Kitchen culture
If there is one aspect of my American life I really, truly miss living here in China, it must be American kitchen culture. I mean, after family and friends, of course. I would rather live out of my car and be around my family and old friends more than most any other possible scenario. But since I live here, in China, I really long for the way our American domestic lives can revolve around our kitchens.
Most of the apartments we have looked at here in Shenzhen have tiny Chinese-style kitchens. I've posted pictures before of the two kitchens we've had, and even these are relatively large by Chinese standards. Usually, the kitchens, even in high-end, out-of-our range apartments, are tiny, dingy places. Chinese cooking, while not as syrupy-greasy as American-style Chinese take-out, is still a very oily affair. Kitchens are rarely inviting center-of-the-home places. One of my Chinese friends' mother won't even let me step foot in her kitchen, out of respect of my status as the foreign guest.
Even among my foreign friends, and even those who live in more foreign-equipped kitchens, their kitchens are also not the room for our socializing. Kitchens are the domain of the ayi, usually, and any lingering over coffee in the kitchen is really getting in her way.
Many joke that "Ni chifanle ma?" (have you eaten) is the standard greeting in China. Food is of central social importance in China, like so many other places, and yet the room where it is fixed is not the most important room in the home.
I love in America how when I go to someone's house to visit, usually for a playdate, us moms frequently get to be in the kitchen. Fresh coffee (or wine if it is evening), warm baked goods, the smells of our lunches or dinners. If we've come together to share lunch or dinner, we often watch the other work their magic and offer to help in anyway we can. In America, sometimes loving food also means loving being around it, being surrounded by it.
I even love my American kitchen-life when the only people there are me and members of the family. The hum of the dishwasher, a teething baby sitting in his high-chair happily gnawing on a wet washcloth, my coffee brewing (yes, coffee figures a lot into this, doesn't it?). I just love being in the kitchen.
Sometimes when my teacher arrives at my house for class, she catches us in the act of mixing up some muffins or quick bread. She enjoys watching how we carefully measure the ingredients and add them in a specific order and then how the oven transforms the fluid mixture into warm, spongy goodness. Baked goods, so simple and common for us Americans, are exotic here. My teacher has told me that she really enjoys it when we are making things, because most of her other students don't cook here. I've explained to her about what kitchens are like in America, how often we families spend time together in them, and how wonderful it is to sip coffee and catch up with friends at the kitchen table.
Two weeks ago I visited IKEA to price furniture in anticipation of our upcoming move. Many apartments we've seen are missing a couch, or a mattress, or something that we would be more than happy to supply ourselves to match our own comfort and style. I walked past the kitchen showrooms and almost cried. These fantasy kitchens, I believe, exist no where else in Shenzhen but in the IKEA showroom. I don't mean because of the gleaming appliances and spotless floors, but rather, life appears to be led in these kitchens. Kitchen tables and high chairs.
Comfortable, inviting rooms you can spend an afternoon in. Lighting for things other than just cooking food.
As renters here in Shenzhen, we will forever be subject to our Chinese landlords' taste and idea of what is a marketable apartment. Often what we have seen are small kitchens but decorative, expansive, and useless empty space in bedrooms and hallways. I dream of the day we can have a kitchen in which we love to be, and family and where friends long to spend time with us.
Most of the apartments we have looked at here in Shenzhen have tiny Chinese-style kitchens. I've posted pictures before of the two kitchens we've had, and even these are relatively large by Chinese standards. Usually, the kitchens, even in high-end, out-of-our range apartments, are tiny, dingy places. Chinese cooking, while not as syrupy-greasy as American-style Chinese take-out, is still a very oily affair. Kitchens are rarely inviting center-of-the-home places. One of my Chinese friends' mother won't even let me step foot in her kitchen, out of respect of my status as the foreign guest.
Even among my foreign friends, and even those who live in more foreign-equipped kitchens, their kitchens are also not the room for our socializing. Kitchens are the domain of the ayi, usually, and any lingering over coffee in the kitchen is really getting in her way.
Many joke that "Ni chifanle ma?" (have you eaten) is the standard greeting in China. Food is of central social importance in China, like so many other places, and yet the room where it is fixed is not the most important room in the home.
I love in America how when I go to someone's house to visit, usually for a playdate, us moms frequently get to be in the kitchen. Fresh coffee (or wine if it is evening), warm baked goods, the smells of our lunches or dinners. If we've come together to share lunch or dinner, we often watch the other work their magic and offer to help in anyway we can. In America, sometimes loving food also means loving being around it, being surrounded by it.
I even love my American kitchen-life when the only people there are me and members of the family. The hum of the dishwasher, a teething baby sitting in his high-chair happily gnawing on a wet washcloth, my coffee brewing (yes, coffee figures a lot into this, doesn't it?). I just love being in the kitchen.
Sometimes when my teacher arrives at my house for class, she catches us in the act of mixing up some muffins or quick bread. She enjoys watching how we carefully measure the ingredients and add them in a specific order and then how the oven transforms the fluid mixture into warm, spongy goodness. Baked goods, so simple and common for us Americans, are exotic here. My teacher has told me that she really enjoys it when we are making things, because most of her other students don't cook here. I've explained to her about what kitchens are like in America, how often we families spend time together in them, and how wonderful it is to sip coffee and catch up with friends at the kitchen table.
Two weeks ago I visited IKEA to price furniture in anticipation of our upcoming move. Many apartments we've seen are missing a couch, or a mattress, or something that we would be more than happy to supply ourselves to match our own comfort and style. I walked past the kitchen showrooms and almost cried. These fantasy kitchens, I believe, exist no where else in Shenzhen but in the IKEA showroom. I don't mean because of the gleaming appliances and spotless floors, but rather, life appears to be led in these kitchens. Kitchen tables and high chairs.
Comfortable, inviting rooms you can spend an afternoon in. Lighting for things other than just cooking food.
As renters here in Shenzhen, we will forever be subject to our Chinese landlords' taste and idea of what is a marketable apartment. Often what we have seen are small kitchens but decorative, expansive, and useless empty space in bedrooms and hallways. I dream of the day we can have a kitchen in which we love to be, and family and where friends long to spend time with us.
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