Two Chefs Channel Childhood Memories Into The Stop AAPI Hate Dinner Series

Kevin Tien and Tim Ma share food memories and difficult stories for their new project.

chefs tim ma and kevin tien
Chefs Tim Ma, left, and Kevin Tien. | Photography by Cris Zuniga, design by Grace Han for Thrillist
Chefs Tim Ma, left, and Kevin Tien. | Photography by Cris Zuniga, design by Grace Han for Thrillist

Much of the Asian culinary experience begins long before you take your first bite, when you’re summoned to the table by the scent of crackling fish skin or nutty sesame oil. Or while you and your family are sitting at dim sum on a Sunday afternoon, getting quick whiffs of dishes in silver tins as the carts whizz by. But sometimes it’s as simple as a Filet-o-Fish.

“As a kid, I ate a lot of McDonald’s. That’s probably why I love the smell,” says James Beard-nominated chef Kevin Tien, who now owns contemporary Vietnamese restaurant, Moon Rabbit, inside of Washington DC’s Intercontinental Hotel, and co-founded Chefs Stopping AAPI Hate alongside Chef Tim Ma.

Tien laughs as he recalls memories of his great-grandfather, who would go on long walks around the neighborhood in the afternoon—not returning until late at night. Tien says that while the family patriarch’s whereabouts were always a mystery to the family, he knew that he was sneakily going to McDonald’s. At night, he would bring home 29-cent hamburgers for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Tien was so inspired that he included a Vietnamese version of the Filet-o-Fish on his menu at Moon Rabbit. This dish incorporates a house made curry milk bun topped with Japanese furikake seasoning, catfish is marinated in aromatic lemongrass, fish sauce, and turmeric, dipped in crispy panko bread crumbs and fried off before getting finished with tartar sauce, dill, and some classic iceberg lettuce.

As an Asian in America, having a grandparent or parent who loves fast food is, perhaps, a near universal experience. While heading to your local McDonald’s might seem like a typical American experience—for immigrants it is a novel one, a newly accessible one, and one that makes you feel, in Tien’s words, “like an American doing American things.” 

“Maybe it’s passed down now, or it’s imprinted in my DNA,” Tien says, “I’m not sure, but when I’m stressed out, or even when I want to celebrate, I get fast food.”

The attempt to assimilate into American culture is a hallmark of the experience of growing up Asian in this country—one that chef Ma knows well. He recalls being beaten up and bullied while spending his adolescence in rural Arkansas, where his family settled after moving to the States from Taiwan. At one point, a brick came soaring through his family’s window, a poignant reminder that they remained outsiders to the community.

chefs kevin tien and tim ma
Chefs Kevin Tien and Tim Ma prepare meals for the Stop AAPI Hate dinner series. | Photography by Vina Sananikone

“I think of the word shame and I think of the word embarrassed. I certainly did not enjoy being Asian at that moment,” Ma says. “It was really this traumatic experience of just getting shit on for being myself.”

After watching the uptick in anti-Asian crimes throughout the country this past year, those upsetting childhood memories have bubbled to the surface. For both Ma and Tien, these racially motivated aggressions, often taken out on the elderly, keep them painfully aware of the danger their own loved ones continue to incur daily—just for being themselves.

It was bearing this emotional burden that led them to start Chefs Stopping AAPI Hate, an organization that snowballed from one charity dinner in DC into somewhat of a movement, now making its way across the country to New York City, San Francisco, and now Detroit for AAPI Heritage Month. Each dinner calls upon five separate chefs to create a dish, culminating in a five-course takeout meal, and raising funds for local and national AAPI-led charities.

For Ma, it was always food that he returned to when he needed a sense of comfort growing up. While his parents decided to raise him to only speak English and would later introduce him as their “American son” to protect him from more racially charged attacks, he was still able to embrace his Taiwanese culture. Ma has fond memories of digging into whole fish with fried soybeans, and folding potstickers around the family table. 

These poignant moments now translate into Ma’s culinary milestones, like hurriedly folding dumplings with his parents the day before a restaurant opening, or even naming his spot inside the Eaton Hotel in DC American Son, in honor of the sacrifices they made during his lifetime. At his newest establishment, Lucky Danger, Ma introduced that same fish dish with fried soybeans he used to enjoy as a kid on the opening menu. 

Food is how these chefs not only give love but attempt to dispel the hate, and Tien adds that it is oftentimes through food that immigrants are able to reclaim their culture, as well. 

“The first time I ever had a big group of Asian friends was in college, while I was working at a sushi restaurant. We were so close knit, and it was my first time finally feeling more Asian than American,” says Tien. “I spent all this time growing up being taught how to be American, to fit in, and then I was like, ‘Whoa, this is awesome.’ We would cook together and go to Vietnamese restaurants. I felt like I was a Vietnamese person again.”

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Austa Somvichian-Clausen is a freelance food and travel writer, who lives in Brooklyn with her girlfriend and two fur babies. She called DC home for many years—attending American University and then working for National Geographic and The Hill. Follow her on Instagram.