“Oh, they’ll kill the old red rooster when she comes…”

We celebrated the fifth anniversary of our daughter’s adoption by going to JiangXi Province to visit the woman who cared for Elisa during her first 8 months of life.  We consulted with Chinese friends about how to make the visit with minimum hardship to the family, who would feel obligated to entertain us.  As rice farmers, the family had modest resources and lived in a simple village house with earthen floors, no plumbing, and limited electricity.  We certainly did not want Mrs. Yu, Elisa’s former foster mother, spending the family’s hard earned money on us.  So, acting on our friends’ advice, we notified her of our plans only the evening before our arrival.

Our efforts came to naught, when shortly after arriving, our lively guide and interpreter, Jelly, told us that Mrs. Yu had invited us to stay for lunch.  I immediately glanced around their humble abode:  the only wall adornment was an old plastic jug hanging on a hook and now repurposed to hold chopsticks.   The furniture consisted of a simple Chinese-style wooden table with removable slats revealing items usually found in a pantry or refrigerator.  Jelly informed us that anything but a grateful acceptance would offend our hosts.

When I realized that the large red rooster running around outside the house was shortly to become our lunch, I warned my daughter that she might want to step inside.  Her eyes widened, but a gleeful voice rang out, “They are going to kill that rooster? And then we are going to eat it?!  I want to watch!”  The youngest son worked quickly and skillfully as Elisa looked on, riveted.  She seemed to have an epiphany of sorts as she turned to me and exclaimed, “This is how we get our chicken?!  This is where meat comes from?!”

As the preparation progressed, we noticed Mrs. Yu repeatedly leaving the house and returning – first with a duck, then freshly cut greens – then a liver.  Jelly, our guide, made herself at home, tending the coal-fired woks with the family and adding a bit of this and bit of that.  I distracted Elisa from the bird long enough to join the family in shelling soy beans.  As we both sat sat there, bent over a bowl with the Yu family, exchanging smiles, and ‘talking’ via hand motions, I realized that I had been naïve – and silly – to attempt to stop this celebration from happening.  This was the kind of experience we craved in China – a home-cooked meal over coal fired woks with a kind-hearted rural family.

And Erik reminded me we had sent them gifts and even cash over the years as a small token of our appreciation for everything they did for our daughter - and continue to do as they foster new babies.  He pointed out that this was their way of giving something back to us, saving face, so to speak.  Whether it was true or not, I tried not to dampen the celebration with my worries about what it cost the family.

As Mrs. Yu and her son poured boiling water over the rooster and began to pluck its feathers, Elisa left her position by the beans and moved in closer to watch.  Each child has his own positive and negative traits.  I was happy that day that one of my daughter’s most endearing characteristics is her love of food.  She “oooohed and aaaahed” over the chicken as it was served and then – after one bite – proclaimed, “This is the best chicken I have ever tasted.”  And it probably was.

Sitting at the table with the Yus, enjoying an amazing feast with good company, I looked at my small daughter, whose cheek had probably been pinched one too many times that day.  Later, I would tell her that the delicious feast she had enjoyed that day was more than just a meal; it was a celebration of her life.   I would explain that two families, from two completely different worlds, had joined together to commemorate the one thing they had in common, their love for her.

You may find other food stories here:  http://wanderlustandlipstick.com/blogs/wanderfood/