Adrienne Su

“Thus my peripatetic starving-artist years passed without hunger.
The always-unpopular chicken tights and pork shoulder,

combined with an untranslated pantry and daily effort,
made me richer, though unemployed, than an assistant professor.

Tofu, ruined for most by baking, quadrupled the meat in stir-fries.
No. 9 thin spaghetti could be lo mein, otherwise found in undersized

pouches under "Ethnic." Peeled broccoli stems, cut on the diagonal,
had the crispness of water chestnuts, minus the can. Picked animal

bones could be simmered into broth; to discard them was a crime.
Yesterday's rice, fried with frozen peas, an egg, and yesterday's ham,

made lunchtime new. Ugly leaves could hide in pot stickers,
on whose beauty many held forth, with none left over.

Scallion whites would not be privileged over greens. Rice bowls
had to be emptied. Thus my freedom--provided I made semi-annual

trips to gather basics, from whatever Asian grocery store could be found.
In some towns the shop would be Mexican; each helped the other out.

In any cased I could never get everything. Items were regionals,
names slightly off. Neither I nor the owner nor the food being local,

no one could explain. I'm reticent anyway in these contests,
speaking too little of what might be the wrong language,

knowing only the look and taste of the finished dish,
not what to call it.

But what I kept going back, wish list

in hand, never thinking of starvation, only of creativity:
that which I wanted to make, and that which had made me.”
― Adrienne Su, Peach State