Hey, Proof listeners.
It's Jack Bishop. If you're like me, you're always trying to learn new things about food.
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Hi, everyone. It's Jack Bishop.
Bishop, we've reached the end of our Best of Proof Travel Edition, and the final installment is, of course, a classic road trip across America.
This episode from 2021 is a coming -of -age story from reporter Aaron Pang.
He and his mother set off for his new home in Iowa and make culinary pit stops as they drive further and further away from the comfort and familiarity of their home in San Francisco.
It's a beautiful and reflective piece about family, food, and the intangible feeling of home.
As a quick reminder, folks, all new episodes of Proof will begin starting April 17th.
Thanks for your patience and for coming along on this ride with us.
Okay, here's Dumplings in Iowa, hosted by Kevin Pang.
Hey Proof listeners, Kevin Pang here.
When I was younger, I lived in a super happening neighborhood of Chicago called the West Loop.
It had the hottest restaurants.
All the startups had offices there.
The vibe was young and hip, and I was living in the middle of the action.
Then I became a dad.
and there was a place I so wanted to avoid but knew it was inevitable.
I cringed at the word, the suburbs.
I feared my life would become chain family restaurants and well -done steaks and skinless chicken breast. I didn't want to dine in a restaurant with the word factory in its name, nor did I want to eat in a place where I was outnumbered by birthday balloons.
That's how how I envisioned the suburbs to be.
Well, it's been four years since I moved out here, and you know what?
My fears were completely overblown.
We found a great takeout sushi place near our house.
The barbecue place a mile from us has really great brisket.
And that really cool Chicago neighborhood, the West Loop, well, I'm only 20 minutes away now.
The lesson here, when it comes When it comes to food, or really about anything, home is where you make it.
Today on Proof, from America's Test Kitchen, what happens when you move away from the food you love?
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Reporter Aaron Pang, no relation, brings us today's story.
It's the last week of July, and I'm sitting on the rug in my room.
I'm assembling cardboard boxes as my mom is sorting my closet into two piles, Iowa and not Iowa.
I'm moving. I'm leaving the San Francisco Bay Area where I was born and raised for Iowa City, Iowa.
Iowa. I'm leaving my tech job to go back to school to become a writer.
It's a big change. And I'm honestly worried.
I'm leaving behind a city where Chinatown, Little Vietnam, and my favorite Ethiopian restaurant are all within walking distance of each other.
I'm leaving behind my favorite Korean grocery store, Indian spice market, and Mexican butcher.
Growing up, I've been spoiled when it comes to food.
Not only did I have an endless number number of choices, but I've grown up in a family where food has always been on our minds.
My mom always encouraged us to try new things, and she cooked a lifetime's worth of meals that would impress even the choosiest of eaters.
So when I say I'm worried, I'm mostly worrying about what I'm going to eat.
I've moved across the country before, and I know that for me, the rough edges of a drastic life change can be made bearable with the right blend of spices and flavors.
And so, as I sit assembling cardboard boxes, I'm thinking about what from my pantry I'm going to bring and what ingredients I'll be able to find there.
Like all grown 29 -year olds, when faced with the daunting task of moving your entire life, I called my mom for help.
My mom became a stay -at -home mom after she had me.
I am not ashamed to admit that she spoiled me.
She cleaned and cooked and made my life run as smooth as one could hope.
So when it comes to housework and organizational work, there's always a strange tension between me wanting to do things independently and the fact that she's just way better than me at it.
Every time she'd tell me to do a chore, she'd get so annoyed at how I was doing it that she would just push me aside and do it herself.
I know she doesn't like the idea of me leaving home for another three years.
She worries about my ability to take care of myself.
Our plan is to drive to Iowa over six days, and mom would stay another week to help me set up my apartment.
Everything I want to bring would need to fit in the back of my Honda CR -V.
Mom shows up to my place with those space -saving bags.
These bags shrink my mounds of clothes into packages that look like vacuum -packed meats.
She perfectly tetrises decorations into cardboard boxes and overnight my life becomes movable.
It's the Friday before we leave and we have one final room to pack.
The kitchen. I want to bring everything.
Mom does not. So we're not on no deep fryer?
No deep fryer. So this small one, too?
You want that? Yeah, I think this is a great...
The thing that I'm saddest to leave behind is my perfectly seasoned wok.
The wok was basically a single sheet of dark gray metal pressed into a concave disc that I bought for $30 at the Chinatown restaurant supply store.
store. There's music when a stir -fry comes to life in that wok, but the Iowa apartment I signed a lease for didn't have a gas stove, so the wok didn't make the cut.
There's something symbolic about leaving behind the wok, leaving behind something that's a staple of all Chinese kitchens.
After we're done packing, my life is boiled down to six boxes and two large suitcases.
The back seats of the CRV are folded down and packed snug with the contents of my life.
The day before we leave, I'm sitting on my bed, aimlessly scrolling on my phone, feeling weird. I'm leaving tomorrow at 7am, and so it's a little surreal.
I'm definitely a little bit scared right now.
Definitely realizing how much I'm leaving.
Like what I'm actually leaving behind here.
It's not just food, but like family and friends and people.
I pull up Yelp because the unknowns of a small college town are scary.
I set the location of my search from the default of Oakland, California to Iowa City, Iowa.
I type one word into the search bar.
Chinese. Oakland has 24 pages of results for Chinese food, but for Iowa City, there are only three.
The first two results look like your typical Americanized Chinese restaurants.
The menus had all of the classics, orange chicken, beef and broccoli, chicken chow mein, and combination fried rice.
The reviews rave about how great these places are for takeout.
Both have a rating of 4 .5 stars out of five.
As I continue to scroll, one particular restaurant catches my eye.
The establishment is called Sichuan House, and it, unlike other listings, only has 3 .5 stars.
For Chinese food, 3 .5 stars is what I'm looking for.
3 .5 -starred Chinese food is cooked by stoic Chinese cooks who've spent a lifetime stir -frying over a hot wok.
If you take a deep dive into the reviews for almost any 3 .5 -starred Chinese restaurant, odds are the complaints are about the service, about how the waitstaff are rude or how they didn't refill the waters fast enough.
A review from Haley B.
from Iowa City says, I'm happy to eat at a restaurant with good flavors and shoddy service.
In fact, the auntie -sling dumplings in Oakland Chinatown have never once smiled at me, and I've always left feeling full and satisfied.
The photos of Szechuan House gave me hope.
The menu offered gold pepper fish, porky with chili oil and roasted duck.
I add Szechuan House to my Yelp bookmarks.
Szechuan House might not be able to replace a whole Chinatown, but it might be able to ease my inevitable homesickness, and that is comforting.
It's the morning of our departure, and mom and I are eating green onion pancakes and eggs for breakfast. Dad is repacking the corner of the car because he's worried about the things shifting on our drive.
He's not coming. The trip will just be me and mom.
When I walk out to the car, dad gives me a hug.
He also doesn't love the idea of me being so far from home.
He tells me that it's okay to come home if the program's not right for me.
He says that it's okay to give up.
As we get into the car, there's a chill in the Northern Californian morning.
With the address of our first hotel and the GPS, I pull out of the driveway of my childhood home, down the hill that I've descended a thousand times, and onto Highway 580, heading east. After three hours on the road, our first stop is for lunch at a classic Californian institution.
Every road trip has to start putting in and out.
So, this is our only chance, I think.
Yeah, we're leaving California.
The route we're taking into Iowa is a little bit roundabout.
Instead of a straight shot through Utah and Colorado, we've decided to drive through the southwest. We thought it would be fun and efficient to check a few more states off of mom's bucket list. We'll first drive down to L .A., and then to Flagstaff, Arizona, Santa Fe, New Mexico, through Oklahoma City, Kansas City, and finally to Iowa City, Iowa.
We Pang's are people who get hangry easily.
Our ability to drive long distances is constrained by how hungry we are, so naturally the schedule of our road trip is heavily dependent on what and when we eat.
If you can't tell by now, I'm a jaded and judgmental eater.
I pass swift and harsh judgments on a restaurant's menu.
My mom, on the other hand, can be endlessly optimistic.
While I'm slow to trust a local's recommendation, mom can get excited about any culinary establishment.
It's day two of our drive.
Our destination is Flagstaff, Arizona.
It's around noon when we stop for gas.
We run into the station for a bathroom break, and as I'm walking out, in typical fashion, mom is chatting up a young woman working behind the counter.
her mom's asking about places to eat the young woman doesn't know what to say but mom squeezes two recommendations out of her one's a place called the wagon wheel serving classic diner fair the other is a chinese restaurant called panda garden for breakfast we had sausage egg mcmuffins and hash browns so instead of doing a second round of american breakfast we decide to chance it at Panda Garden.
Panda Garden used to be a Denny's.
I have no way to prove it, but I have been in enough Denny's to immediately recognize the architectural skeleton when we walk in.
The Chinese waitress does not get up to greet us.
She's rubber banding together napkins and chopsticks for the days to go orders.
Instead, a man with a mask around his chin and a toothpick in his teeth slides two laminated menus onto the table.
We immediately start delivering.
Do you want Mongolian beef?
Do you want Mongolian beef?
Do you want Mongolian beef?
Do they have that? Yeah, yeah.
How about Mongolian beef?
Let's just do Mongolian beef.
I'm not sure. No? Yeah.
What was the name? Mongolian with scallion and mushrooms. No. Have a steak.
Okay, fine. Seems like I have more vegetables.
This is how every meal goes.
Every meal is a negotiated dance, a back -and -forth of opinions and tastes, each of us contributing our own thoughts so we can order the best collective meal possible.
We end up ordering two lunch specials, one pepper steak and one sautéed mixed vegetable dish.
Each lunch special comes with a soup, appetizer, and rice.
The moment the food hits the table, we pass judgment.
Thank you. oh, that looks it's fried rice looks really sad let's see if we can count how many pieces of beef there are more than 10 pieces can we?
oh, okay, it's hidden underneath all the onion we're such haters okay, you're a hater too okay, I get it from somebody let the recording show that my mom is smirking because I am right that I get it from As we start eating, we do what we always do.
We start talking about other food.
The act of eating reminds us of all of our favorite food memories.
It also makes us think about the other things we want to eat.
Mom tells me about this old video she saw, where this old couple living in rural China cook pig intestines and steam whole fish.
I've also seen that video.
The food they cook looks amazing.
Our food, on the other hand, is disappointing.
The beef is sickeningly sweet.
Mom's veggie stir -fry isn't bad.
It's clean and not too heavy.
She offers me her egg roll.
I'll have a bite. Okay.
Egg roll is pretty good.
Yeah. The veggie is a veggie.
It's not sweet. Right?
Eat it. Eat it. I'll eat the rest of it.
Mom has always fed me first, spooning food into my bowl, helping me shell shrimp, and giving me the best bite, even if, in this case, the best is a mediocre egg roll.
We eat and continue talking.
We move off the topic of food, and she tells me that yesterday was her 40th anniversary since immigrating to the United States.
Was it 40 years ago?
Yeah, 40 years. It's 81.
So 21. 1981. August 9th.
August 8th. You came on August 8th, 1981?
Yeah. Why did, of course you came on August 8th.
No, no, no. The word for eight and prosperity sounds similar in Chinese, which means that it is fortuitous that she came on August 8th, 1981.
I didn't know that yesterday was her immigration anniversary.
I wouldn't have known this fact if we hadn't eaten at Panda Garden.
garden. The meal doesn't seem so disappointing anymore.
The road trip continues.
The Southwest is beautiful to drive through.
The thin, four -lane freeway of I -44 is painted against the warm and red -brown sands that extrude into dramatic rock formations.
variations. The meals are less spectacular.
They aren't all bad, just very hit or miss.
The beer garden and flagstaff that a friend recommended had good sliders and drinks.
The next day, we get up to see the sunrise at a national park famous for its pueblos.
Unfortunately, it's overcast. As the ancient native dwellings slowly come into the light of day, Mom and I sit and share brie and salami sandwiches that we made in the hotel room.
There's serenity in nature and French cheese.
In Gallup, New Mexico, the waitress is so nice, but the pasta is so bad.
We order an Italian sausage spaghetti with vodka sauce, with a side of Alfredo fries.
But we can't eat more than a few bites.
We ask for a box because mom is embarrassed at how much food we've left uneaten.
We throw the box away in the trash outside.
As we drive farther and farther away from the Bay Area, we eat at places that feel like carbon copies of each other.
Nothing notable, just fine.
Throughout the trip, the reality of mediocrity builds a pit of dread in my stomach. It all just feels like a culinary foreshadowing of what Iowa City will be like.
hundreds of miles roll past and we suck on dried candied plums mom had packed they make us wince with their tartness but the road is straight enough that we can afford to close our eyes for a moment of sour stimulation as i drive i put out my hand and she would place a morsel of snack into it we pop toasted pecans eat salty chips and share bitter chocolates chocolates.
She tells me about how she didn't grow up with snacks because everything back then in China was rationed.
The closest thing she had for a snack was rice that was toasted in a wok.
They ate it plain because salt was precious.
As New Mexico turns into Oklahoma and then into Kansas, we trade Frito Pies for barbecue.
A very welcomed change.
The final night before we drive into Iowa City, we eat ribs and burnt ends in the parking lot of the famous Joe's BBQ.
That's the best meal of the trip.
By the time we're wiping barbecue sauce off our fingers, we'd been driving for a total of 33 hours and over 2 ,000 miles.
Mom told me stories from her childhood, and I shared my dreams for this new adventure in writing.
We have four more hours of driving left until Iowa City.
And by the time we get there, it would have been almost a week since Panda Garden.
We are getting twitchy for Chinese food.
When we return, Aaron and his mom make it to Iowa City.
And now, back to our story.
The change in the landscape feels strangely sudden.
Once we cross into Iowa, unending rows of corn stock shoot up along the freeway.
It is as if the state is telling us that it is proud of its corn -based reputation.
They should be proud.
There's something beautiful about the sight of corn stocks that tower overhead.
Mom drives the last leg of the journey, but seeing the site is exciting for both of us, and so she makes me take blurry pictures as we speed by endless farmland.
land. We pull into Iowa City around 3 p .m. on Friday afternoon.
We skipped lunch to drive, so after checking into the hotel, we're starving for dinner.
It happens to be mom's birthday, so naturally we want Chinese food.
As luck would have it, Szechuan House, the restaurant I had yelped a week back, is only two blocks away.
I guess there are benefits to living in a small town.
The August Iowan sun is hot and muggy, and I'm already sweating before I even smell the chili oil.
Across the street is a come -and -go, a gas station we don't have in California.
According to Yelp, Szechuan house underwent a renovation in the last two years, and so the interior now look like a strange mix of high -end Ikea furniture and traditional Chinese decor.
The two servers are young Chinese immigrants who came to the states within the last five years.
I can tell because their haircuts are way too cool.
Our initial impression is good.
That's good! We are handed menus that resemble small tomes.
And we immediately fall into them, the way us millennials did with the Harry Potter books.
A good Chinese menu is both comforting and delightful.
It's filled with classics, the things you've been raised to love.
But a good menu always has surprises too.
Dishes whose Chinese names are at times more poetry than description.
Thank you. Oh, they have sui jiao.
This is nice! Oh my goodness!
Our enthusiasm refocuses to the meal at hand.
I point out a picture of a pot of fish fillet swimming in a stew of chili oil and dried chili peppers.
Deliberation begins.
Can we just eat this?
Yeah, that looks so good.
You have to ask them how hot it's going to be.
I think it'll be not too hot.
Sui jiu yu is like Oh, I don't know, I never tried that.
Oh, that sounds very deadly.
I want to pause here for a second to clarify one thing.
Szechuan of Szechuan House is a region of China known for a peppercorn that creates a tingly, numbing sensation in the mouth.
That, paired with traditional chilies, creates a deeply complex and addictive flavor.
known as mala. So when mom says deadly to describe the food, she says it both in an endearing and sincere way.
Sichuan chefs don't mess around when it comes to spice, which makes the fear we feel both real and thrilling.
The menu negotiations continue.
She suggests that we get noodles, but I'm not convinced.
Jiamie, yeah. Do you want jiamie, or do you want rice?
We have to have some noodles for...
Oh, yes. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
Of course we have to have noodles for.
Right? Okay. I'd forgotten that it's tradition to eat noodles, or mian, on birthdays.
They symbolize longevity, and with that we add noodles to the docket.
There are too many things to choose from.
We're debating between three noodle options and two veggie dishes.
We want fish, pork, and soup.
We know we can't get everything.
everything. And that makes me feel hopeful.
Because it gives me a reason to come back when I'm settled into school.
I wave down the server and we order.
Mom grills the young waiter about all of the different noodle options.
She asks about the spice levels and he tells her that all three are good — which isn't very helpful.
We end up ordering the cold dan dan noodles, the golden peppercorn fish, the garlic pork pork belly, and the potato bell pepper stir fry.
It's a lot of food for just the two of us.
But we both knew that there would be leftovers, and we love leftovers.
Happy birthday. Happy moving.
Yeah. Happy studying.
Yeah. Happy writing.
Yeah. I'm so excited about this meal.
Me too. Hopefully, it's going to be very good.
I'm so excited. Where is it located?
Yeah, it's like a block away.
Mom is always thinking ahead.
head. She's always thinking about how I'm going to survive after she leaves.
She loves this restaurant's proximity because she knows that if it is closer, I am more likely to come and eat here.
To me, it's nice to know that Szechuan House will let me access flavors that can ease my homesickness.
To her, she finds comfort in knowing that with this restaurant, I won't starve.
The first dish we get is the dan dan noodles.
They're usually tossed in a mixture of chili chili oil, ground pork, sesame paste, garlic, soy sauce, crushed peanuts, and spices.
They leave your mouth salivating and tingling.
We didn't ask if there's peanuts in it.
Oh, I forgot. Excuse me, do you have peanuts?
Boston. We ask if there are peanuts.
And the server assured us that there aren't.
I have a mild peanut allergy.
From first to fourth grade, I tried to convince mom that my allergy was real.
deal? She always thought that I was just being a picky eater.
It wasn't until the family doctor had me tested and confirmed the allergy that she finally, begrudgingly, accepted the condition.
After we let the waiter know of my allergy, he runs back to the kitchen to make sure there will be no peanuts in any of our dishes.
That was a very nice gesture.
We pile tangles of noodles onto our plate and dig in.
The flavor is great.
Spicy but but not overwhelming.
The sesame paste adds a subtle dimension that makes you want to say, yum.
Is it good? I like them already.
It's very good. Is it good?
Maybe I'm hungry. I don't know.
I mean, we are hungry.
We didn't really eat lunch. I mean, these are my questions, right?
Where it's like—where do they get these noodles?
Yeah. I want to know where they go grocery shopping.
Oh, you spill the stuff!
Yeah. We talk with our mouths full.
Our taste buds buzz with every bite.
The mala flavor causes sweat to ooze from our foreheads.
I finish the first serving of noodles as the other dishes arrive.
The fire red fish stew comes in a bowl big enough to wash your face in.
The potato stir fry holds the scent of a hot wok and fragrant green bell peppers.
And the pork belly slices are glazed in a golden oil that smells of fresh garlic.
There are little Sichuan peppercorns in everything.
The tingling goes all the way to the back of your throat.
I also might have peanuts.
I'll be okay. If you ever eat it, definitely a little bit peanutty.
The mala spice doesn't disguise the itchiness that started creeping up around the corners of my mouth and throat.
That's always the problem with eating Sichuan food.
It's hard to tell if the tingling is the mala spice or the peanuts, but we continue to eat because the meal was too tasty.
I can and will push through.
As we eat, we discuss our plans for the week.
We talk about needing to go shopping for furniture and groceries for the apartment.
The spice causes us to consume large amounts of water.
As the waiter comes to refill our glass, mom interrupts him.
She asks the waiter where the restaurant buys their groceries.
He says they actually order from a wholesaler, but there is a Chinese grocery store in town.
The waiter takes out his phone and pulls up Google Maps and shows us the local Chinese grocery store, Starlight Market No. 3.
He asks mom where we're from and what I'm studying.
Mom tells him that we're from California And that she's so glad that there's a good Chinese restaurant in town He seems very happy with the compliment And offers to add me to a WeChat group It offers restaurant specials that aren't on the menu There are about 150 other Chinese students in this group I get added, and I suddenly feel like I'm joining an exclusive club I didn't even have this kind of hookup in Oakland And I grew up there As he and Mom make small talk, my eating has slowed, and Mom notices.
I'm definitely okay with the fish.
This definitely has peanuts in it.
There's some nuts. I think there's...
100 % has peanuts in it.
Okay. I'm fine. Again, I'm fine.
So next time just don't order this.
I start to feel slightly nauseous, but I'm mostly fine.
My allergy isn't that bad.
I'm fine. I'm fine.
If I eat a little more, that will settle my stomach and I'll be fine." Mom nods hesitantly.
And we keep eating and talking about the food.
Mom says she would probably add vinegar to the potatoes.
Pretty good, though.
I want to know how to make this dish.
I want to know how to make this potato dish.
So easy. Now, I stop eating completely.
The peanuts are definitely in the noodles, either as an oil or paste.
Mom looks very worried.
I try to convince her that I'm alright, but I'm beginning to struggle.
My sweating is no longer due to the spicy food.
We were planning to start moving some stuff into the apartment after dinner.
But she doesn't think it's a good idea anymore.
We get the check, pack the leftovers, and she asks, Is this still eating up?
No no, I'm not gonna throw up, but just like - Is this still eating up?
No no no no. I puke on the way back to our hotel.
I throw up the entire dinner.
The noodles, the fish, the potatoes, the pork belly.
All of it. It all goes into the bush next to the sidewalk.
But mom is there. She rubs my back as I gargle from a water bottle that she had in her purse.
I feel terrible, not just because of the allergic reaction, but I feel so guilty because it was her birthday dinner.
When I look at her, I can tell that she feels worse.
She thinks it's her fault because she was the one who wanted the noodles.
When we get back to the hotel, I take some Benadryl.
Throughout the evening, she keeps checking in to make sure I'm all right.
She keeps apologizing.
I tell her that it's okay.
This has happened before, and it will happen again.
Around 10 p .m., she's gone to bed, and I eat a bag of Cheez -Its because I'm slightly hungry.
All in all, a pretty successful day.
I'm serious. I'm not joking.
We found at least one good Chinese restaurant in Iowa City.
Other Yelp reviewers might destroy Szechuan House for their careless cross -contamination, and I wouldn't blame them.
Food allergies can be quite serious.
But if I swore off every restaurant that's made that mistake with me, I'd have no Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, and even Indian restaurants to go to.
We were thoroughly pleased with the meals that we ate at Szechuan House.
The service was excellent, we got leads for our grocery goals, and I was added to an exclusive WeChat group.
Most importantly, the flavors were on point.
The restaurant made one mistake.
That night I went home itchy and nauseous, but I know that there will be nights in the future where I leave Szechuan House happy and full.
I'm very happy to give Szechuan House three and a half stars out of five.
Unpacking goes well.
The two of us are able to slowly transfer everything from the back of my car up to my one bedroom apartment.
We thought we were going to need movers, but we ended up being pretty self -sufficient.
efficient. We clean the apartment, build a dresser, assemble a bed frame, and unpack the entire kitchen.
Wait, what's still not fitting?
The fish sauce? Okay.
Mom figures out a way to fit the fish sauce with all of the other sauces, condiments, and spices.
We're pleased with ourselves.
In those first two days, we eat bagel sandwiches, have lunch at a local diner, and finish the the leftovers from Szechuan House for dinner.
By day three we know we need to go grocery shopping.
It's been almost two weeks of eating out.
Our destination is Starlight Market number three.
I'd spent some time looking on Google but I was never able to find market number one or number two.
Anyways, Starlight occupies the corner unit of a one -story strip mall.
The ceilings are low and 15 pound bags of rice almost blocked the front door.
As we park a Chinese family of four walks in.
A man, a woman, and two young kids.
Mom enters ahead of me.
Oh wow, they have like whole jackfruit.
Do you want this or this?
Or you can have that.
Mom's already putting things into the shopping basket.
She hands me two packs of frozen scallion pancakes right as I walk into the store.
Look, they have dong guo.
Huh? They have Dong Qua.
They have Winter Melon.
Ooh, and they have durians.
Where are we going?
Oh, okay, okay. The store is cramped.
As you walk in, on the right is a densely packed section of fresh vegetables.
The veggies sit in large plastic crates and cardboard boxes.
I'm happy to see their wide array of Chinese greens, ranging from bok choy to gai lan.
There's a hominess to the clutter and overflow.
It reminds me of the groceries in Chinatown that just kind of naturally spill into the street.
Yeah, we can do some frozen dumplings.
What brand is good?
They have a nice variety of frozen dumplings.
There's pork with pickled nap cabbage, seafood and chives, among others.
We grab two bags. Mom knows that I get lazy sometimes, and these dumplings are great for lazy people.
The shelves are packed with everything I need.
I feel silly driving my bottle of fish sauce across the country because they have it at Starlight.
But Mom always taught me to be prepared, so finding everything here was a pleasant surprise.
With a full pantry, I spend the rest of the week splitting my time scouring Facebook Marketplace for furniture miniature meeting new classmates for coffee and cooking meals with mom in the apartment we've eaten a lot of meals together our last one is a humble one so it's the last day before we have to go we're eating lunch and so we bought three ears of sweet island corn from the hyvee we're eating that for lunch and we're making a lot of noise it's very good Mom still thinks it's too expensive.
They have so many on the field.
Yeah, three for two dollars, very expensive for corn.
Very sweet. Very good.
Yeah, it's very sweet.
You don't need butter or salt or pepper or any of this.
Nope. Feels like eating fruit.
Yeah. Along with the corn, we eat fried rice that she made.
Her fried rice doesn't have a set list of ingredients.
It's usually filled with whatever she has in the refrigerator.
And every time, no matter the ingredients, it's always delicious.
Her fried rice has an essence that mine never has.
The day of mom's departure arrives.
Her flight is at 2 p .m. As usual, she's nervous about missing her flight, so we leave way too early for an airport that only has nine gates.
Head east on East Jefferson Street, toward North Linn Street.
The GPS tells us to get on Interstate 80 to get to the airport.
I -80 extends all the way back to California.
The car was pretty noisy, so the audio quality is a little bad.
But mom and I talk about how much we've driven on this road trip.
Keep left, okay? OK.
Yeah, we go to I -80.
I -80, going home, we're going back to her.
I -80 West. Yeah, I know, right?
West, yeah. Well, we're going to get back on this railing, 24 hours.
Yeah, 26 hours. 26 hours and we'll be home.
Oh, I just... It's a 30 -minute drive to the airport.
It's the last 30 minutes we will have together.
together. She encourages me to take Chinese classes while I'm at school.
I probably won't even though it would help me read menus better.
It grows quiet. She begins quietly singing.
It's a Chinese love song that she introduced me to during this trip.
I want to sing along but I don't know the lyrics, so I'm perfectly happy just to listen.
We reflect on our trip.
It's a good trip. Of course it's a good trip.
Okay, okay. We'd spent almost every waking moment together for the last two weeks.
Packing, driving, navigating, unpacking.
But most importantly, eating.
We pull up to the airport.
I call you if it's the wrong airport, okay?
Okay. I'll come give you a hug.
I'll come out. Turn it off.
It's been a proper long time.
She tells me to turn off the car and come out to say a proper goodbye.
She's quiet, and I know she doesn't want to say goodbye.
I comfort her. I'll be home soon.
Okay. I love you. I love you.
I know that. Okay. See you soon.
See you in Christmas.
Okay. Enjoy that. Yeah.
It's still okay to quit.
She repeats what Dad told me two weeks earlier.
She tells me that it's okay to quit.
I laugh, but I know that she's not completely joking.
Me quitting grad school would mean that I would come home to her.
We hug, and she walks into the airport, and I get in my car.
just dropped off my mom feel like the last two weeks have been really nice it just uh I don't know you always a little apprehensive about spending a lot of time with your mom and ends up always being okay which is really nice or at least for me it ends up being okay now I'm really alone oh my god what's for lunch I don't know feeling that same feeling that I was feeling back in California just to really kind of slightly just anxious that's all I begin the 30 -minute drive back to my apartment in Iowa City before I know it I'm tearing up the sound quality is a little rough again the highway was noisy
and I was recording with the phone on my lap and i'm like listening to the cheesy chinese song that my mom had been playing throughout the road trip and i'm just thinking about how like i thought that this story was going to be a kind of story of me going to this new place and once i land and move in it would just be this kind of solo adventure, but it's strange because I've just in the last week, I've just done a lot of the things that I thought I would be doing by myself with my mom.
And I'm actually, like, I'm actually kind of tearing up just driving right now, thinking about how like things that I'm losing or not losing just going away from my obviously new it's like family and friends and people but I think it's just it's like extra clear right now that it is more than that it's that support it's that like ability to just like have people that are always there for you and it is really like i don't know i'm just very grateful for the last two weeks i'm feeling a lot of love for my mom i just feel like a lot of oh i'm still really emotional about it and it feels good it just
feels quite amazing to have somebody that's just like ceaselessly giving and like loving to me and it's really great i'm not gonna miss her a lot When I get back, it's around 1 .30 p .m. I haven't eaten lunch yet.
I procrastinate with my newfound freedom.
I putz around debating whether to reach out to some classmates.
I decide against it.
I get a text from Mom during her layover in Denver.
It says, It's okay not to cook and just eat takeout every day, but have to eat!
Exclamation point exclamation point exclamation point.
It's 443 p .m. and I still haven't eaten lunch. I take out my phone and briefly consider delivery from Szechuan House.
I decide not to because it would take over an hour to get here and by then it would be dinnertime.
I know Szechuan House will become a safety blanket during my time here.
No need to use it just yet.
So I get up and go to my kitchen.
Partially out of guilt, but mostly because I know mom is right.
I do need to eat. I open my fully -stocked pantry and refrigerator and chuckle at the fact that I was worried about coming to Iowa.
I was so worried about what I would eat that I didn't really think about who I would eat with, that the people you share meals with make the food taste better, that mom makes the food taste better.
i close the refrigerator because i don't want to make garlic eggplant or pork chops instead i open the freezer and fish out a large plastic bag i turn on the stove and begin to boil water i guess i'm grateful that my first meal alone will be these frozen dumplings Thanks to Aaron Pan An Airwave Media Podcast
