Tastes of Home, Ideas of Identity

The local dishes alone are enough to make Italy a popular destination, and certainly, since being here I’ve discovered an increased appreciation for both Italian cuisine and the now hard-to-find comfort foods of home. During the first couple of weeks especially, learning the ins and outs of the dining experience and the supermarket systems was a steep learning curve. Prominent foods and flavors, cooking processes, and dining rituals are major in defining and differentiating cultures. Breaking bread with the country of Italy was an experience long anticipated, and I was not disappointed. From the moment I landed, I was assaulted with a myriad of entrées I’ve only eaten American imitations of, with names I knew but a quality which I had not. All of this was interspersed with minuscule cups of espresso too small to sit down for and the ever-present secondhand cigarette smoke that is just as integral to the Italian palette as olive oil and tomatoes.

Though it still feels very much surreal, the initial thrill of being here has waned and made space for other feelings. I would not trade being here for anything, but I also cannot deny that I ache for home. The familiarity, my family and friends, and the communities I’ve established that embrace different aspects of who I am, are all left behind. Specifically, the lack of an Asian population here is something that I’m made increasingly aware of every single day. Because food and meal-sharing are so vital to my culture, I find it difficult to talk about the culinary aspect of Italy without acknowledging the huge segments that I’m missing.

The Asian community in Rome is microscopic, especially compared to the relatively luxurious diversity rates in Seattle and my university campus in particular. Safari laughed in my face as I googled “rome chinatown”, Maps scoffed when I asked for the travel time to “asian supermarket”. Things began to look hopeless as my only options seemed to be the generalized Pan-Asian restaurants advertising Peking duck, sushi, and pizza all in one package deal.

Salvation came two weeks in, on an insatiable Thursday morning when I decided I’d had enough. With hours to kill before class, I ventured to the other side of the city to the closest Asian market to me. The outbound journey was full of anticipation and excitement, both at the prospects and at the picturesque journey through fresh new streets. My trek was not in vain. Walking through the doorway of Xin Shi felt like coming home. I descended upon the dense two-aisle store, collecting a mountain of food like I needed to feed a family. My poor decision making only became apparent to me at checkout, where I found myself presented with six bags of groceries, thirty-five minutes and at least three significant uphill sections away from my apartment. Too late to turn back now, I turned homeward with arms and back ladened with rice cakes, kimchi, bok choy, fish balls, curry, rice, and a plethora of other ingredients.

About ten minutes from my apartment, my luck ran out. By this point, shoulders burning and sweaty, I was moving as fast I could, weighed down but spurred onwards by the imminent threat of being late to class. I heard the glass break before anything else registered. Unfortunately, no amount of double-bagging prevented my sesame oil and jar of kimchi from christening the streets of Capitoline Hill. Slippery, upset, and attracting looks ranging from vaguely sympathetic to extremely disgusted, I did my very best to clean up glass shards and oil from the hot cobblestone street.

Few meals have tasted more deserved than the one I made that night.

I’ve been back to that market multiple times, though I’ve never left with a haul quite as large as that first day. That side of the city seems the most diverse, and is home to other stores and restaurants with their own cultural niches. Identity and culture have been always been a struggle to reconcile as both a mixed race person and an Asian American living in a predominately white area my whole life. Prior to leaving for this trip, I felt like I had finally found my communities and carved out a niche for myself. Being in such a new environment threw me off balance, with that line of thought reawakened all over again, magnified by the added layer of now being an American in Italy. I know these sentiments are far from unique and can be empathized with by anyone who has felt alienated or isolated, whether that be in a new country, state, school, workplace, or any other group of individuals. With that in mind, I’m doing my best to take it all in stride and embrace it as a learning experience instead of getting absorbed in my own internal conflict, but still felt it a notable topic to discuss and reflect on.