Chinatown, NYC

it simply feels good to be around other asians

I’ve lived in NYC since fall 2011. Approximately half of that time has been spent in the Lower East Side and Chinatown. My wallet was feelin’ real light then, but luckily I was going where the skaters went, and they know how to throw and find an event on a dime. Early memories of Chinatown include:

• art gallery show openings on LES streets that merged into the boundary of Chinatown: free wine, free PBRs, and art?! Say less!

• eating Chinese soups off Canal with a Chinese-New Yorker, skater homie. He busted out the Mandarin and was cracking jokes with the staff (at my expense? I’ll never know).

• discovering xiao long bao aka soup dumplings. Even though I’m not Chinese, XLB’s make me stoked to be Asian, due to the ingenuity and heartwarming tastiness.

• karaoke at Upstairs Bar where I’ll never forget the old man and his table of empty beer cans, singing us all Chinese ballads from the depths of his heart.

These memories stay lodged in my brain, even as I walk around Chinatown now. Essential moments from way back that helped me feel like I was in the right place at the right time. Like something special was happening to me and the way I perceived the world. I wasn’t meant to be with any of the skater flings (as cute as they all were), but Chinatown? Chinatown and I are meant for each other. Anytime I get a tinge of needing to move the hell away from here and never look back, my first thought isn’t, “Oh no, there go dinners at ‘hip’ new restaurants frequented by ‘young, hot’ people.” My first thought is, “But I can’t live without Chinatown.”

As I’ve grown up and life has gotten less social (in part due to people moving out of the city, in part due to covid, in part due to friends settling down), Chinatown is now where I go for walks in the daytime when I don’t know where else to go. When I need air. When I need to wander. When I need to feel held by familiarity but with room for adventure. When I need a food court moment and a milk tea. When I need a chicken heart on a skewer. It’s a walking meditation. I tend to forgo my headphones taking in everything around me, walking by exotic fruit stands, wishing I lived closer so I could easily haul that bonsai tree home.

Mainly, as an Asian face who has no Asian peers (except my brother, who’s also adopted), it simply feels good to be among Asians. The ability to seemingly blend in is deeply, soulfully fulfilling. This feeling can only be rivaled by being nude in the Korean spa, surrounded by all Korean women who, regardless of size, still look like me in some way. Still, in walking up Grand, Baxter, or Canal, there’s the tension of being an inside outsider. This defines my adoptive and entire social existence in a way. Waiters try to speak to me first in Chinese. I sheepishly say “thank you” as I’m handed a menu. I’m never entirely part of the group; I’m always slightly outside looking in.

In Chinatown, egos feel refreshingly unacknowledged. It’s not even about ego. Their famous spots are known because they consistently provide delicious food at fair prices, not because some influencer thought the dining room was pretty. Some of the best food comes from food carts whose highest priced item is $5. Then there’s the elderly Chinese woman on her crate selling zongzi (sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaf) yelling the same phrase over and over, at the top of her lungs, to promote her snacks. If you’ve ever waited to cross at Grand and Chrystie you’ve heard her.

I’ve had many ups and downs in this city since 2011. Eras end, people move. Chinatown has been the most constant and reliable place throughout my past (nearly) 12 years here. It too has had its share of challenges. Covid forced closure after closure. There are still too many empty storefronts, but it’s encouraging to take in the many worthwhile restaurants, cafes, and bakeries that remain and continue to endure, decade after decade.

Currently, a mega jail is being built in the middle of Chinatown, despite protests among community members. Construction has already forced certain places to shut down. Last summer the horrifying phrase “Dimes Square” really tried it. It’s a made up, non-place outside of hipster shithole Dimes, which community members successfully petitioned to remove off of Google Maps.

Send Chinatown Love @Chinatownlove

Some positive news: Since SCL’s Instagram post on this matter, we’ve successfully had the “Dimes Square” label removed from Google Maps 🙌 Thank you to all who stand with Chinatown ❤️

All of this stuff is making “the end of Chinatown” feel real, or like it’s not that far off in the distance anymore. My throat clenches and my gut turns when I imagine the character-less nightmares that would pop up in place of family run businesses that offer so much variety in flavors, and also in 2023, are still able to offer very friendly price points.

On days when I feel like I’m at the lowest rung of my life, totally alone and lost, I’ll take my Chinatown walk to clear my head. As I approach Grand and Chrystie I feel safe as I hear the zongzi woman yelling out her phrase. If she’s still here, for now, we’re all gonna be alright.

note: Chinatown here refers only to Manhattan’s Chinatown but shout out to the other 8 Chinatowns in NYC: Flushing, Elmhurst, Sunset Park, Forest Hills, Bensonhurst, Homecrest, Little Neck, East Village, according to sendchinatownlove.