Flushing

Photo: Michael Kirby

A black woman in Asian Flushing

I’m sitting at a round table at dim sum restaurant Ocean Jewels in Flushing, Queens (133-30 39th Ave between College Point Blvd and Prince St, 718-359-8600), surrounded by a mix of East Asian–Americans speaking a variety of unfamiliar languages while ordering various dishes from the countless carts wheeled around by mom-aged women in pink polo shirts and cranberry-colored aprons. The food is not even close to familiar. Well, I do recognize one or two things: steamed shrimp dumplings and chicken feet. For the rest, I have to rely on my guide and translator, Amanda Heng. I tell her that I don’t eat chicken or beef, and definitely not pork. She smiles and says: “This should be interesting.”

When I was planning this trip to the heart of Asian culture in New York—imagine whatever block you live on, except every sign is in Chinese or Korean—I wondered if the long-held, often dramatized tension between Asian-Americans and African-Americans (’sup, Spike Lee; hey, Dave Chappelle) would manifest itself in any way. Even though I was born and raised in Canada and grew up embracing multiculturalism, I was apprehensive. After all, I am not just a journalist, I am a black journalist.

Sago Tea Café

Photo: Michael Kirby

We share our table with a middle-aged couple, who say little to each other and nothing to us as they push plates around in front of them. I persuade Amanda, the manager of communications and external affairs for Chinatown’s Museum of Chinese in the Americas, to ask them a few questions. The wife doesn’t hesitate to answer and even smiles my way while Amanda tells me that their names are Mr. and Mrs. Zhang, they are originally from Hong Kong and they’ve been living in Queens for 13 years. The four of us don’t speak much after that.

“Food is a big social activity with Asian people in Flushing,” Amanda says later, waving off the umpteenth dish offered to us by the dim sum–cart ladies. It was cow’s stomach lining, she tells me once the cart pushes off. “An acquired taste,” she adds.

We settle our bill (only $18.49, pretip) and cross the street to the Flushing Mall (133-31 39th Ave between College Point Blvd and Prince St, 718-888-1980). It’s more marketplace than a traditional Starbucks-and–American Eagle Outfitters megamall; there’s a colorful grocery store that sells delicacies from Hong Kong and Taiwan. On the second floor, we come across young girls learning to play the Chinese harp, smiling and chatting with each other. It reminds me of my piano lessons back in the day, except that I didn’t laugh so much.

In a nondescript room next to the harp class, a man paces up and down, all while gesturing energetically at two young boys sitting before him. He’s teaching them the art of xiangqi, a.k.a. Chinese chess—it’s similar to Western chess, but quicker, and the pieces are small discs of wood or plastic, with Chinese ideograms on top. The boys look bored. Their mother sits at the corner of the table taking notes, as their father nods at the coach’s instructions.

Flushing

Photo: Michael Kirby

Amanda has to leave, and I’m on my own—awkward, and the only non-Asian person in this place. I walk into Pharaohdise Collectibles (718-359-2220), a sports and gaming cards and collectibles store. Amanda had mentioned that it’s a big teen-boy haunt. (If anyone knows about feeling awkward, it’s nerdy teenage boys.) There are three 12-year-old kids playing Yu-Gi-Oh!, a popular Japanese anime trading-card game (also familiar to viewers of the Cartoon Network). They try to explain the rules to me, but cut to the chase with this: “You win by kicking their ass.” Good enough. Later, as I chat with the store owner, one of the 12-year-olds interrupts to let me know that they are not losers. “We have lives,” he says, and asks me to be sure to “write that down.” Done.

I make my way to highly recommended Sago Tea Café (39-02 Main St at 39th Ave, 718-353-2899), a bubble-tea joint that sits on a bustling corner. On weekends it’s open until 2am, and it’s a prime hang for young people returning from movies and clubs in Manhattan. Today, it’s buzzing with Asian-American families, teen girls and couples. I ask the pair seated next to me what brought them to the café. “We’re here for the food!” says the wife in flawless English.

I’m about to order when I see something even more familiar than shrimp dumplings come out from the kitchen. It’s a plate of french fries, and oddly—or maybe embarrassingly—I feel at ease. Throughout my visit, I realize now, I hadn’t felt fear or pride or Spike Lee–like fury—just homesickness.—Nicole Blades

55% of Flushing residents are Asian-American