By Akira Park
In the Philippines, meals often consist of two parts: kanin (rice) and ulam (the main dish). No meal is complete without kanin or ulam; They are inseparable. Yet, as I sat at my parents’ dining table after they announced how rice would be removed from their diets, they felt proud as they committed to this decision for a healthier lifestyle. I, on the other hand, was bewildered. Don’t get me wrong; I am proud of my parents for choosing what they want to eliminate for their health, but our conversation led to a personal reflection on my horrible relationship with food.
As I read Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s Bite by Bite, I am reminded of the moments when I’ve turned away from food–especially those with a close personal connection to my soul. For two years, I silently turned away from my meals, and food became my life’s worst enemy. I struggled with the adverse effects of food on my body, and least to say, I removed more foods than kanin. It wasn’t until my therapist said, “Food has two purposes–for your health and your soul,” that I changed my perception of food.
As someone who is not an avid reader of essay collections, I had initially thought I’d find this type of writing arduous to “get into,” but to my surprise, it wasn’t. I enjoyed it…a lot. It was a fast-paced read, and I was entirely invested in particular essays, whether or not they resonated with my experiences. Nezhukumatathil’s collection of works was a warm embrace that many readers could easily connect to, especially those who have been out of touch with their relationship with food. Additionally, in some parts of the essay, you can see the aspects of memoir and poetry embedded in Nezhukumatathil’s writing, including information on the history of food itself.
The author explores how food, from rambutan to leche flan and fruits to spices, affects our soul, from the comforts craved by food to the nostalgic memories people associate with such food. The essays explore belonging and the adventures of Nezhukumatathil’s life, mirroring the celebrations of adulthood that are often longed for, all for the purpose of remembering. Some of these essays reflect her cultural connection to food, while others associate her experiences with family and her occupation as a graduate student, professor, and mother. Not all of them are celebrations, either; some bring up central themes of microaggression, racial stereotypes, loneliness, and fear. We become more aware and informed of the societal challenges of those deeply affected by intersectionality through witnessing her relationships with food as a Filipina, Indian, and American woman.
What’s captivating about Nezhukumatathil’s essays is that they reveal bubbles of moments in her life that reflect upon her internal dialogue while capturing her interactions during specific experiences. In one of the essays about “Bing Cherries,” I feared with her as she described her alarming encounter with an orchard farmer’s son who had invited her on a date to listen to an old Elvis Presley record inside their home after she picked cherries during her solo trip on a U-Pick cherry farm. At this moment, the cherry farmer’s son concluded Nezhukumatathil’s interest in Elvis after observing the Elvis license plate holders on her car. While this scenario might sound simple, I was enamored by her descriptions, as if she were lending a hand to a reader and saying, “Hey, be in this moment with me and understand how it felt.” Many of her essays felt and read as if the reader were there with her in the present, which made her stories ever more engaging and personal. Least to say, it felt as if I celebrated the sigh of relief she had when her encounter with the farmer’s son concluded.
There were many moments in this book that I stopped to annotate, which is often a rare occasion. A few chapters shook my core, as I had always struggled with my identity, just as Nezhukumatathil has. One of the essays that left a mark in my heart was her chapter on “Shaved Ice,” where she notes, “All of us Asian American mothers and academics who have known all too well what it means and how often we have to put more effort into being heard.” This unfortunate experience is widespread among many Asian Americans, especially in academia, where all the academic leaders Nezhukumatathil sees (and myself, too) are white. If they are not white men, then they are white women. While we are more highly represented in higher academia than other POCs, we are somehow seen as not minoritized enough because data is somehow valued over counternarratives. It’s deeper than we could ever imagine.
As a Filipina reader, I also enjoyed many of her stories about lumpia, bangus, leche flan, and much more that honored her experiences as a Filipina daughter and mother. Frequently, I found myself in Nezhukumatathil’s situation as I longed for my mother’s cooking, even as a married woman. She shows her readers that, despite your stage in life, you are still someone’s child who longs for your parents’ savory and sweet care. She talks about the lack of fulfillment around having both Filipino and Indian parents and laments about how being single comes with an expiration date, and one must look for a partner or be married after a certain age. That said, Nezhukumatathil doesn’t simply emphasize the good parts of how food is associated with a particular experience or identity; it also comes with flaws and challenges.
While I mentioned that this book is a quick read, some essays were stronger than others. It was easy to discern which topics connected deeper to Nezhukumatathil, which is unfortunate because I resonated more with several weaker essays; I would love to see more of her thoughts on certain foods specific subjects, such as the essay on “Halo-Halo,” which describes the dish’s connection with her mother, her family’s admiration with Elvis Presley, her racial identity, including her children’s, and her engagement in the shivering weather of Niagra Falls. I relished this essay, yet the descriptions felt disjointed with “Bing Cherry,” which deeply immerses the reader as she gives an extensive narrative writing style for a single experience of her fear and rejection of a cherry farmer’s son. As a reader, I wish I had equally as many insights, or more, on the experiences described in “Halo-Halo.” Even so, it was also clear to see which topics Nezhukumatathil had more to say than others, which is entirely understandable as we all have a topic we’re more passionate about reading or writing about than others. At times, the weaker essays felt disorganized, and I had to flip back and reread them to shift along with the mood of the essays.
Despite that, I appreciated how Nezhukumatathil combined various writing styles into one book, especially the parts where she combined her narrative with her poetry. Additionally, I found that her “Food Writing Prompts” at the end of the book highlighted her abilities as an educator. I’m glad that she is using this to interact with readers for a creative writing moment and be in the shoes of a writer rather than simply a reader. Her decision to include this encourages us, especially Asian Americans, who yearn for cultural connections through food, to write when we feel out of touch with our soul and have not felt the comfort that food can have in a long time.
Last but not least, Fumi Nakamura’s illustrations were beautiful and added a deeper connection to Nezhukumatathil’s writing as I could envision some of the food mentioned, which I was unfamiliar with (and looking at the images made me hungry!). While this is my first time reading her works, it was a great introduction to her writing. Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s Bite by Bite is truly nourishing through moments of jamborees, and her experiences shed light on how connected we are with the food we often take for granted. Let our soul feel satiated with our experiences through ulam and our identities through kanin.
Akira Park (she/her/siya) is an undergraduate English Education student at Washington State University. She conducts research on the representation of Asian American narratives in young adult literature and education, frequently advocating for the needed representation of Asian Americans in both disciplines. You can check her website at akirapark.carrd.co and follow her on Instagram @akirapbooks.