As the weather got colder, I decided it was a perfect opportunity for my first attempt at a classic Chinese comfort dish that everyone in my family knew how to make: tomatoes and eggs. After rummaging in my fridge and cupboard for two large eggs, one tomato and a pack of udon noodles, I turned my attention to the seasonings cabinet, procuring salt, black pepper, garlic powder, oyster sauce, rice vinegar and one other ingredient I had picked up at Meijer just last week: MSG — or monosodium glutamate, a flavor enhancer that perfectly accented the sour tomatoes and salty eggs with a savory aftertaste.

My parents always ensured my sister and I were fed with their interpretations of Chinese dishes. Whenever we craved something that was more complex, they took us out to a local Chinese restaurant. After they ordered, however, I would always hear one phrase from them:

“No MSG, please.”

My parents’ dislike for MSG was not unique to them. In fact, the term “Chinese restaurant syndrome” has been coined to describe a general opposition to or fear surrounding MSG in Chinese food. Beginning in 1968 (when a pediatrician reported feeling weak after eating at Chinese restaurants in America), there have been numerous flawed studies connecting MSG with weight gain, dizziness, nausea and fatigue. Despite more scientifically sound evidence quickly disproving these findings, these sentiments remained, rooted in nothing much but xenophobia.

Though I never really bought into the fearmongering surrounding MSG, I took my parents’ words at face value and assumed something was harmful about it. It wasn’t really something I actively thought about until I watched Anthony Bourdain express his love for MSG and disdain for the racist connotations behind “Chinese restaurant syndrome” on an episode of Parts Unknown. I don’t think it was a coincidence that I truly started questioning preconceived notions of MSG after I really began thinking about my Chinese-American identity, either. These days, I haven’t heard much anti-MSG or anti-Chinese food talk at all, something I attribute to a greater appreciation of Chinese-American culture from America as a whole. 

While we have gotten past the old stereotypes of Chinese restaurant syndrome, it is important to note some unintended consequences. As America gains a greater appreciation of Chinese culture, slowly but surely, it becomes imported for Americans. As it is transformed to suit American tastes by Chinese-Americans and Chinese immigrants alike, Chinese culture itself becomes diluted as a survival mechanism. For many reasons, it becomes difficult to import an authentic Chinese culture. There is a lack of resources, a limited audience for it or even a general stigmatization. Still, Chinese influence remains; Chinese-American food itself is derived from the traditions of the Guangdong Province in South China — even if the dishes are not “Chinese” at all. Chinese food certainly exists in Ann Arbor, for example, but it can be frustratingly difficult to find authentic Chinese restaurants catered towards the different kinds of regional Chinese palates. Even my non-Chinese friends have noticed a lack of diversity in the dishes among the restaurants they frequent. 

I am not inherently opposed to orange chicken, spring rolls or fried rice, but I would take mapo doufu, mala xiangguo and ganchao niuhe any day over them. The first group is more Chinese-American than Chinese, and while that’s not a bad thing, it does become aggravating when these dishes become the “face” of Chinese food. I love orange chicken, but it’s not Chinese, it’s Chinese-American.

Something else I have seen is a greater appreciation for Chinese-American culture by Americans extending to China itself. Scrolling through TikTok and Instagram Reels, I will inevitably come upon an edit of Shanghai, Chongqing, Changsha, or one of the many other Chinese cities that have become urban marvels through China’s intensive city planning program. The comments will be filled with “China is living in the future” and how “our government has tricked us about China.” 

I have conflicting thoughts about these sentiments. Considering where the country was just five years ago, it is good that surface level sinophobia is receding. People are becoming more aware of a tendency to propagandize against China. Once again, however, greater appreciation can often come with a side of cultural dilution. These edits lack nuance; they don’t tell the full story of China. They are simple, clearly marketed towards an American palette with their music choices and editing styles and are only one interpretation of a complex culture. They don’t show you the actual people that live in these cities, the struggles of the underserved or the voices that actually matter. I am not saying that you shouldn’t enjoy these edits (I’m all for them, in fact) but it is important to realize they aren’t really indicative of the country as a whole.

Simultaneously, China has never had a true form of soft power; unlike Japan with anime and South Korea with K-Pop, the United States has never consumed a culturally significant form of Chinese media. Throughout my lifetime, the general mentality held towards the country has always been negative. I view both the prominence of Chinese food (even in its  “Americanized” form) and TikTok edits of Chinese cities as Chinese soft power beginning to take hold — especially as more Americans believe the United States should cooperate with China. In that sense, perhaps simplicity isn’t a bad thing, if it encourages genuine curiosity and changing attitudes towards a formerly unfamiliar culture and country. TikTok or Instagram Reels alone do not make a country — intellectual curiosity in understanding what a nation is really like is what truly matters. 

Over time, I have seen outdated xenophobia be pushed to the side in favor of more positive interpretations of Chinese-American culture and China. Nonetheless, there needs to be a healthy balance. Whether it be something as simple as the MSG I sprinkled in my tomatoes and eggs or more complex like China’s technological advancements or geopolitical relations, Chinese-American culture should be appreciated through a holistic, non-selective lens. China as a whole should not be viewed as a rose-tinted monolith; like any other nation, there is endless nuance to unpack, and a culture being broken down to one or two things would only do it a disservice. 

MiC Columnist Bowen Deng can be reached at kbdeng@umich.edu

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