Never has an Asian-themed American sitcom survived past the first season, so as a person of mixed race with a native Japanese mother, I very much anticipated ABC’s Fresh Off the Boat. That it’s based off celebrity chef Eddie Huang’s memoir of the same name is reassuring, as opposed to an Asian or any cultural narrative by writers whose roots don’t match the cast.
Though I’m half white, our pudgy middle school protagonist here exhibits similar shades of childhood, in his trek through a culturally distant American suburbia.
Starting off a little too on-the-nose and self-aware at times in the pilot, from the second episode on, it managed to take shape and take off beautifully. Like The Simpsons we see a family striving to keep up with their neighbors, siblings on opposite sides of the social spectrum and parents balancing work, family, and an acceptable social life. But then, the Huangs don’t look like most American families. That’s where FOTB shines by letting you into its home, likely not originally written with an American television audience to answer to. That it’s set in the 90s (as nuance over playing the nostalgia card) is the cherry on top for this '90s kid.
Beyond being chubby, socially awkward, and “single eyelided” like Eddie with a strict (devoted) Asian mother, my financially unstable family went through a similar demographic shift to the Huangs. Whereas the Huangs moved from DC’s Chinatown to Orlando, my family moved from Tarrytown just thirty miles north of New York City — with a significant Asian community — to Bellevue, Washington. Let’s just say almost all of my fellow classmates at Bellevue High School had Christian names, like Christian.
Some scenes from FOTB triggered flashbacks to my early years in Tarrytown, attending nearby Irvington schools in New York. My mom knew by the time I was in second grade to save the onigiri (rice balls) and seaweed for family picnics. Her Japanese immigrant friend — our caretaker while my parents were working overtime — unfortunately did not get the memo. Just like how Eddie’s Asian noodle lunch got unwanted attention in the school cafeteria, my caretaker’s first attempt at “white people lunch” was a burnt hot dog wrapped in cellophane. There were laughs but I could laugh at it too, immediately associating the situation with the other culture at fault. I wonder if it would’ve had a greater effect on me had I physically resembled that other culture more.
My parents often saw the word “daydreams” in the written section of my report cards, which brought out the tiger in my mom. Just like Eddie had to attend weekend Chinese homeschool to satisfy his mom’s education standards, mine put me under house arrest one summer in middle school to complete a gnome-themed math box set. This was her way of showing care and concern for my future so I didn’t end up homeless in this competitive land of opportunity — as Mrs. Huang threatened her son. Eventually, my mom settled for my entrance in math class for slow kids, realizing I likely inherited more of my once-hippie artist dad’s right-brained lopsidedness.
I give big points for casting Paul Scheer on staff at the Huang-owned Cattlemen’s Ranch restaurant. At the same time, it was achingly familiar to see his anxious, culture clash reactions to Mrs. Huang’s authority. Most of my white friends growing up had “apple pie moms” who laughed heartily, and tended to be more gushy and whimsical. In one sense it was more inviting, but in another it was like entering outer space, where the lack of pressure I was used to freaked me out a little. I didn’t know how to be cheery back. Conversely, some of these friends didn’t know how to handle the pressure in my mom’s presence. One of them once told me straight up: “Your mom doesn’t like me." Dinner at my house that night found him a little jittery in her presence.
“Mmm, I… I love these carrots” he said, looking down at his plate the whole time. My mom made candied carrots, which was never on the usual family menu. She probably referred to her Western cookbook knowing he was coming over. Mom never forgot to make the same thing whenever he came back: her version of gushy and sweet.
Therein lies the cultural and social cues that get lost in translation. This was partly why I was so psyched about FOTB enlightening American living rooms. Now four episodes deep, can we safely say this turned out to be the show America didn’t know it wanted? So far I vote yes, and can’t help but find myself laughing from a place of feels.
Photos via Fresh Off the Boat's Facebook