My husband believes everyone should work in a restaurant. “Our son will be a waiter. He needs to learn hard work,” he declared, ignoring the fact that our toddler still eats with his hands. Whenever we go out to eat, he offers commentary about the service and insights into the job. In his eyes, waiting tables builds confidence and interpersonal skills; it is a transformative experience. Compared to his years in fine dining, my food service knowledge consists of a six-week stint making cheesy gordita crunches at Taco Bell. I’ve always taken his word for it. However, I learned how life-changing restaurants can be after reading Curtis Chin’s debut, Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant.

The restaurant in question is Chung’s Cantonese Cuisine, his family’s business in Detroit. Set in the 1980s, Chin recounts the ways his family, his city, and his identity have evolved. He knew from a young age that he was gay; after being teased by a cousin over a classmate in school and mocked by a waiter for dancing to Diana Ross, Chin hid his sexuality from his family and friends. When his family moved to the suburbs, his desire to fit in with his white peers led him to become a young Republican, a decision he held onto until he came out in college. This memoir is a journey toward self-acceptance, a right Chin denied himself for most of his adolescence while in search of approval from those around him.

Portrait of Curtis Chin, author or "Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant."
Photo credit Michelle Li, Studio Plum Photography

At Chung’s, Chin learned about Detroit and his community. People from all walks of life came to his family’s restaurant. Even though his parents tried to shield their children from the dangers in their neighborhood, Chin was no stranger to violence and crime. In one passage, he describes himself as a small child who was “Rapunzeled” by his mother because of Big Foot–the “serial killer with size 14 shoes who had raped and murdered seven prostitutes on [his] block.” The murder of Vincent Chin, a family acquaintance of no relation, weaves its tale and repercussions throughout the book and underscores the racism Chin himself experienced at school, in the restaurant, and in the suburbs. When the cops tried to falsely accuse Chin and his brothers of playing on the school’s roof, his mother defended them, calling out the cops’ racism—a prideful moment for her children.

His parents were quiet sources of strength. When the city took away the restaurant’s parking spots for a bus lane, his mother approached the mayor while he dined at Chung’s to advocate for her customers who had been mugged while walking to the private lot across the street. The next morning, the parking spots were open once again. His father, Big Al, encouraged his children to speak with every customer and demonstrated kindness and empathy with every interaction. 

This memoir is a journey toward self-acceptance, a right Chin denied himself for most of his adolescence while in search of approval from those around him.

However, Chin isn’t afraid to expose the darker sides of his family’s humanity; they aren’t perfect, and he knows it. He frequently references the fights they had and the sacrifices he made for them. In an act of fairness, Chin extends the same courtesy to himself. He frequently acknowledges his errors and flaws. In one particularly heartbreaking story, Chin describes an interaction with a drag queen where no one comes out looking good. Instead of trying to gloss over the imperfections, he uses these moments to illustrate his–and his family’s–growth and the stress that comes with it.

Despite some of the darker themes in the story, Chin utilizes a conversational tone that has more hope and positivity than despair and negativity. After describing a time when his grandmother–his Ngin-Ngin–yelled at him, he writes, “Her sweets were so tasty, they made me forget how sour she could be.” While reflecting on an AIDS news segment and how President Reagan had a hard time even saying the word “AIDS,” Chin muses, “Maybe the Great Communicator needed to be pulled aside and given speech lessons.” By the time you finish the book, you feel that better days are on the horizon. Chin forces his readers to face the injustices of 1980s Detroit and the tensions he encountered within his family and himself; in the end, he has you rooting for everyone.

The most impressive part of Everything I Learned is that there is a lesson for everyone in this memoir. I was not expecting to find a nuanced parenting case study. We live in a time where phrases like “break the cycle” and “generational trauma” are featured all over parenting books and Instagram accounts. It would be easy to dismiss Chin’s family as manipulative. Many would say they didn’t let Chin explore his life as a young man. For example, he was forced to apply to college when he didn’t want to and wasn’t allowed to go on a trip to California after his grandmother suffered a stroke. I don’t yet know how I would handle those situations as a parent, but I understand the desire to protect your children and provide a better life for them. Chin and his parents offer a look into the delicate balance between protector and supporter.

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