Roots, Reflections, and Revelations in Taigu

By Tiffany Yuen ‘23, Taigu Fellow 2023-2025

I dream about Taigu food. Truly, mealtimes are a cherished highlight of my days. One meal, in particular, that stood out was with students who introduced Haley and I to a traditional Shanxi cuisine restaurant. We ordered far more food than four people could finish: 拨烂子 (bō làn zǐ), a stir-fried wheat noodle dish, Peking duck, millet corn soup, 刀削面 (dāo xiāo miàn), the famed knife-cut noodles of Shanxi province, and my personal favorite, 红烧肉 (hóng shāo ròu), or braised pork belly. Of course, millet was present in some of our food that day. This grain holds a significant place in the foodscape of Shanxi, where it has been cultivated for centuries and remains a staple in local cuisine, from porridge to steamed buns to fermented drinks. Archaeological remains from northern China reveal that domesticated dogs consumed a cultural diet that included millet, likely from the leftovers of the people who cared for them.1 Having domesticated a small pack of dogs myself, I see this relationship as a continuation of tradition, though mine seem to prefer sausages over grains.

Our lunch spread

蛋糕 (Dàn Gāo), Snaggletooth and Lala

Before sharing this meal, we spent an afternoon threshing and dehusking millet seeds with agronomy researchers at Shanxi Agricultural University. Their work integrates CRISPR technology with traditional cultivation practices to enhance crop yields while preserving the plants’ genetic integrity and cataloging seed varieties. In conversations with professors and students, I understood seed saving as more than an agricultural practice, but as a means of safeguarding food security, protecting biodiversity, and ensuring the economic autonomy of local farmers in Shanxi. Reflecting on this, I am reminded of how Indigenous communities in North America practice Seed Keeping as a form of resistance against the corporatization and monopolization of agriculture. Across these contexts, seeds carry histories of how communities survive and sustain themselves, preserve cultural memory, and adapt to shifting landscapes. Whether in the greenhouse or around a dinner table, I have come to understand that nurturing the land is also nurturing the stories, knowledge, and livelihoods of people who depend on it.

Horticulture Greenhouse at Shanxi Agricultural University

Similarly, food itself has come to symbolize more than sustenance for me. In Taigu, cooking is an outlet to construct comfort with whatever ingredients I can find. Over time, food has become both an anchor and a metaphor for my identity. My students are curious about Chinese American food, often asking, “Is it the same as Chinese food here?” “Not exactly, but it’s delicious,” I tell them. Food, like identity, resists rigid categorization. Chinese American food, shaped by migration and reinvention, is its own cuisine, and deeply meaningful to those who grew up with it. In these moments, I wonder: if Chinese American food is not “authentically” Chinese but still wholly itself, what does that make me? A little like orange chicken, I suppose.

Vineyard in Jinzhong

Phoenix Mountain 凤凰山

When I first arrived in China, I resisted imposing expectations on my experience. “Expect nothing and say yes to everything.” I have the privilege of anonymity; I look like I belong. But anonymity comes with its own set of social, cultural, and linguistic expectations. The moment I speak, my American-accented Mandarin shatters the illusion. My presence often seems to require an accompanying footnote. At first, I met the confusion with an explanation: Yes, I am Asian American! We exist!

This liminality has been both a source of questioning and an invitation to reflect. My experience is difficult to articulate, not for lack of feeling, but because I have yet to find the language to explain it. In many ways, it has encouraged me to confront the assumptions that lead me to expect others to understand me as I hope to understand them. In the U.S., I interpret encounters through the frameworks of race, microaggressions, and identity politics that shape my worldview. However, I am learning that not every situation demands an explanation or resolution. Understanding does not always arrive through analysis or dissection, but through connection. As I encounter ideologies different from mine, learning to sit with that tension has become its own form of understanding.

Still, discomfort has a way of making itself known, and leaning into it is not easy. I find joy in small victories: catching a joke in Mandarin before it is translated, a street food vendor greeting me like an old friend, or a breakthrough in English class with my students. As I learn to trust my voice, I realize that my identity is not defined by external validation or the idea that belonging must be earned or proven. Instead, it is shaped by how I choose to respect and engage with the spaces I occupy, the languages I speak, and the histories I carry.

Trusting myself means embracing the courage to try, fail, and try again. And in finding my voice, I recognize that it was never discovered in isolation. It has been and continues to be, nurtured by the people I love. I am deeply grateful for the kindness, support, and shared moments of joy, growth, and vulnerability with my family, mentors, cohort, co-fellows, students, and lifelong friends I have made along the way. As I move forward after Shansi, I do so with the confidence that my identity is not rooted in belonging to one place, but that I have found community in the places that have shaped me.

1 Stevens CJ, Zhuang Y, Fuller DQ. Millets, dogs, pigs and permanent settlement: productivity transitions in Neolithic northern China. Evol Hum Sci. 2024 Nov 11;6:e44. doi: 10.1017/ehs.2024.31. PMID: 39703940; PMCID: PMC11658956.