When I eat chun-bing, I think of my grandmother. We always ate chun-bing during the first day of spring, and my grandma called it ‘biting into spring’. For her, every holiday was an occasion to tell a story or share a piece of folklore. On the first day of winter she’d cook us dumplings and explain how they got their Chinese name, jiaozi. Or on the night of the Double Seventh Festival, she’d take me to the grape arbor in the courtyard of our apartment building, and we’d sit there listening to the wind rustling the leaves while she explained how on this day, back in old times, everybody would eat mooncakes and watermelons and the girls would hold needle-threading competitions. Every season had its special food: In winter she made meatball soup with cabbage and tofu, and in summer she cooked bitter melon and chilled eggplant salad. My parents both worked demanding jobs, so my grandma cared for me and did all the cooking. She cared a lot about food, about what it meant. She always cooked three meals a day, never served leftovers, and made sure every meal was balanced. For me, that’s what love is about. Chinese people never say “I love you.” Instead, they cook you food.”

wanting zhang, co-founder, operation director

wanting zhang, co-founder, operation director

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