蒸石作 - APABICO

Photos and Text by Jasper Lo

The second poem in the collection To Go To Macau. See the first one here.

To Go To Macau is a collection of poetry. You can categorize it in both genres of cookbook and memoir, your typical Good Morning America grandmother combo. This collection attempts to answer opposing questions two SIPA students have asked me: by a Chinese student during orientation, "But you're not really Chinese right?" and by an American student at a SIPA happy hour, "You were born here? Are you American?" Within these two questions, I explore themes of diaspora, violence, masculinity, race, and migration. 

The menu (translator):

蒸石作

zing¹ daam³ zok³
APABICO

It’s this, sort of like a dumpling but different
the name comes from the Indian apa
a small pancake of dough eaten instead of rice or bread,
but the resemblance ends here –
the beak, bico is pulled and pinched together to close the filling,
sort of like a dumpling but different.

Perhaps filled with dreams of Goa
the curry of Hindus’
the biryani of Muslims’
the roasted beef tongue of Catholics’.
Taste this, a surface marker to their homes,
sort of like a dumpling, but different.

Something salty savory to start your meal, its insides
dried and preserved for the next voyage.
Apa, the one consumed in the beginning,
the first era, the salty sea, just after Good Hope.
Apa, the ones the sultan offered to his enemy
who starved rocking in the belly,
the magazine of their ships;
a hundred years ago, gunpowder in Goa.

Apa, cook the dough in a rolling boil,
let cool, and knead until soft.
Puncture a hole in the membrane,
stuff the lean pork and ha-mai
(those tiny shrimp bodies, bloated from soaking),
the chung-choy – those tart preserved squares
fried with garlic and scallions – press inside
sort of like a dumpling, but different.

Bico, close the opening and twist.
Steam until transparent,
place with space between, for their –
unlikeness,
the semantics of dumplings.