Racism by Any Other Name Smells Just as Rotten
It was my first day of kindergarten. A shy and precociously anxious four-year-old, I looked around at the other kids and wondered whether any of them would want to play with me during recess. It was a day of many firsts, as I didn’t go to pre-school or daycare like other kids. For the first time in my life, I had a space all my own there in my little desk with its cubby – my name, neatly printed on a sign in the shape of a yellow No. 2 pencil, confirmed that. Stephanie Pituc. (I still feel that same sense of pride when I see my name in print).
I sat down at my desk, along with the other kids, and waited to see what would happen next. Ms. Todaro, a White woman with short curly blond hair, rosy cheeks, and the warm demeanor you expect from a kindergarten teacher, greeted us and said that she would be taking attendance. As she went down the roll and got closer and closer to the “P’s,” my heart beat loudly in my chest as I feared that somehow I would mess up this first test of my competence.
“Stephanie….Pit-tuck?…Pie-tuck?” she called.
I froze. Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I felt queasy. Is that what my last name was supposed to sound like? Somehow the Filipino accented “Pee-took” sound of my parents’ voices didn’t seem to translate to English. How could I tell my teacher that I wasn’t really sure how to pronounce my name? With voice shaking, I responded, “Here.”
Ms. Todaro asked, “How do you say your name?” I made a split second decision that the former of her mispronunciations was the more acceptable of the two, and said “Pit-tuck is fine.” Embarrassed and ashamed, I just wanted her to move onto the next name. And thus began 18 years of my acquiescence to the bastardization of my family’s name, all in an effort to blend in and to ease the discomfort of non-Filipinos around me.
…
Fast forward to last Thursday. I had received an email just the day before, informing me that the original plans to attend a special invited-dinner at the new Thanh Do location in St. Louis Park were being changed. Instead, I was invited to a press tour of Wanderers, chef and restauranteur Thom Pham’s newest downtown project. I casually noticed a series of tweets on Twitter that morning, hyping up restaurant. However, I didn’t read any of the linked articles discussing the nature of the press event, and my friend and I were confused as we walked into what looked like a construction site on 5th and Hennepin. My friend later told me, “I thought we were being Punk’d.”
Pham informed us that that it was the first day of construction on the restaurant, addressing my confusion about what we were doing amidst dust, drywall, and power tools. He and the Twincy PR Team then took us on a “tour” of the space – which was really walking fifty feet or so between the entryway and the main dining area that had not yet been torn apart for construction.
We were invited to eat and bring home home the take out containers of food set out for us. Pham explained that these represented future menu items based on original recipes from the *Nanking Chinese restaurant, the first major Asian American restaurant in downtown Minneapolis. I had been anticipating the food at this event, expecting to be courted with an impressive spread. Disappointed but ultimately hungry, I ate my limp and unremarkable Pork Lo Mein noodles and wondered to myself if I was supposed to think this was good or simply be content that I was going to have leftovers for lunch tomorrow. My friend whispered over to me as she ate her practically colorless, watery Chicken Chow Mein, “I could really use some hot sauce orsomething.”
Photo: Yes, you’re seeing that stereotypical chinky red font correctly.
Pham described his vision for the restaurant and showed us some photos of plans for the interior design. Wanderers would be an Asian fusion restaurant and bar invoking an Old World-New World juxtaposition. The restaurant would give a nod to the past of Asian cuisine in Minneapolis in the reproduction of design elements of the Nanking. The bar area would represent Asia of the present and the future. Pham used words like “capturing the energy of downtown.” I imagined a recreation of Azia or A25, his Eat Street establishments whose closure was announced that very same day. “Dear God, please go easy on the paper lanterns this time,” I thought to myself.
My friend and I continued to eat our food as we stood around with the five or so other attendees. Pham opened the floor up to questions. Some people asked about the design of the restaurant, others asked about logistics of the opening and the menu. I asked with a genuine curiosity that had struck me from the moment I received the email invitation, “Why the name ‘Wanderers?’”
Pham gave a nervous laugh and explained that he originally had wanted to name the restaurant, “Wondrous Azian Kitchen” to invoke a sense of awe and wonderment while also playfully invoking connotations of the “wondrous Wanderers punch” cocktail beverage at the original Nanking. A woman who seemed to be friends with Pham made a joke about how I was probably too young to know about the wondrous Wanderers punch (Hey, lady, I’m very much over the legal drinking age and have had a few less-than-fortunate encounters with the punch at the Red Dragon).*
Nick, from Twincy, jumped into the explanation and said, “We thought that Thom was saying Wanderers!” – alluding to Pham’s Vietnamese accented English. Nick went on to say that the misunderstanding was not discovered until after all the PR materials had been printed. There was awkward laughter. My friend - a fellow Asian American - and I looked over at each other, our straight faces mirroring each other’s thoughts of, “Is this really happening?”
Pham was chuckling along with the other people, all White except for the Asian lady who thought I was underage. He explained that when they learned of the error, some parties liked and advocated for the Wanderers/Wonderous/ whoknowswhattheheck other name. Everyone voted and the final name, “Wanderers Wondrous Azian Kitchen” resulted from the event split.
More awkward laughter. My therapist’s intuition picked up on a sense of embarrassment in the air. It was a sentiment I was all too familiar with, the same tension that I felt that first day of kindergarten when my sweet, White teacher mispronounced my last name. My friend and I looked at each other again, silently communicating with steely eyes, “We need to get out of here.”
As soon as we walked out of the space, we rehashed our individual perceptions of what happened to assure each other that we did not imagine the last half-hour. At first, we wondered how a PR event could be so unimpressive – from the disorganization of the communication of the event, to the venue itself, to the mediocre-at-best food. Then we shared our complex reaction of irritation and disbelief at the subtle racism we had just witnessed. I can only imagine how Pham must have felt at the bastardization of the name of his restaurant, a project I am assuming that he has invested a lot of time, money, and pride in. Even now as I reflect on the situation, I feel humiliated for him. His integrity was thrown under the bus by a racially and culturally-based act of ignorance. It doesn’t matter whether or not the act was intentional, the impact is the same.
For better or worse, I would have never imagined this explanation for the Wanderers name. I figured perhaps it referred to the Asian fusion concept as a wandering through diverse Asian ethnic cuisines. Instead, we got the truth, which is generally a good thing, but in this case, is terrible PR. As my friend put it, “Seriously? At least make some shit up!”
I will admit, I am generally a skeptic of Asian fusion restaurants. Too often, they compromise the integrity of all the cuisines involved in service of catering to patrons not accustomed to eating “exotic” Asian foods. Truly innovative fusion that honors the various ethnic components of the food while creating something new is very difficult. The totality of my experience with Wanderers suggests quite a departure from that paradigm of cooking.
In writing this narrative, I reflected on how potentially hurtful this could be to Mr. Pham, the Twincy crew, and whoever else is involved with the project. I avoided writing about it for a week. Simply thinking about the experience stirred up ill feelings for me, hitting close to issues of race and subtle discrimination that are present in my everyday life and the lives of people I love. This experience is particularly palpable, as my academic research focuses on the subtle, yet chronic ways in which people of color are reminded that they are “foreigners” in the U.S. This includes invalidation due to perceptions of English language incompetence.
Yet, here I am writing this because this is a story that needs to be told. You won’t find it in the pages of the local food and entertainment weekly. It is just one story among many experiences of countless immigrants and their descendants who are subtly but systematically invalidated as a result of both intentional and unintentional acts of racism. It is an example of how so many people make compromises (willingly or not) in order to achieve acceptance and success in the U.S. Many of us know at least one immigrant who has adopted an English or Anglicized name in lieu of their Asian name. I understand that those people have the right to choose that route, but it still angers me that we live in a culture that encourages and reinforces such accommodation to dominant White, European American ways of being.
Even worse, it saddens me that so many Asian immigrants and Asian Americans buy into their own “Othering” in the process. That’s what I did for almost twenty years, beginning with that first day in kindergarten. I let someone outside of my culture redefine an integral part of my identity. I finally reclaimed my cultural integrity on the day that I wrote “Pee-took” on the index card that would be read as I crossed the stage to receive my college diploma. In honor of the sacrifices my immigrant parents made to help me succeed in life, I wanted the world to hear my name as they said it to each other.
Mr. Pham, I wish you all the best with your entrepreneurial endeavors and thank you for the invitation to your space. Please never forget that you can change a restaurant’s menu items, interior decorations, kitchen and service staff – but one of the things that will stick in people’s minds is the name. Let’s face it, sometimes it’s all a restaurant’s got. Make it stand for something you can be proud of.
*EDIT/NOTES: The name of the restaurant from the 1930’s was the “Nanking,” not the “Nangking” as originally cited. It was also brought to my attention by a commenter that the original drink of the Nanking was called the “Wanderers punch.” The lady was correct that I am too young to know about that because I am more familiar with the Wonderous Punch of the Red Dragon and a cursory Google search of “Nangking wonderous punch minneapolis” turned up the Red Dragon. Apparently my own semantic error was shared by the Twincy PR folks. I take responsibility for that misunderstanding, though the explanation of the name issue didn’t come across as well thought out or well-communicated by Pham or Twincy.
I’m aware that my take on the situation may be dismissed because of my own confusion in the matter. The message of this post remains the same because the basic facts still hold: Pham had one idea of what the name should be. His PR people misunderstood him, didn’t double check, and Pham compromised on the name he originally wanted (terrible either way, if you ask me). This is a matter of cultural misunderstanding. There are still lessons here, and if nothing else, this added layer illustrates how our difficult it is to navigate cross-cultural interactions and communication. I know that I am not above that. It requires openness and humility of own limitations. I hope that the story still has value for you; it certainly does for me.