Consumed

By: Sara Wan, Guest Columnist

Artwork by Siri Raghunayakula

raw Atlantic shrimp from the ice buckets 

in the local California farmers markets

delivered in the morning just hours ago

are shelled and deveined.

chopped green scallions plucked from the backyard, 

and grated ginger stinging noses

are tossed in a silver bowl.

added sesame oil, Chinese rice wine, cornstarch

are blended in with wooden chopsticks gripped tight.

a squish rings from the mixture

and a briny scent.

she shells and deveins 

the raw Atlantic shrimp.

her knife clanks against the wooden cutting board creating a rhythm

as she chops the green scallions plucked from the backyard, 

stinging noses, she tosses grated ginger in a silver bowl

along with sesame oil, Chinese rice wine, cornstarch

blended in with wooden chopsticks gripped tight.

a squish rings from the mixture

and a briny scent perfumes your kitchen.

your grandmother’s wrinkled hands pick up 

a delicate layer of wonton wrapper

dusted with flour and chilled from the refrigerator.

a dollop of the mixture goes into the heart of the skin

a splash of water paves its path like a v,

her fingers press the edges together,

the organic filling is concealed,

and the wonton is now completed.

and there you are,

placed by the frail fingers of your grandmother,

in a steaming bowl of broth

a wanton floating 

with seaweed, vinegar, sesame oil.

you were birthed from the best ingredients

the most organic

from the bustling farmer’s market 

in Xi’an, China,

where the vegetables are bargained over

as gruffs of surrendering vendors blend

with the sound of plastic bags

just outside your grandparents’ apartment.   

in that bowl,

you lie, 

your filling,

organic deveined shrimp, scallions, ginger, oil,

spill out in small bits.

the authentic chinese culture is rooted inside you.

then,

you are picked up by an American fork

and

you’re consumed.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *