For the last few days I've been cooking up a storm, making traditional Chinese meals. Maybe it's my pregnancy cravings but instead of wanting fatty foods or things I normally find appealing, I've been longing for a taste of home; home that I used to know when I was a little girl.

Today I spent 4 hours stewing a pot of dried cabbage and pork bone soup. In the Chinese culture, the art of making soup for the family is a task that a good traditional wife ought to perfect. It was essential to have a pot of soup for "mon fon" (dinner) along with other complimentary dishes. The soup takes center stage to the rest of the meal. After years of studying from her mother and grandmother, a wife will learn to perfect her own soup using traditional ingredients, expensive herbs and spices, and most importantly, time. A good pot of soup will usually stew for a few hours. The soup is beautifully done when all the nutrients are entirely cooked out of the ingredients; they call this having enough fire power.

I am usually not one of those you would call a traditional Chinese girl. I have not mastered the art of Chinese cooking and I certainly do not need to eat rice in order to feel full. As I grow older and have a home of my own, I often long for the taste of foods that I once find unsophisticated and odd. Take the dried cabbage soup for example, my mother used to spend hours trying to convince me to drink it for good health. I would never have thought that, one day, I would seek and long for that familiar taste that I can't describe. I hope to continue to learn and master the art of Chinese cooking. As I begin to think more about how to raise my family, I realized that I long to teach them the culture and language that is instilled inside of me.