Ann Hui - Chop Suey Nation The Legion Cafe and Other Stories from Canada’s Chinese Restaurants
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- Book:Chop Suey Nation The Legion Cafe and Other Stories from Canada’s Chinese Restaurants
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The Legion Cafe and Other Stories from Canadas Chinese Restaurants
Copyright 2019 Ann Hui
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright, .
Douglas and McIntyre (2013) Ltd.
P.O. Box 219, Madeira Park, BC, V0N 2H0
www.douglas-mcintyre.com
All photos courtesy of Ann Hui/The Globe and Mail except where otherwise noted.
Edited by Nicola Goshulak
Cover and text design by Diane Robertson
Printed and bound in Canada
Printed on paper made from 100% post-consumer waste
Douglas and McIntyre (2013) Ltd. acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country.
Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. Lan dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de lart dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.
We also gratefully acknowledge financial support from the Government of Canada and from the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Hui, Ann, 1983-, author
Chop suey nation : the Legion Cafe and other stories from Canadas Chinese restaurants / Ann Hui.
Includes bibliographical references.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-77162-222-6 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77162-223-3 (HTML)
1. Chinese restaurants--Canada. 2. Cooking, Chinese. 3. Cooking, Canadian. 4. Food habits--Canada. I. Title.
TX945.4.H85 2019647.9571C2018-906139-1
C2018-906140-5
Chapter One
Victoria, BC. Spring 201619
Chapter Two
Burnaby, BC. Summer 201633
Chapter Three
Vulcan, AB. Spring 201645
Chapter Four
Jingweicun, Guangdong, China. 19245263
Chapter Five
Drumheller, AB. Spring 201669
Chapter Six
Jingweicun, Guangdong, China. 19526081
Chapter Seven
Stony Plain, AB. Spring 201687
Chapter Eight
Guangzhou, China. 19616593
Chapter Nine
Boissevain, MB. Spring 201699
Chapter Ten
Guangzhou, China. 196674109
Chapter Eleven
Thunder Bay, ON. Spring 2016119
Chapter Twelve
Hong KongVancouver, BC. 1974129
Chapter Thirteen
Nackawic, NB. Spring 2016143
Chapter Fourteen
Vancouver, BC. 197475151
Chapter Fifteen
Moncton, NB. Spring 2016159
Chapter Sixteen
Abbotsford, BC. 197677163
Chapter Seventeen
Glace Bay, NS. Spring 2016173
Chapter Eighteen
Abbotsford, BC. 1977185
Chapter Nineteen
Deer Lake, NL. Spring 2016193
Chapter Twenty
Abbotsford, BC. 197784207
Chapter Twenty-One
Fogo Island, NL. Spring 2016225
Chapter Twenty-Two
Burnaby, BC. December 2016243
Chapter Twenty-Three
Toronto, ON. January 2017255
Chapter Twenty-Four
Burnaby, BC. March 2017267
This book is based on interviews and many of the events described have been reconstructed from memories of what took place decades ago. I have attempted to be as accurate as possible in compiling these memories. But as with all family histories, this one is messy, and it is possible that some of the details may have been misremembered. Also, for the sake of consistency, for people living in Canada, I have followed Canadian usage in writing their given name preceding their surname.
Until the year I turned nine, my family lived in the house across the street from our school. On one side of Franklin Street was the beige building where we attended classes. And on the other side was the white stucco house where we grew up.
When the bell rang at noon each day, while everyone else ran off to the cafeteria or playground, my sisters and I went home for lunch. The three of us would walk across the street to find Mom cooking, usually fried noodles or fried rice. Wed walk in to see her cracking eggs and mixing them up with a pair of chopsticks for the fried rice. Into the wok shed drop cold rice from the night before. Then shed cut up some green onions and throw those in too. I hated green onions.
I was jealous of my friends who got to stay at school for lunch. I was jealous of their brightly coloured lunch boxes covered with cartoons and Disney princesses, and the fact that they got to eat lunch together. If they ate quickly, they could call dibs on the best swings and slides and have plenty of time on the playground. At home, Mom kept a stern eye on us as we ate. No one was allowed out the door and back to the playground until she could see the bottom of our bowls.
I was jealous of what was inside my friends lunch boxes too. They ate the same things as the characters in our favourite TV shows: neatly wrapped bologna and cheese sandwiches. Tupperware containers filled with SpaghettiOs or tomato soup. Little plastic packets filled with Fruit Roll-Ups or Minigo. It was the food they sold at Safeway and advertised in cartoon commercials. Normal food.
The food we ate at home was something different. It was the same kind of different I felt when the white girls in class had sleepover parties, and Id lie and say my family and I were out of town. Chinese families didnt do sleepovers.
It was the same kind of different I felt when friends would talk about Saturday morning cartoons. Id nod along knowingly as if I knew my Darkwing Duck from my DuckTales. In reality, I was at Chinese school every Saturday morning, practising dictation and learning classical Chinese poetry.
One day in third grade, a girl in my class, Cherie, turned to me on the playground after I came back from lunch. Whatd you eat? she asked. Cherie was my friend but I was intimidated by her. She was Chinese too. But Id never seen her at Chinese school. Id never seen her eating slimy noodles with pickled vegetables, or the soy-marinated duck wings I loved even though some of the hairs were often still poking out. Cherie ate sandwiches and wore sweatshirts with the real, licenced Care Bears and Fido Dido images on them. She didnt wear the knock-off stuff that relatives brought back to Vancouver in suitcases from Hong Kong, the way we did. I imagined her parents spoke perfect, fluent English.
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