"Try a little," said my mother, hesitating, wondering if I would like it. It was like an explosion of flavor in my mouth. I always thought I didn't like chicken, especially with vegetables, but this was different. It hardly seemed like the same animal, no pun intended, as what I was usually served. Even more wondrous were the little pockets of fried goodness called egg rolls. These were filled with vegetables like shredded cabbage and the spices made the green things delicious, rather than a pain to eat. We often ordered out as a family during times of great joy and great sadness -- to celebrate, or when things were too hectic for home cooking. Eating Chinese food, even when I ordered the same thing, was never boring. I adored the special equipment needed to consume it -- the chopsticks, the flavor packets of neon yellow mustard and orange sweet and sour sauce -- and the fact that the food was unpredictable -- differently cut, with different mixtures and textures of vegetables, and often with an extra carton of something special thrown in for free. Even that first time, I intuitively understood the rules of eating Chinese food -- take a little of this, a little of that. No swatting away of your hand...

Taste everything. That rule was to stay with me for the rest of my life. For, first and foremost, I have often judged potential friends by their willingness to taste different things, in terms of food and life -- an adventurous sprit within myself that I attribute to my early exposure to Chinese food. And, equally importantly, I have learned from those early experiences to share what I love with others, and to look forward to delighting in what others think is delightful -- from Hunan shrimp to crispy tofu. How can you not love a cuisine that tells you your fortune at the end of the meal?
Purists will likely sniff at some of my favorites, especially the names (I still have a fondness for General Tso, even though I doubt there is any great Chinese history that tells of the defeat of a rival army by catapulting hunks of delicious spicy chicken at the enemy). But although I am willing to try new cuisines, I will never forget the coziness of that day, sitting with my parents in the kitchen, eating with two long pencils in my hand, manipulating the steamy food encrusted with grains of rice embedded into the sauce -- all into my sticky mouth.