Growing up Asian-American, I have always struggled to paint a coherent picture of my cultural identity. Despite being a finicky eater, memories of my childhood years are adorned with dinners made by my grandmother, Amma, as well as Chinese bakery buns, chicken nuggets, and buttered noodles. Although I insisted on eating Lunchables at school, at home I mercilessly stuffed my face with hot, flaky, scallion pancakes that left my fingers so greasy I would drag them against our glass table as if finger painting. That is, until my mom would sigh, scold me to stop and go wash my hands, and wipe it up. Weekdays were spent at school, learning to read, write and do arithmetic. Sundays were spent suffocating within the confines of Chinese school. As I grew older, things improved drastically. I saw my grandparents less. I moved away from home to pursue my athletic dreams and quit Chinese school, leading me to quickly lose my grip on the language and pulling me even further from what I believed to be my cultural connections.

Just as I moved 800 miles away from home to start a new journey in college, feeling further from my family and culture than I ever had, a pandemic engulfed the world, turning life as we knew it upside-down. With the dangerous, life-threatening disease came a plague of anxiety, isolation, and uncertainty. Every email, speech, and announcement were infected with terms such as “global pandemic,” and “unprecedented times,” leaving no part of life unscathed. In the midst of the global pandemonium, or really, whenever I’m feeling down or lost, I seek comfort in the warmth and familiarity of Dan Dan noodles, an unwavering childhood favorite that my Amma often made for me. It is in making and eating Dan Dan noodles that I feel I am connected with my Amma (who I have not seen because of pandemic-related concerns), my cultural identity, and my place in this world. It is for these reasons I have chosen to cook the dish.

Dan Dan noodles originated as a street food in Sichuan, China. Traditionally, the dish is composed of a spicy minced meat sauce served over noodles, either with or without soup. The name comes from the bamboo pole (“Dan”), which vendors used to carry the noodles and sauce around. However, my history with the dish began in a quaint family-owned restaurant in San Francisco’s Chinatown. I can recall whiffs of fried egg rolls, the sticky chairs and tables, the smooth black chopsticks, still too big for my bony, measly, fingers to balance at the time, and the low humming of a fan in the corner. Not ten minutes after being seated, a bowl of steaming hot noodles, draped in a rich, meaty, velvety sauce appeared before me. I took a bite. And then another. And another. The world fell away for just a moment and the chuckling comments of my surrounding family were drowned out as I inhaled the intoxicatingly chewy, spicy, savory noodles. As a child who ate concerningly little to begin with, and even less protein, this was a major breakthrough. Amma noticed immediately, smiled, and steadily and skillfully used her chopsticks to pick up some of the magical appetite-stimulating noodles to try for herself. Finally, there was a dish delicately balanced with carbs and protein to energize and nourish the tiny girl that ate like a bird. Whether Amma was actually familiar with a Dan Dan noodles recipe or not, I may never know, but it doesn’t matter. As an astute cook, Amma is so keen and in tune with the flavors in the food she eats, that the one bite of the noodles was enough for her to profile the dish and create her own version. Her Dan Dan noodles have filled my belly ever since.

For me, Dan Dan noodles are not just associated with fond memories. Their significance in my life goes way beyond that. Though my Amma might disagree, I have come to realize she and the dish share many similarities. My conception of the two is so intertwined I cannot imagine thinking of one without the other. To those who don’t know Amma, she comes off as loud. Demanding. Harsh and critical. Some may even say she is rude. The way I see it, Amma is just an admiringly headstrong woman who knows her worth and what she wants. This is the first bite of Dan Dan noodles--the kick of the spicy chili oil. Initially, one must hesitate and decide if the pain is worth the pleasure. Spoiler: it is. Upon continuing, one finds that the spiciness melts away into a delicious warmth that cannot be anything other than love in a consumable form. In my Amma, it is her gentleness, kindness, and selflessness. Both the noodle dish and Amma are relatively uncomplicated, but far from boring. Both have always been there for any and all occasions of my life--the good days and the bad days. They encapsulate the feeling of sunshine softly kissing your skin on the first warm day after a cold winter. They make me feel connected to my family, those who came before me, and something greater than myself. They symbolize the kind of person I hope to be, and the feelings I wish to bring to others.

During the pandemic, it is of no surprise to me that I crave Dan Dan noodles often. Selecting the dish to make was a no-brainer. The process was not very complicated, which was nice, given that growing up has made everything seem so very complicated. In fact, I found the rhythmic chopping of the ingredients to be quite therapeutic and grounding in a time where eyes glaze over at the news and seemingly nothing feels real. The sizzle of meat on a hot pan and the smells wafting through the house not only remind me to be present, but they are also so reminiscent of times filled with hugs, joy, and laughter; times unfamiliar with masks and social-distancing. Although I have not been able to see Amma recently, and nothing will replace seeing her in person, making Dan Dan noodles has reminded me that our connecting roots are so much deeper than what is going on in the world around us. Nothing can compare to the Dan Dan noodles made by Amma herself, but eating the noodles I made was the next best thing to one of her warm embraces. Whether 6 feet, 800 miles, or halfway across the world, Amma’s Dan Dan noodles will always feel like home, and like belonging. Through this experience, I have realized that my cultural identity is actually not fractured at all. It is just my own recipe of who I am, and the different flavors and spices of my life are what make it unique. The impact Dan Dan noodles have had on my life will always remain constant, as will my love for the dish and my connections to all I associate with it. It is because the dish has helped me develop such a strong sense of where I come from, that I know where I want to go.