On Food and Identity - An Essay by Noknoi Vickers

Photo Credit - @dominika_schmidt

Growing up mixed can be confusing, especially when you are so far removed from one half of your identity.

I grew up in the land of Yorkshire puddings in, I should add, the particularly white of city of York. My father’s country Laos, a land of food so spicy it made your eyes stream, lay an entire ocean away, a place that was quite simply alien to me.

Now as a teenager, I felt fiercely Yorkshire through and through- I would join the hordes of other kids who would descend on the local chippy at lunchtime, and spend my evenings crammed into a Sam Smith pub, sipping on a Taddy Larger and probably very unconvincingly reassuring the bar maid that of course we were over 18. But over these same years, I would say I experienced somewhat of an identity struggle.

Despite feeling that I was a ‘Yorkshire lass’ at heart, at school my face clearly displayed a different story and for a few years I was called ‘chinky’, ‘Lao’ and even ‘Asian porn star’ by classmates and even friends. Although outright shocking now, I do believe that the name calling stemmed from an ingrained culture of casual racism and genuine ignorance at the weight these words could hold, and I truly think that most of those people would not dare utter those words in the present day. Or, if they did, I would unashamedly put them in their place. Nonetheless, these words forced me to confront my confused Asian heritage on a daily basis.

Growing up with white parents meant that I was (and still am) very disconnected to the Lao language and culture. On monstrously long hot sweaty trips to Laos, I was left unable to communicate with my Lao family and unable to understand why, as an Asian daughter, my father expected me to act, speak or dress in a certain way.

It was the food however, which gave me a sense of belonging. I would sit over steaming bowls of noodle soup for breakfast, passing round the bowls of fresh mint, coriander and chilli to members of my family that I couldn’t pronounce the names of. Along with the bowl of herbs I passed on, I was able to ignite smiles and trigger soft laughs, uttering to them the only words I knew - ‘thank you’ and ‘it’s delicious’ as I thrust my chopsticks deep into the bowl of noodles. In a way, I felt like I belonged.

Food is a language of its own and so, I decided to learn it.

Now, in my adult years, my love of noodles is well known by probably anyone that’s had more than a couple of conversations with me. I’ll warn you now that there’s not much point ever asking me what I would like for dinner, because I can guarantee my answer will always be noodles. I connected with my culture through eating and cooking, and now it has become a beautiful part of my identity. My mixed heritage is something I am now immensely proud of and food played a big part of that journey.

Although I will never really understand how to be a ‘good Asian daughter’ and will never be able to have a proper conversation with my grandmother, I have been able to embrace my identity as an Asian woman through the appreciation, cooking and sharing of food.

One size does not fit all, and for many I realize this is probably not enough, but as a Yorkshire bred half Lao woman who now proudly eats noodles for breakfast, devours pretty much anything with chopsticks, and downright refuses to cook a meal without chili, I think I’ve come a long way in accepting who I am.

You can find more of Nok at her amazing Instagram at @noknoi__  and her recipe account @Nokswok