Asian and Southern traditions: Black-eyed Pea & Ramen Noodle Ham Soup

Black-eyed Pea and Ramen Noodle  Ham Soup


Bone soup is very traditional and many Asian households keep a regular pot of bone soup simmering on the stove. At Thanksgiving, we look forward the most to getting not the breast or the leg or thigh, but the turkey bone to make soup! This soup can be made with any meat bone but ham hocks are best with the black-eyed peas! I have adapted a veggie-version of this by using miso or a vegetable bouillon base. It turns into a different dish but still tasty.


  • Put enough water to cover ham hocks in a soup pot
  • Boil and simmer over low heat for 1-2 hrs
  • Put in fridge and skim off fat
  • Bring to a boil and taste for saltiness. Add ½ tsp black pepper and salt (if needed)
  • Heat oil in soup pot and stir-fry chopped collard greens, 2/3 of the green onions, garlic for 2 min (don’t over cook, still green)
  • Pour hot ham broth (about 6 cups) over collards, add ramen noodles and beans, bring to a boil, cook until noodles are soft (only a minute since these are instant noodles). Garnish with green onion, fresh cilantro and serve.


1 tbs vegetable oil

2-3 ham hocks

2 cups of chopped fresh (or frozen) collard greens (“collies”) or chard

1-2 cups cooked black-eyed peas

1-2 packages instant ramen noodles

2 chopped green onions

1 clove chopped garlic

Salt and pepper

Cilantro for garnish






Little India article: Fair and Ugly

Good article, “Fair and Ugly” by Achal Mehra in Little India publication about the intersection and biases around skin tone, race, status, beauty and privilege. Also references fascinating study by Harvard University on biases, Project Implicit. More than 4.5 million visitors have take the confidential tests since 1998. Take the Implicit Association Test





Cross-Cultural Bloopers!

Sister Fun(Smyrna, GA)


Some memorable cross-cultural bloopers and funnies heard in our family:


* Who’s at the door? “Look through the pee hole and check who it is.” (peep hole)

* Where’s Frank? “He’s downstairs getting ready. He takes a long time pimping himself!” (primping)

* “We used to have an old Volkswagon Beetle so I know how to drive a car with a stick and a crutch!” (clutch)

* While reading People magazine, “I can’t believe Angelini and the Pitts are trying to have another baby!” and “I think Bandino is very hot [Antonio Banderas]!” (Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt)

* As my sister was putting tokens in and ushering her kids through the subway turnstile, she waved quickly to her last little one to go through saying, “Hurry up, go, you’re free!” Reluctantly, the child slid under but not without protesting, “But mommy, I’m four!”





Chinese Southern Belle Ice Skater

As I watched the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, it brought back my memories of taking ice skating lessons when I was a little girl in the 1970’s at Ice Land skating rink in Smyrna, GA. My jacket was adorned with dozens of skating patches and sometimes I walked around in my skates at our restaurant at Cumberland Mall!  I remember the smell of the ice arena, a mixture of exhaust fumes from the Zamboni rink machine, cork flooring and popcorn.


I liked the skating but dreaded the social atmosphere. Some of the girls were mean-spirited and snooty. They would call me names and poke fun of my clothes and gear. I wore pants instead of a skating dress and carried stuff in my dad’s old bowling ball bag. Perhaps hip now, but not cool then! I was also the last one in my group to move off of worn, brown suede rental skates. I dreamed about the day I would lace up white skates, of any brand, and I had my eye on a pair in the Sears Roebuck catalog. The skates in the skate shop were completely out of the question, costing ten times more.  The day came when Santa granted my wish on my birthday!


Years later at Vassar College, I had the opportunity to fulfill another dream – to skate like Hans Christian Andersen, outdoors on a frozen lake or river! It wasn’t smooth and I tripped on a few ice bumps and frozen branches, but it was exhilarating!







Lost in Translation (a series)

Growing Up All (Asian)-American


Cuttlefish jerky. Blood cake. Grass jelly. Beef essence. Beancurd dregs. Love jade jello. I’ve eaten all of these products and while the translation may torture product marketers, they’re some of my favorite snacks and double as great band names!

Being a Chinese Southern Belle, we spoke “Chenglish” sometimes and I’ve heard my share of American idioms gone awry, non-translatable Chinese jokes, Mandarin with a southern twang and different variations of pidgin English. While traveling in Asia, I came across some funny messages: “Salute to the tourists who keep the public hygience;” “The civilized and tidy circumstance is a kind of enjoyment;” and “Heaven destroys CCP.” What we would have called smog, was referred to as “fog” by locals in Shanghai. Hmmm….

In the spirit of Reader’s Digest and Laughter is the Best Medicine, which I grew up reading, here are a couple amusing anecdotes from our family:

“GOU, not GO!”
My sisters came home looking worried and sullen. “We wrecked Mom’s car,” said Leigh. “It was your fault. You were driving!” blurted Pearl. Leigh glared and quickly defended, “But you told me to GO!” “No,” Pearl clarified. “I said ‘GOU’ in Chinese which means ‘enough’ because we were sitting in traffic, you were distracted and our car was sliding forward. I told you, ‘enough,’ because we’re about to slide into the car in front of us!” Well, they both got grounded and as mad as my parents were about a totaled car, they couldn’t help but shake their heads and chuckle in disbelief over the bilingual mishap.

The Pants Story
We hung out a lot at Cumberland Mall growing up since that’s where our family restaurant and jade store were located. My sisters and I worked at the restaurant and often went shopping on our breaks. One day, Pearl came back to the restaurant, out of breath, and asked my dad to loan her some money, fast. “What for?” replied my dad. In Chinese, she said, “I don’t have time to explain, they’re holding my pants!” My nai-nai (grandmother on the father’s side), who didn’t speak English, overheard this and laughed in puzzlement. Well, in Chinese, “they’re holding my pants” means…they’re holding your pants! Later, my dad explained the concept of “layaway” to granny!

Stay tuned for more “Lost in Translation” tales….





The Beat of A Different Hummer

Steve and my mom have been friends for almost thirty years now. He’s her “fishing buddy” but his nickname to us is Space Alien. Steve’s been by our side through four weddings and a few funerals. He is the only person I know who doesn’t eat anything at my mother’s glorious dinner parties and sometimes, brings his own roasted turkey and canned peas while we feast on a table-full of fabulous Country Pan-Asian cuisine!

About seventeen years ago, Steve bought my mom a birthday gift she’ll always remember. Not because she treasured it but because the story has been retold so many times that we all remember the gift!

According to legend, my mom opened a “mystery gift” and plugged it in. After hearing only a faint humming noise, seeing no other features and having no earthly idea what the thing was, she assumed it was broken and disappointedly, threw it in the trash. “How did you like your gift?” asked Steve. Feeling bad, my mom quickly said, “Fine” and tried to change the subject. Steve continued, “Well, I hope you’ll like it because I special ordered it from Hammacher Schlemmer and it’s been a life-saver for me.” Sheepishly, my mom asked, “What was, I mean, what is it?” Steve said it was a “sleep sound generator,” a noise blocker to help her sleep. “Ohhhhhhh!” as she dug through the trash to find the device.

After that, Steve doesn’t order gifts for Margaret anymore. Now, every year when her birthday comes around, they do the same ritual. He escorts her to the Macy’s Shiseido cosmetics counter and she picks out her favorite facial cream. He asks for the price, and upon hearing, exclaims, “for a GALLON??” He then wraps it and gives it to her after dinner. They have performed this tradition every year for the last seventeen years now. My mother is thrilled with her new Shiseido Man and no more gadgets from Steve go in the landfill!





Do We All Look Alike?

Most of us are familiar with the stereotype that “Asians all looked alike” but in a sea of whiteness, I stuck out like a foreign exchange student! I distinctly remember being called to the principal’s office when I was in 3rd grade to help translate for a visiting student. The only problem was, she was Japanese and I was Chinese!
Then there was Nina. A Chinese student who joined my elementary class briefly, for less than a year. You would think that I we would have bonded and formed an Asian alliance of two. Yet, oddly and sadly, I felt uncomfortable and distanced myself as far as possible from Nina. Ironically, I had tried so hard to fit in as an “American” that her presence reminded me of my real identity and the part of me that I wanted (and others) to forget.




Perils of a Raccoon Foodie

Recently, I had a close brush with death… by yucca root! Over the years, I enjoyed ordering and eating one of the world’s staple root starches, a.k.a. cassava, manioc, tapioca, in different forms. I had sampled them fried with a tasty carrot/onion dipping sauce in a Brazilian restaurant, steamed and served with garlic and oil in a Salvadorian café, as chewy tapioca pearls in Taiwanese green “bubble” milk tea and like mashed potatoes in a harvest potluck. But I had yet to make some at home so I picked up a couple tubers from the local farmer’s market.

I had heard that the skin was poisonous so as a precaution, consulted my new “Best Loved and Brand New” edition of Joy of Cooking, a recent gift. There was a special section on yucca, but surprisingly, no mention of its “dark side.” The cooking process read similar to potatoes so that’s how I processed it. The yucca tasted kind of bitter so I decided to check the internet for clues. (Of course, searching anything online, especially a health matter is a guaranteed way of freaking yourself out, given the range of opinions and sources!)

With alarm, I read, “Yucca root should always be washed, peeled and cooked to remove a poisonous and toxic milky latex-like substance this lies just beneath the bark. If eaten, this acidic juice contained in the root and beneath the bark can attack enzymes within human digestive systems, causing discomfort, illness, and possibly death.” Egads!

I have always been proud of the fact that I have an “iron stomach,” eating everything under the sun and friends who know my diverse gastronomical repertoire and principle of “no waste” call me a raccoon. I also had the reputation of being an uber-researcher before making a decision (especially shopping decisions!) After 20 minutes of internet “speed-learning,” it all boiled down to this: There were two types of yucca: sweet and bitter. The latter could kill a cow within minutes. The sweet kind was described as being “less bitter and not really sweet.”

My yucca had tasted quite bitter. Oh dear. Obituary headlines flashed before me: “Cause of Death: Poisonous Tuber” and “Harvard Grad Killed by Improper Handling of Root Vegetable Eaten by Millions Around the World.” Rationality went out the window. My mother would never forgive me.

Well, this Raccoon Foodie had a decision to make very quickly: Stick a finger down my throat or take my chances? Hmmm, time was running out. After twenty minutes, still no nausea or blurred vision. Was there time for one more Google search?

Reluctantly, I self-induced and puked the yucca. (As I sat on the floor of my bathroom hugging the toilet, I thought, “how do bulimics do this??”) Moral of the story: Beware of the “joy of cooking” and cross-check your sources so you don’t get stuck chucking your yucca!





My Mother: My Favorite Country Asian Chef & Teacher of the Year

My mother was born in Hunan, China, grew up in Taiwan, and immigrated to the U.S. in the early 1960’s, first to Houston (“where I have a Jewish mother”), then to Atlanta where my dad was studying at Georgia Tech.
As a fourth and fifth-grade then a gifted program teacher, she was beloved by her students. She was a creative sparkplug in the classroom, incorporating multidisciplinary or complex subjects like aviation, bridge-building, world trade and/or Chinese literature when other teachers stayed with more traditional topics, and even more popular on the playground, as she taught (and played) sports like Chinese dodgeball and Double Dutch jump-roping. More than once, she was selected Teacher of the Year. Reflecting wistfully,”Under today’s bureaucracy and policies, I probably couldn’t teach or do half of the things I did back then.”
My mom invented fast food Chinese long before Panda Express ever came along. She told friends, “I worked full-time as a school teacher, had three kids, and they didn’t sell tofu or soy sauce at the local Winn-Dixie grocery store back then. Who had time to make dumplings for dinner!” She also preferred a cast iron skillet to a wok. After 40 years, she still uses the same skillet which is a permanent fixture on the stove. “Woks are wobbly and didn’t work well on the electric stoves popular back then.”
My favorite dishes included: “Pepper Steak n’ Fries,” Scrambled Eggs & Grits w/Preserved Radish,” “Five Spice Rutabaga” and “Hot Hunan Catfish.” Instead of soda, we drank honey water and made honey popsicles. Baked items, like bread or pastries were virtually nonexistent. Fruit was dessert. Kind of like Atkins pre-Atkins. According to my mom, she was “not really a great cook, but fast.” And she cooks fast “because I’m hungry and recipes make me dizzy!” But don’t ask her to bake. “I prefer to cook a 5-course meal than make a cake!”
At the urging of her friends (and frequent dinner guests), my mom taught the first community school Chinese cooking class in the area. Even though I was only ten, I helped her and we did it together. The hardest part was creating the recipes since there were none. I sat perched on a stool beside her and the blazing cast-iron skillet with ingredients flying, trying to scribble “pinch of this, pinch of that” on an index card while my mom created. After teaching school for 17 years (and a divorce, unheard of for a Chinese couple at the time), she made a mid-life career change and became a successful businesswoman doing international consulting and now real estate. For fun,  she still loves to fish and has taken up tennis, ping pong and biking!

Making sushi with Uncle Danny "I'm an Old-timer and Chinese Redneck!"





Gourmet Grits and Artisanal Fried Chicken?

Jennifer Aniston isn’t the only one making a splashy comeback. As a food marketing guru who is in the process of getting “re-orientaled” to the plethora of diverse Atlanta eateries, I couldn’t help but notice the rise in popularity (and price) of Southern comfort food.


When I was a kid in Smyrna, eating out meant being treated to the Fat Boy’s fried chicken (and a fried peach pie), Ponderosa Steakhouse (with A-1 Steak sauce) or later, the fancy Piccadilly’s Cafeteria kid’s plate (and to-die-for pecan cream pie). Today, few places seem to be billed as a “restaurant” anymore but rather a pub, gastro-pub, cafe, book cafe, diner, marketplace, eatery or grill that is Tex-Mex, Pan-Asian, Fusion, Vegetarian, Dim Sum, New World or Tapas serving artisan bread, gourmet grits, microbrewed beer, organic chips, hand-cut fries, multi-grain biscuits, imported cheese, heirloom turkey or heritage grains. As a former school lunch kid and fan of airplane food (gone with the good old days), I’m feeling quite unsophisticated!


Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy (and jump at the opportunity) of eating most of these genres and gastro-delicacies and am a supporter of Slow Food International and Georgia Organics. Being a Ponderosa girl, I am more often amused by the creative marketing and happily impressed by the complexity or simplicity of flavors of my meal. Admittedly, there have been times when I’ve ordered a dish that had a description as long as this paragraph and as tantalizing as a Danielle Steele love scene but was left disappointed and hungry. Is this a spa or a brewpub? Granted, small is beautiful, food is art and overeating is an American tradition, but satiate my appetite and give me leftovers (how hard could it be at five feet tall)!


Then there is price. When did a side of grits cost five dollars and fried chicken, twenty? Is it a golden chicken? Being the good green shepherd, I also looked into reserving a non-traditional “heritage bird” for my mom at Thanksgiving. The smallest size would have cost nearly $100. Yikes. As a home-style cook and CSA shareholder, I know how much time and effort it takes to grow and cook a good meal with quality ingredients, especially local, fresh and organic. I also realize that in a restaurant, we’re often paying for the ambience, service, etc.


Maybe it’s a cultural Asian thing. When I was in Bangkok, I discovered that our beloved Pad Thai was actually peasant food costing fifty cents from a street cart (and not on the menu at nice restaurants). No wonder the server looked at me like I had just ordered a hot dog! The same was true for many favorite dim sum and authentic Asian treats. In New York City, my friend and I broke the bank in a “Korean vegetarian shrine.” In Atlanta, the gourmet trend is heading East with several upscale Asian restaurants. I’m saving up for them.


Fortunately for the budget-conscious, on Buford Highway, you can still get a table-full of authentic, cooked-to-order dishes for twenty dollars, including tea, appetizer and dessert! Maybe that explains my love-hate relationship with gourmet food.  A change in our food and agricultural policies so that the price of organic or locally-produced products are more digestible and accessible. Maybe as the distance between the farm, table and family members has grown, we are comforted by (and seeking?) meals and gatherings that remind us and ground us with a connection to family, culture and community.


Go to Georgia Organics to find a local farmstand or market near you! They also have a great “Eating Seasonally” growing chart to show what vegetables are fresh and in season each month…





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