The fragrant aromas of succulent beef shank braising in a stock pot filled with spices became my mom’s unspoken beckoning to the dinner table. My sisters and I would swarm to the dining table, knees on dining chairs, and pick off pieces of meat with our fingers as mom would scold from behind the kitchen island for not using chopsticks. Reminiscent of her home in Taiwan, beef noodle soup was my mom’s favorite dish to make as she was only able to return back to Taiwan once every 7 or 8 years.
Mom wasn’t a chef by trade, yet the finesse with which she prepared plate after plate of traditional Chinese cuisine rivaled any oriental restaurant cook in town. With a single digit audience, she was never in pursuit of profit or fame - simply aiming for a much more modest goal: smiles on our faces. While we had started slurping the noodles soaked in hearty beef broth, she was still putting away unused ingredients and cleaning off pots and surfaces so as to not leave a mess, overjoyed with the simple fact that we immediately started devouring her dinner that night.
Through decades of preparing meals for the family, she kept a little, worn-out, coil-bound notebook, scribbling down comments and recipes with a little wooden pencil after each meal, refining her process with an almost scientific rigor. I asked her once for recipes in college as I was just learning to make Chinese cuisine. She gleefully responded with pages of recipes, typed in as best English as she could manage, sourced from her little recipe notebook with details as intricate as including 1⁄3 of an egg or chicken cut into 1.5cm cubes. At the end of her email she concluded, “See if you want to try, I will sent[sic] you more if I come out with anything.” Immediately the next day she attempted a few more dishes and then sent those recipes to me too. Cooking had become her passion - not in the sense of a hobby or interest, but in that she felt it defined her worth to her family and as trivial as the vapid drone of daily meal prep sounds, it was her own contribution.
My siblings and I were always encouraged to finish our food. Mom would appeal with classic examples of African kids or with superstitions like curses of pimples on your future spouse for each remaining grain of rice. I reluctantly finished most of the time, but I regret not finishing every time. Not for the starving kids in Africa or for my future wife, but because she had poured all of her time and effort that afternoon and night to shop for ingredients, prepare, and cook. Only after cooking meals for parties of people can you truly appreciate the effort it takes to coordinate meal after meal, years on end. Leaving food on your plate is the ultimate insult to an artist who always crafted their love on the dinner table, only to see it untouched, unappreciated.
Yet despite us children being little picky ass bitches, her joy always stemmed from putting the welfare of us above her own. While we enjoyed the tender slow braised chunks of beef, she picked at the tendons and ate meat scrapings off the bones used for steeping, smiling as we excitedly slurped down her noodle soup. But unnoticed even before that, she was finishing up the leftovers from last night, microwaved and soggy but enough to satiate her so that she could leave us with the priciest meat and the freshest ingredients.
After we finished and left the table, mom was the one who remained behind - still finishing up because she had joined us late. She would finish the food scraps left uneaten and clean up our messes as a Chinese variety show played distant in the living room, easing the monotonous task of boxing leftovers she would have to re-heat tomorrow. But she never once complained, because she knew that investing little bit of her effort paid multiples keeping us happy.
It’s 2017 and mom asked me to come back for Chinese New Year dinner, eagerly wanting to cook a nice meal for me. She went out and tried to buy the best beef, selecting a couple batches of pricier cuts of meat, the best of which was USDA Choice beef flank. While I’ve been aiming for USDA Prime or sometimes even Wagyu for special occasions, her ceiling was still anchored a few steps below. She never actually had Wagyu beef until I had taken her to a nice restaurant a couple years prior. As soon as I saw the packaging I made a note to myself - don’t forget to treat mom to Wagyu next time I’m back.
If you’re curious what my inspiration was to start cooking, it was my mom’s cooking. Not just because I was inspired but also because I want to live by a value she’s quietly taught me - that life shouldn’t only be measured by your own happiness, but also by the happiness of those around you. And a bulletproof way to make people happy is to feed them food. Hence, I wanted to practice and refine this recipe myself to serve to her one day. But you can be sure that when that day comes around, mother eats first and leaves first, with a smile on her face.
Update 3/3/2017: She got to try it.
Recipe
Ingredients ``` - 1-2lb Beef bones (I used marrow bones) - Beef shank - red chilis - 8 cloves garlic - ginger - 4 plum tomatoes - 2 tablespoons sugar - 1 cup rice wine - 1 tablespoon sichuan peppercorns - 3 star anise cloves - 1⁄2 cup soy sauce - 1⁄2 cup light soy sauce
