Images courtesy of the author. 1994. My parents got married in Germany but had their wedding photo taken in Malaysia, my father's birthplace. I remember my mother recalling the day as dreadful. Putting on countless dresses that weren't hers and didn't fit. Though when I was little, my fascination for the pictures made me constantly look through my parent's wedding photos, as they gave me a first sense of what culture is.
During my formative years, my world revolved around my parents’ Chinese restaurant. It was the place where I had my daily lunch after school, followed by the dread of working through my piles of homework. Amidst the daily hustle and bustle, fortune cookies were laid out on each table to mark special occasions. The gold wrapping paper made them seem like small treasures, gleaming with hope in a space where pride in your heritage is often buried under the weight of shame. Each time I broke the dry, bland cookie and unfolded the small piece of paper to read the fortune, the whole ritual felt like a cathartic experience, which created a warm feeling of home.
Surprisingly, the fortune cookie does not even know its own home. The origin of the fortune cookie cannot be traced back to one specific culture. If we search for its birthplace, traces of the cookie’s history can be found in China, Japan, and the USA. Early forms of sayings inscribed on pastries can be found in East Asia. When China was occupied by the Mongols during the 13th century, the revolutionaries spread mooncakes with hidden messages inside them. In Japan, the shape of the fortune cookie already existed dating back to 1857, though in a savoury form that was larger and darker. The sweet treat we know today only came to life when immigrants settled in the US. Several stories claim ownership of the invention of the cookie. An often repeated one is that of Japanese migrant Makoto Hagiwara, a landscape designer for the Japanese Tea Garden in San Francisco, who expressed his gratitude towards friends with a thank-you note inside a cookie. Eventually, these cookies were passed around at the Japanese Tea Garden. At the same time, early traces of the fortune cookie can be found at the Hong Kong Noodle Company located in Los Angeles, where owner David Jung handed out his own homemade cookies containing strips of paper with bible verses written on them to people in need.
Various other establishments claim to have invented the crisp, butterfly-shaped cookie. They have one thing in common, though: they are all places where food and culture meet. Restaurants have long been a means of survival for immigrants coming to a new country to build a life. When my father arrived in Germany, he did not know the language, nor was he a trained chef. With a different educational background, he was well aware that here he would need to acquire a skill that could help him succeed despite the language barrier. One thing my dad enjoyed and missed was the taste of home. Food plays an integral role in Chinese culture, as it is believed to bring harmony to a family and relationships. The practice of eating is not only a means to fuel your body with nutrition. Even when consuming food, the balance of yin and yang should still be pursued.
In a romanticised way, a Chinese restaurant in a Western environment stands for more than just a business; it symbolises a celebration of heritage. Yet behind the gleaming facade, I see my parents working hard every day to provide me with a life they never had and simultaneously create a space for others where culture can thrive. Restaurants are the epicentre for translating culture and a guiding light for cultural exchange; the fortune cookie is both a product of and a symbol for this exchange.
Food has the power to awaken feelings of nostalgia. My parents treated shared meals like a valued ceremony that would make me feel connected to my roots. When we go out for dinner, I ironically try to avoid bringing them to Chinese restaurants. Before we even sit down, my mind already fears their complaints about the food not being authentic enough. For me, it raises the question of what defines authenticity in a Western space. The fortune cookie at its core is also not inherently Chinese, yet it remains a symbol I associate with my culture. Many second-generation immigrants have a torn sense of identity and feel pressure to either belong to one culture or the other; with the fortune cookie, there is no need to choose between the two. It represents the interplay of cultures moving away from their origins to ultimately create a completely new sense of identity.
The majority of my time growing up, I felt like a child without a home. I desperately searched for a feeling of acceptance in spaces that didn’t provide the ground for me to blossom. Every piece of Buddhist wisdom from my mother was answered with an eye roll. Being out as an East Asian presenting female, I was often met with racist remarks or fetishisation – or sometimes both. I have always wondered why I am so fascinated by fortune cookies, but like me, the crisp shell with a piece of paper inside also does not really know where exactly it belongs. The fortune cookie exists in a space where people bring a piece of home to reclaim their existence while creating their own new sense of culture.
As featured in SLEEK 80 – FORTUNE. Available in print and digital here.