The way mom made it

"The way mom made it." This is something I will be saying for the rest of my life, just as my mom has said countless times about her mom, and my grandmother. Food for me, has always been at the forefront of family gatherings and my every day life. Mom made it a point to always have dinner together, as a family, whether we were hungry or not. We also would have Sunday Dinner every week when my grandma was still alive, and continued the tradition when it only was my grandpa. The food varied, but what I always will remember dishes like tripe (with shoyu and hot mustard), noodles, won ton, oxtail soup and steamed fish (yes, someone always did eat the eyeballs). 

I remember watching my mom, aunties and grandmother sit around the table before dinner, peeling green beans or shelling shrimp. It was a group effort to prepare dinner, but it also was a time to talk with each other, something I didn't fully understand when I was younger. I used to dread when I'd have to help, especially when making won ton; in fact, I still do. I could never get the technique right, and yes, there is a technique. My won ton wrapper would fall apart or be too lumpy, exploding with filling. The women always had it right: fill with just the right amount, make sure to get a lump of shrimp in each won ton, wet two sides of the won ton pi wrapper, fold it over, crease and connect the two ends while pushing down the middle to create a nice shape. They would do this over and over again and so quickly, too! 

Now that my grandma is gone and we have long since given up Sunday Dinners, my mom and I —and sometimes my sister — harken back to those days and make won ton. My mom makes it, "the way mom made it," but with her own twists, as I'm sure I'll do when I have a household and kitchen of my own. 

Ingredients:

• Ground pork

• Water Chestnuts, chopped

• Shiitake Mushrooms, chopped

• Shrimp, chopped

• Chinese Parsley

• Salt and Pepper

• Oyster Sauce

• Shoyu

• Eggs
• SOMETHING I FORGOT: Spam for saltiness.....my Uncle was so kind to remind me.

We assemble the won ton, and I still struggle to work quickly to keep up with my mother. Still, my fingers remember the motions, the rhythm and the technique. Not too much, not too little; don't squeeze too tight; make sure to get the wrapper edges wet enough to stick. We boil a pot of water and dunk each dumpling in, waiting until they're the perfect color. There are no timers. There aren't any recipes. There is, however, a multitude of memories, new and old, which I will pass on to my kids one day, too.