but it’s not the most attractive item. To put it indelicately, it’s got the same look and consistency of a turd.