Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You: A Memoir of Saying the Unsayable with Food

by Candice Chung

'If only my Cantonese parents weren't so allergic to the word love…'

What is the most unsayable thing you have ever wanted to say to your parents? For newly single food journalist Candice Chung, there's been one thing on her mind 'If anything happens, I love you.' Simple. Reasonable. If only her estranged Cantonese parents weren't so allergic to the word 'love'.


Still, she's determined to tackle what's left unsaid. To find a way to unscramble what her family has been trying to tell each other all along – not in Cantonese or English, but with food.


As Candice dives into the rituals of family dining, and her parents offer to join her at restaurants she's due to review, she begins to unravel how a decade of silence and distance have shaped their relationship. Through shared meals and culinary adventures – from steaming hotpots to pasta at uncomfortably romantic trattorias – they begin to confront the unspoken. And to unpick what it means to show care when you come from a culture where saying 'I love you' isn't the norm.


Set against the backdrop of a burgeoning new relationship, grasped-at date nights mid-pandemic and an uncertain future across seas, Candice reflects on migration, solitude and intimacy.


How can we rebuild closeness when we've drifted apart?


Can food fill the gaps where words fail?


For anyone who has ever found their loved ones' emotional worlds unreachable, Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You is packed with heart, humour and those bright-hearted moments around a dinner table that bring us together.


The next word-of-mouth obsession for readers of Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner, Butter by Asako Yuzuki and I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Baek Sehee.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Biography, Audiobook

256 pages, Hardcover

First published April 29, 2025

Reviews

[Bloss ♡ · Rating 3 out of 5]

I honestly had to go back and check the blurb because this book was not at all what I was expecting. With comparisons to both the beautiful, gut-wrenching familial reflection of Crying in H Mart and the incredible food writing of Butter, I was expecting something entirely different to what I got.

The focus is on the author and her romantic life. Primarily, we accompany her off the back of a breakdown of a 13-year relationship for which, (I think?), she's estranged from her parents. It's nebulous and never explored, remaining a huge elephant in the room for the length of the book. Instead, we spend a lot of time in the author's head with her insecurities as she navigates a new relationship. The choice to not name the love interests added further distance as a reader. Literally everyone else has a name? Even friends that are mentioned once in passing.

The parents felt like side characters and I was so disappointed at how little we got to know them. There isn't a lot of commentary of exploration of the lack of verbal affection (plus, we've got this hinted-at estrangement that likely provides some context for the supposed 'distance' between the author and her parents). I felt like we were missing critical information that would have helped contextualize a lot of the tension there. Instead, they all just pretended nothing happened and stay in this non-communicative limbo?

With that, the book suffers from a maddeningly distracted attention span. As if it doesn't know what it wanted to focus on and just sorta drifts instead. It felt navel-gazey at many points, especially the stream of consciousness style and random asides that didn't add anything meaningful. The author spends an excessive amount of time quoting authors, films, and books. It gave such a claustrophobic, insular feel.

I've read a lot of strong food-themed books lately that have made my mouth water and transported me to the meals. Sadly, I didn't get that same experience with this.

I liked the pictures of the lorikeet and the moving boxes as well as Yeye's art. I wish there had been more pictures! There were some beautiful turns of phrase sprinkled throughout the book too, hints at the author's capability. The prologue was one of the best intros I've ever read. This frustrated me more and I wish the author had just written what she'd wanted rather than trying to write a story she was clearly hesitant to tell.

Ultimately, I went into this book excited to explore themes of familial reconnection (and maybe complexity) through food but was disappointed that this wasn’t really what the book’s focus was.

I had my request to review this book approved by Elliot & Thompson on NetGalley.

[Mai H.]

Memoir March TBR

📱 Thank you to NetGalley and Elliott & Thompson

[Caitlyn · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.25 stars

ARC review

Candice Chung's memoir, Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You, explores her complex relationship with her family and how their culture influences their ability to be vulnerable with one another. Candice was estranged from her aging parents for over a decade due to a relationship they didn't approve of, the end of which gives her an opportunity to try to reconnect. Candice uses food as a centre for a journey through her adut life, and how emtionally unavailable parents impact all facets of her life.

I want to start by saying I see the vision, and I know exactly what this book was *trying* to do and I think the concept is beautiful. The narrative ebbs and flows - the reader gets a piece of the puzzle that is the author and her parents, then how this has effected another part of her life, rinse and repeat. The attachment we are allowed to develop to our parents has an unfathomable effect on all other relationships throughout our life, so this si a really solid foundation. Unfortunately I think the parents are not central enough given the title and premise of the book. The story veers too far away from the central themes too often and, not saying I want people to be miserable, but I'm not engaged in stories about people having nice albeit boring relationships.

I was excited to read this book because I loved Crying in H Mart and I had a feeling they would be similar due to the blurb, which is not a good comparison. I am a very empathetic reader and it is not often that I don't get emotional reading a memoir, but I feel like this book didn't go deep enough. The author tells us: my parents don't use their words to express their emotions - and it really doesn't go much deeper than that. I do think the writing was really unique and I would love to read literary fiction by this author if that ever came about.

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

“The stomach is a simple animal. But how do we settle the heart—a flailing, skittish thing?” A vibrant essay collection spotlighting food and family. The focus is on 2019–2021, a time of huge changes for Chung. She’s from Hong Kong via Australia, and reconnects with her semi-estranged parents by taking them along on restaurant review gigs for a Sydney newspaper. Fresh from a 13-year relationship with “the psychic reader,” she starts dating again and quickly falls in deep with “the geographer.” Sharing meals in restaurants and at home kindles closeness and keeps their spirits up after Covid restrictions descend. But when he gets a job offer in Scotland, they have to make decisions about their relationship sooner than intended. Although there is a chronological through line, the essays range in time and style, including second-person advice column (“Faux Pas”) and choose-your-own adventure (“Self-Help Meal”) segments alongside lists, message threads and quotes from the likes of Deborah Levy. My favourite piece was “The Soup at the End of the Universe.” Chung delicately contrasts past and present, singleness and being partnered, and different mental health states. The essays meld to capture a life in transition and the tastes and bonds that don’t alter. I got Caroline Eden (Cold Kitchen) and Nina Mingya Powles (Tiny Moons) vibes.

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

[Denise Ruttan · Rating 2 out of 5]

As a memoir this was disappointing to me. I was drawn in by that punchy title, the lovely cover and I do love food memoirs.

But I felt the book was missing the personal, emotional pull that I crave from memoirs and I had a hard time emotionally connecting to it. The author is a food journalist who reviews local restaurants and her parents join her to enjoy the food. I felt as if the author had taken herself completely out of the story and was a journalist looking objectively at her own life as if it were a quirky rom com. It mostly follows the author's misadventures as she dates her way to lasting love, with her parents a small part of the story.

But I never found out why her 13-year relationship ended, other than she felt she was just hanging out and her parents didn't approve. It felt like the elephant in the room that she was too afraid to broach. While the scenes with her new love interest were cute, it felt like she was just hanging out and rushing things in this relationship too, albeit presumably to a better guy. We are only told the men are the "palm reader" and "the geographer" and no names, further distancing the reader from them. I can understand the intention of this but I struggled understanding everyone's motivations.

I also thought this was going to be a family story but we really only got surface level with her relationship with her parents. I felt as if I was reading someone's sanitized, flirty social media posts where they are too timid or embarassed to get too vulnerable or reveal deep emotional truths.

So this was not what I was expecting at all and fell flat for me. I also was hoping for more insight into Chinese food and immigrant culture and it was more the author's relationship with food in general, but from a very journalistic lens.

Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for the advance review copy. I am leaving this review voluntarily.

[Kat Kuo · Rating 2 out of 5]

my mum bought this for me lmao (she is not my Chinese parent). it bothered me that the “food as a love language” motif is so inconsistent throughout this memoir - sometimes it’s the backdrop, sometimes it’s a metaphor, sometimes it’s super literal. I’m being pedantic, but it never rlly felt cohesive and it did make me hyper aware that the book had been written SORRY!!

[Brendan Ng · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not really a memoir, more of a brief snapshot of her life with some history thrown in and quite a few quotes from other authors. Enjoyable in its relatability though (hotel slippers at home anyone) and at times made me laugh, with a couple of pinpoint moments of emotion.

[Sophie-Marie Efkarpidis · Rating 3 out of 5]

The premise of this book is so beautiful and there are some moments where I felt I got what was promised by the title. But I also feel moments of it were entirely necessary or related to the premise of the book.

[Lizzy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Giving it 4 stars cause debut author and Australian. I loved her writing style and definitely will read more from her. I agree the extract is a little misleading but that still let me enjoy the book and the writing.

[Jasmin Goldberg · Rating 3 out of 5]

well written, calm and patient memoir about the slower moments in life and how different people show their love. well observed and warm. I would have liked more food content and more family content but I enjoyed the normalcy of it all.

[Em · Rating 2 out of 5]

The title and cover of this book made me impulse buy, but I found the story hard to relate to. I was under the impression this was a memoir focused around navigating a relationship with your parents through a journey of 'saying the unsayable with food' but it didn't read that way.
The book is not centered around the parents or food and almost seems as if they are just side characters to a story about the Author's bland love life before and during the COVID pandemic.

[Bells · Rating 4 out of 5]

I miss my mama’s home cooking :(

[Violet · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5
I expected a bit more from this memoir, and I was disappointed by how it turned out.
I can see what Candice Chung tried to do here - mixing memories from her parents, stories of food (she is a restaurant reviewer), and reflections on food and identity, a lot of them quotes from books she loves (Deborah Levy, one of my favourite authors, features heavily). She relies on these quotes a lot, and it felt a bit artificial at times - like she was trying to reach a certain word count, or gain a credibility that I would have given her without the literary quotes. Overall I found it pleasant but it didn't quite work for me as a food memoir.

A big part of the book was centred around her new relationship with "the geographer" and reminiscence of her previous relationship with "the psychic reader", and her distant relationship with her parents, but their lovely outings to restaurants she is reviewing.

I felt she had all the right ingredients for a great book but used too much of this and not enough of that. If I was asked, I would say this is a book about new love or new relationships, not particularly a memoir centred around food. Which is fine but not what I wanted to read.

Free ARC sent by Netgalley.

[Odelia · Rating 4 out of 5]

As an Asian Australian, I was instantly drawn to the premise of this book, it felt deeply familiar. The absence of direct “I love yous” in my relationship with my mum resonated strongly. Like many of us, I’ve grown up understanding that love is often expressed through actions, especially through food, rather than words.

In this memoir, Chung, a food reviewer, begins to invite her parents to the restaurant dinners she organises for work. These shared meals become a quiet act of emotional outreach. They discuss flavours and dishes, but never their feelings. It’s a poignant portrayal of how connection can be forged not through conversation, but through the act of eating together.

The book also weaves in linguistic insights into Cantonese, as well as reflections on a recent breakup. While I appreciated the introspection and lyrical writing, I did find the focus leaned more heavily on her dating life than her relationship with her parents, which felt like a missed opportunity given the title.

While the writing occasionally felt a little floaty, it meditates on topics that are often left unsaid in many families, love, grief, miscommunication. It's a quiet, tender memoir that speaks volumes through its silences.

Thank you Allen & Unwin for an ARC of the book!

[Emily Johnson · Rating 3 out of 5]

I picked up this memoir in the hope of better understanding my partner’s family culture (Chinese-Singaporean, immigrated to Australia). I wanted to gain perspective on what a typical Chinese immigrant family dynamic might look like - perhaps even find examples of a “normal” or healthy dynamic - as I try to untangle what aspects of my partner’s family life are cultural and what aspects might cross into unhealthy or toxic patterns.

Candice Chung writes with humour, that is dry, reflective and yet beautifully poetic. Her parents are the classic stoic, non-conversational, communally-oriented Asian parents. Showing their love not through words, but through small, gestures and acts of service: a glance, a plate of food, a discount on white goods, a matter-of-fact statement seemingly unrelated to the emotional tension at hand, but that carries relevant weight and meaning if you pause to read between the lines. In fact I found myself rereading chapters to fully catch these nuances. Proof in itself of how subtle and layered love can be in this cultural context.

At its heart, this memoir is about the ways Chinese families communicate love and belonging, not with words like “I love you,” but through service, sacrifice, and the expectation of learning to swallow bitterness as you become an adult for the sake of the collective. Chung also captures and explores the loneliness and longing of carving out an identity separate from family expectations; the complicated shame that can accompany even the smallest personal desires; and a tendency to catastrophise fleeting moments of rejection within her romantic relationship, likely stemming from an insecure attachment style.

This isn’t a quick or easy read. It asks for attentiveness, reflection, and patience, much like the relationships it describes. But it’s rewarding in its quiet, nuanced way.

For future readers: go in knowing that in many Chinese families, love is not spoken, but rather, it’s shown in gestures, meals, and unspoken expectations. Care for the family unit is paramount, while individuality is often discouraged. With this lens, the memoir becomes both an intimate portrait of Chung’s family and a moving exploration of cultural differences.

[Aoife · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’ve been sidetracked with Asian April and have been prioritising NetGalley requests over my Asian picks, but this is both a NetGalley request and one of my Asian picks, putting me right back on track.
I’m just back from 2 weeks in Japan and didn’t have as much reading time as I usually do, as I was busy exploring, (so warning for the incoming Japan content) but I finished this just before I left and I really enjoyed the concept/message.

It’s autobiographical in nature, but doesn’t offer too much insight into the author’s life and that’s the point or premise of Chung’s story/ upbringing within an Asian household. They don’t talk about the big issues or big questions in life, they revert to what they know and what they’re comfortable with, like instead of how are you managing moving to a new city? It’s where do you buy your rice? She jokes about her parent’s photo album that once held pictures of her and her sister has now been replaced by memorable meals.

She shares how this upbringing has moulded and formed her, how she referred to her partner as the geographer, who remains nameless and how her love story formed a different turn of events when it became expedited as a marriage for visa purposes. I’m not sure if it’s me just overthinking that the loveless life (or rather the non atypical loving family) she was born with leaked into her marriage of circumstance, but that just may be me going too far!

Thank you so much NetGalley and Elliott & Thompson for this early release copy. It’s out on 25th April and definitely recommend

[winnie · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was definitely drawn to this book based off the title, an experience that I could absolutely relate to. I went into this thinking we would get insight into the author’s tumultuous relationship between her and her parents with food at the center of it.

There were glimpses of those moments, particularly towards the latter half of the memoir when she mentions more of her interactions with her parents during a period of transition in her life. However, it seems as though her family existed more as side characters in this memoir than the focus, leaving me with little insight into who her parents are and how she was or wasn’t able to connect with them.

My biggest issue is that she mentions several times that she was estranged from her parents for 13 years, but never divulges why this was the case and how this was resolved or unresolved. 

This memoir left me wanting more and I’m left disappointed given its banger title.

If you are looking for a book that explores romantic and familiar relationships during the pandemic, this one’s for you. The story itself jumps back and forth in time, with no clear linear path, but the narrative works with Candice Chung’s style of writing.

Thank you to NetGalley and Elliot & Thompson for this ARC. All opinions are my own.

[Bridgette Collins · Rating 3 out of 5]

Reading Challenge Prompt #7: A memoir by a BIPOC author

[Alexandra Almond]

Intriguing. Quite beautifully written, if a bit disjointed, but I suspect that’s on purpose. Despite the title it’s more about her love interest—“the geographer”—than her parents. Is it possible for a memoir to be too personal? I might have been more comfortable with it as fiction.

[Natalie]

more thought-provoking than the overdone title suggests

[Brooke · Rating 3 out of 5]

“A good story is a story of wish fulfilment.”

Candice Chung’s heartfelt and mouthwatering memoir, Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You was an emotional and tender story that I enjoyed on audiobook wonderfully narrated by Nicolette Chin.

After her thirteen year relationship ends, food journalist Candice finds herself not only losing her first love, but also her restaurant review partner. She then faces a dilemma when her retired Cantonese parents offer to accompany her instead. Over the past decade, Candice has drifted apart from them and finds it difficult to address the reasons why. As she begins a new relationship she is forced to try and express her feelings toward her parents through food rather than words.

Candice Chung’s book showed that food is so much more than just sustenance. It can provide comfort and express emotion, often conveying feelings that we otherwise could not express out loud. Her memoir was honest and perceptive and it tuned into something deeper than nourishment. Listening to this made me quite hungry and although it is very much focused on family and the things we leave unsaid, it was also a love letter to food and the joy it provides.

[Catherine · Rating 5 out of 5]

thought this was beautiful

[Literary Redhead · Rating 3 out of 5]

Loved the cover and the projected premise of the book, but the focus was too much on the author's romantic relationships. Disappointed despite the author's at times elegant writing.

[Sunshinegirl95 · Rating 5 out of 5]

So many amazing nuggets that are relatable as a Chinese person, and the way Candice writes is so nuanced. It’s colourful even in parts that illustrate a difficult or sad period. 10/10 !!!!

[Sydney · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thank you to NetGalley for an advanced copy of this book.
This was a beautifully written book and I really enjoyed reading it. It felt almost like the author was just jotting down random thoughts, almost trailing off on a tangent constantly and a little bit jumbled up. I can see how some people might not enjoy this format but personally I found it very human and almost conversational.

I really enjoyed all of the literary references and the way that books have clearly shaped the author’s life and her understanding of past experiences.

I will say that I expected more about her relationship with her parents, as the title would suggest. It is a little disappointing that we really don’t get a lot of content about this. I did really enjoyed the writing about her romantic relationships, but this didn’t really feel like what the book advertised.

Overall, I really enjoyed this book and found it very easy to read.

[Erin Ashley · Rating 3 out of 5]

I read an early arc of this book via Netgalley.

I know you should never judge a book by its cover, but I did, and given the book's name, I was let down. While the book was well written, I expected it to focus more on her relationship with her parents than on her romantic life. While I enjoyed learning about her relationship with her parents, I preferred to read more about that.

[Divya Shankar · Rating 3 out of 5]

Rating 3.5 stars

Review-
A book’s description (blurb), its title and cover are huge factors why a reader picks it up, especially before reviews of it float around. Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You by Candice Chung : A memoir of saying the unsayable with food promises a deep connection between food and emotions, food as a parent’s way of saying “I will always be there for you my child, come what may”, especially Asian parents for whom telling their children ‘I love you’ feels a bit queasy. But the book doesn't keep up its promise well.

The parents (in title or blurb) whom we expect will be at the centre of the book are relegated to a secondary place, they gain eminence only in the last one-third of the book and in its epilogue. The book heavily dwells upon the author’s love life and her relationships, one that failed after 13 long years with a man she refers to as ‘The Psychic Reader' and one that’s blossoming slowly through the course of the memoir, with a man she refers to as Geographer. In many places, it sounds like a dating/relationship manual.

What causes the author's estrangement with her parents when they aren't shown as overly doting/overbearing or interfering remains fuzzy till the end. Though the author marries the geographer at the book's end, her referring to him as Geographer even when she reveals where he hails from, names of his parents and grandmother makes us wonder the reason behind the non disclosure. It also doesn't allow us to get intimate with her experiences.

As the pandemic shrinks the world and closes off borders between nations, the author slowly begins to trust the geographer as a reliable partner for life and spends more time with her parents. Food plays a central role in their bonding - food cooked at home, food eaten in a restaurant, either on an outing or as a part of the job with an intent to review it for the newspaper. (Candice Chung is a writer, editor who wrote restaurant reviews for The Sun Herald.)

The references to the Cantonese way of life are colourful - what’s an astronaut family, 'to have ginger' meant to have courage, 'having a small gallbladder' meant getting scared easily, 'gone off to see the world' meant someone passed away et al. What it means to find a home away from home is explored well - be it the author's parents starting life anew in Sydney after leaving Hong Kong, the geographer who is on the move constantly, missing his home in Canada and the author leaving Sydney and moving to Glasgow where the geographer finds a job.

I am sharing a few lovely lines from the book that will stay with me - the author's father says , “ to love is to gamble, sometimes gastrointestinally.”; the author remarking -
“The stomach is a simple animal. But how do we settle the heart— a flailing, skittish thing?”

“Leave something too long and there is a risk it’ll shrivel and get tough. Too little time and you’ll feel the consequences of your impatience. It’s guesswork as much as experience.”

What stopped me from appreciating the memoir is its heavily disjointed structure and it being flooded with references on what Deborah Levy, Patti Smith, Bhanu Kapil, Nora Ephron and so many other authors thought or wrote in their books, this I felt diluted the author's individuality.

To sum up in a line , Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You by Candice Chung feels like a buffet where the main course serving is limited and the sides are way too many, very random and unlimited in portion size.

Thank you so much Elliott and Thompson and Netgalley for the copy of the book.

[Brice Montgomery · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thanks to NetGalley and Elliott & Thompson for the ARC!

Candice Chung’s Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You: A Memoir of Saying the Unsayable with Food is a breathtaking book with an unfortunate title—you’ll find little of the familial drama you might expect.

It’s a bit surprising that Chung, a former food journalist, names the memoir after her parents when they seem to inhabit the margins of the story; it’s really about the author’s burgeoning romance with “the geographer.” That said, perhaps the title accurately reflects the way that Chung’s parents always exert a subtle influence in the background of her life. Either way, would-be readers should expect more than a trope-filled book about difficult Asian parents.

Instead, Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You is an unabashed, romantic delight. It’s a reader’s memoir, decorated with references to Yiyun Li and Gaston Bachelard and Deborah Levy and sentences like, “I want to eat something unreasonable. I want to eat a pure bright light.” It’s about falling in love and crawling out of fear. There’s a humility and aspiration toward beauty that immediately elevate the book above many of its peers.

Simply put, Candice Chung does not treat herself as the most interesting part of her book. She allows herself to approach her themes as an act of exploration rather than explanation, noting early on that “. . . at the start of a story, protagonists are almost never aware of their needs.” For some readers, that uncertainty might be frustrating.

Chung wastes no time trying to convince us that her story is exceptional, but she writes with a grace that seems to believe that every life is exceptional. The best memoirists recognize that the form’s value is in how it’s told—even the most mundane life can be magical if it’s interpreted as such. Chung presents even negligible details with such care and richly textured prose that their specificity touches on something universal. For example, when she describes the discomfort of trying to decide whether or not to leave a date due to a scheduling conflict, we can feel her sweaty-palmed, stomach-churning anxiety. She seems to linger on every word, dwelling in language as a collection of flavors. It’s appropriate that a food writer would craft prose that seems concerned with mouthfeel.

If pressed for critiques, I would say that the memoir loses a little focus as the author’s romance progresses. It’s not exactly a problem because the prose is still so gorgeously written, but I found myself wondering what the book is about. Similarly, there are numerous shifts in form, evocative of Carmen Maria Machado and Maggie Nelson (both of whom are referenced here), but their inclusion often feels a little arbitrary. As an example, there’s a chapter that morphs into a choose-your-own-adventure. It’s fun and wonderfully executed, but it doesn’t contribute to the memoir as a whole project.

But those little complaints don’t matter, and how could they?

Chung seems most concerned with the particular joy that is cooking for others and sharing a meal with them, and she invites us in, complete with clutter of a messy kitchen. For a book about “saying the unsayable,” the author never struggles to find the perfect word, and in a world of easily digestible and forgettable memoirs, it’s refreshing to read something that both trains the reader’s palate and rewards them for it.

[Padmajha [PJ] Me and My Bookshelf · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the kind of memoir that quietly nestles into your heart! What begins as a simple, almost offhand admission—that she’s never told her parents “I love you”—unravels into a tender, poignant, and at times wry exploration of culture, emotional restraint, family estrangement, and the language of food.
Newly single after a long relationship, Candice, a food journalist, is not only reeling from heartbreak but also adjusting to the loss of her most loyal dining companion. When her Cantonese parents unexpectedly step in to accompany her on her culinary outings, Candice is faced with more than just awkward mealtimes. Can they share a meal without digging up decades of distance? Can something as simple as food begin to fill the gaps that words never could?
In a culture where “I love you” often goes unsaid, Chung asks what love looks like when it’s expressed through gestures instead of declarations—through packed lunchboxes, hard-earned silences, and dishes cooked just right. Her memoir captures the ache of growing up in a household where affection is carefully folded into rituals but rarely spoken aloud.
Rather than follow a traditional narrative arc, Chung invites readers to sit beside her as she flips through her photo album, sharing moments that shaped her: the sting of a breakup, the awkwardness of first dates during a pandemic, the unspeakable ache of cultural and generational disconnection.
While food is the thread that ties her story together, this is not a book about recipes. There’s a subtlety in how she lets food carry emotion where words fall short. Meals become a space where discomfort, affection, and attempts at reconnection play out.
The book ebbs and flows with the rhythm of memory—sometimes fragmented, sometimes meditative, but emotionally honest. At times the first half felt disjointed. The second half of the book, shifts its focus more toward her family, especially her parents, and that’s where the emotional weight truly lands. The silence between them, the unsaid words hanging in the air, the unspoken hurts and inherited expectations—they all come to the fore in deeply affecting ways.
The prose is sharp, reflective, and often tinged with sardonic wit. Lovers are referred to by job titles, moments of vulnerability are wrapped in dry humor, and literary references are sprinkled throughout adding layers of introspection. Yet Chung never centers herself as the most interesting thing in the story. She allows the emotions, questions, and cultural contradictions to speak louder, exploring rather than explaining.
Ultimately, Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You is not about confrontation, but about curiosity. It’s about learning to hear what’s been said all along through shared meals and fleeting glances. It’s a heartfelt reminder that love doesn’t always sound like “I love you”—sometimes, it looks like “You can always come home.”
If you’ve ever grown up in a family where love was implied more than expressed, or if you’ve ever struggled to bridge the cultural divide between generations, this book will resonate deeply. Nostalgic, wistful, quietly powerful—this is a story that lingers long after the last page.

[Lisa · Rating 3 out of 5]

two months to finish this book...can i even call myself a reader at this point?

candice chung references normal people by sally rooney in this memoir and i can definitely see that style reflected in her own work. this is the sort of book that has the very bare bones of a plot and is much much more character based. instead of being formed around a typical climax and resolution, as a reader, you instead spend the majority of this book within the intimate moments between chung and the geographer and her parents. while this does make it a slow read, it did leave me with a sense of peace and calm every time i put the book down.

chung conjures up the intimacy and domesticity of her relationship with the geographer with ease and skill. the only way i can think of to describe my reading experience was like being on an inflatable pool ring drifting down a river. it was slow and gentle and unfurled so beautifully. unfortunately i think she tries too hard sometimes because i was cringing at some of her similes and metaphors. when the geographer dropped the glasgow bomb i genuinely gasped out loud. i was SO invested in their relationship.

despite the romance being a strength, i felt like her family was too often sidelined in a memoir titled "chinese parents don't say i love you". yes you could say that these two parallel experiences of love are showing how love can be expressed in different ways but...idk...it felt like something was missing. what was left vague or ambiguous for the reader to interpret only contributed to sense of superficiality. Aunty L's death was a major moment of vulnerability between chung and her mother yet it only lasted a few pages and any lesson or revelation gained from it (if any) was totally absent from the rest of the memoir. i think if you want to write a memoir claiming to be about "food, family and finding love", you have to go deep enough into all three subjects. otherwise if you're just skimming the surface, theres a lack of emotional depth. it just reads like an extended diary entry trying to sound lyrical and poetic. (which lowkey is exactly what it is)

on the topic of form, this book is very experimental...to its detriment. it skips from prose to poetry to a dotpointed self help book to, i kid you not, a choose your own adventure book (complete with "skip to page 643" and similar notes at the bottom of each page). i'm not sure what she was trying to achieve with this. it makes the reading experience really disconnected and also half the time i have no clue how it links to her own experience or how it furthers the narrative. hmmmm...

on the upside, the cover is gorgeous

final thoughts: nice time filler, semi-enjoyable, beautiful portrayals of love but probably wouldn't reread or recommend which is SO sad because i really wanted to love it.