In 2006, while opening the first year of university, my son Pan went to discover “the world beyond books”. After spending four months backpacking through Australia and New Zealand, he shared with me his innermost fulfillment from his travels: the meaning of home.
He told me: “Some people live in luxury, but rarely share dinners or dinners with their families. Others are involved in frequent cases every day to the sound of children playing and the deliciousness of a cooked meal. Some dwell in the high mountains, knowing every herb, bird, and hare, while others occupy the regions of the city, yet remain strangers to their neighbors. His words made me think of the places from which I returned home.
My first “home” was divided between my grandparents’ houses because my parents, both members of the Chinese Communist Party in the 1950s, didn’t have time for me. I was released after only 30 days. I don’t remember much about life at my grandparents’ house.
My second home was one that I will never forget: a political orphanage for children. Fourteen of us were called “black sons” because we came from families considered enemies of the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution. For six and a half years we were denied the right to play, talk with other children or even eat.
My third home was not a place but a journey – a journey between cities and towns to interview Chinese women. I explored the concept of home through the eyes, bringing together the experiences of mothers and daughters. This trip was part of my radio work Words on the Night Windwhich I hosted between 1989 and 1997.
At the age of 40 I found a real sense of belonging in England. This is the ultimate house of physical and emotional sanctity, where I could reflect on my life’s journey and build a new sense of purpose and connection. For me, my real home is a flat in Queensway, London.
I moved here in the summer of 2002, but after three years I realized that I hardly knew my neighbors or the history of the vibrant village where I lived. When my son was talking about the feeling of home, I was suddenly struck with curiosity. I will put my past into fiction.
Queensway is a shopping street in Bayswater, West London. Old maps depict a road north from Bayswater across open fields. Queensway was originally called Black Lion Lane. In 1837, it was named Queen’s Road in honor of Queen Victoria, who was born near Kensington Palace. But the name was considered too vulgar, and a century later it became Reginale.
At the north end of the street stood one of the Londoners sellers first Whiteleys, founded by William Whiteley in the 1860s. At that time he moved there and became a shopping center.
Today Queensway is home to many restaurants, cafes and bars. And because food in Chinese culture is like a god; After my son came back from a year away, he and I embarked on a “Taste of Queensway” plan. Each week we explore one restaurant across the Queensway, sourcing them from farmers. The goal was simple: to find another national flavor for our lunch at the lowest possible price.
We started with Mexican food at the Queens ice-skating rink – delicious. From there we went to Moroccan and Brazilian restaurants in the Royal Square, then to Arabic kebabs, Persian grills, Indian curries, Iraqi restaurants and Turkish delights. We tasted Russian, Italian, French, Greek, Thai and Malaysian dishes, Mediterranean meze, Korean barbecues, and, of course, we counted Chinese restaurants (we found six) and an English pub. We also include McDonald’s and KFC for a taste of American fast food.
My final stop with Pan was a Japanese conveyor-belt sushi spot in Whiteleys. We ordered the cheapest option: one bowl of fried rice with unlimited water. The sushi chef, who happened to be Chinese, kindly prepared egg fried rice for us and said, “I hope this is enough for both of you.” He put so much oil and salt in it that we should drink four glasses of water. It was easily the most filling meal of our (and budget) Taste of Queensland trip.
What we think will be a quick coverage or three months of culinary surveys extended to 27 weeks. To our amazement, Reginale presented a cuisine representing at least 27 regions. Of course, my late husband, Toby Eady, once joked that he was surprised to hear anyone speaking English outside of our flat. I laughed and replied: “This is London – of course people speak English!” However, after completing the project, I realized the surprise.
The Queensway is not just a road in London. It is a global community, home to people from all over the world. Together we bring our culture, traditions and taste of home to this free and vibrant city. And what a lucky Chinese woman I am, living in such a rich world of flavors in west London – my true home.
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Xinran is the founder of Mother’s Bridge of Love and the author of nine books, including The Good Things of China, The Witness of China, What the Chinese Don’t Eat, The Promise and The Book of Secrets