Savoury wafts of steam danced above the large pot warmed up the tightly packed room. You could hear bursts of laughter emerging like the popping bubbles inside the boiling pot all around you as chopsticks and large spoons dove into cream and red coloured halves of the pot. Smiles appeared on the old, young and even newborns sat all in a large circle as the whole room beamed with comfort and joy.
This had been the sight of every Chinese new year gathering since I could remember; My mother on my left, my father on my right and every other unnameable uncle, auntie and relative lined in a large circle; and tonight was just another memorable celebration as we came together as a big family sharing our love language of food.
I was now 15. But looking at this familiar sight it had brought me back exactly 10 years ago, when I was just the naive age of 5, to the first hotpot I can remember:
I looked up to my left at my mum; but she was too busy chatting to another auntie, same with my dad; feeling extremely bored. There’s nothing to do here! I thought. Just lumps of food piling in my bowl and the frustrating stain on my new red skirt. I wanted to go home. Desperately. All the adults seemed so far away as I slumped back in my dusty chair, annoyed, alone and worse yet: still hungry.
My cheek leaning against my fist, I poked the chunks of beef, tofu and potato with the end of my chopstick, and let out an annoyed sigh, thinking, ‘It’s just a bunch of food tossed in boiling water, what’s so special about this anyways?’.
Stands of loose hair hung in front of me, clouding my vision as I blew them out of view, still frustrated.However, in the midst of my annoyance, my grandma seemed to catch on, because suddenly my name was called and I made my way to my grandma as she pulled me up onto her lap.
‘Now, what’s wrong dear? It’s Chinese new year, no reason to be so sad.’
‘I want to go home grandma.’ I complained, ‘the food is nothing special anyways, can’t we just go home and eat?’. Looking up at her aged face, lined with wrinkles but still having a golden hue, I tried my best to seem as desperate as possible, hoping I would at least get through to grandma.
But, to my annoyance, she just smiled and chuckled to herself. ‘Oh dear, I think you misunderstood the point of coming here.’ she said while brushing my hair away from my eyes, ‘Look. What do you see?’,
‘I see a big pot of boiling water and plates of raw beef, lamb, lettuce, mushrooms, tofu and shrimp-’ suddenly grandma cut me off with a laugh,
‘No no no, not the food, look around you.’
Pressing my lips into a straight line, I was now extra annoyed at not understanding what she meant. But still, this time I looked around the packed room, noting down my mum, dad, and family members (most of which I couldn’t name) and found that not one of them lacked a shade of brightness and joy or a smile. Seeing this I frowned, replying, ‘I see everyone happy except me.’.
This however only made my grandma cackle, deepening my frown. ‘No dear!’
‘Hotpot is special; waiting for the food to cook gives a chance for everybody to focus less on their own plate and connect with each other, it’s what makes the food taste delicious; Everybody is eating from one big pot because we are one big family.’
Although I didn’t truly understand my grandma’s words, this time I genuinely saw the whole scene in front of me: realising that this was the first time in weeks that the gloom and tiredness had lifted off my parents eyes, and no doubt the same for my other family too. I suddenly felt my annoyance lift like the steam from the pot.
Taking some chopsticks to try the food, five-year-old me decided that I liked hotpot afterall.
Writer – Stephanie Lin
Editor – Sophia Oblefias
Artist – Marianna Wang
–July 2025–
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