f you’re a child of Chinese immigrant parents who grew up during the postwar Communist Revolution era, you’ve probably heard about their childhood birthday meals. The most special and gifted celebratory food was simply the humble egg. 

These stories are meant to evoke gratitude and privilege for the abundant access to meats and proteins that we, as their children living in this era, get to enjoy. Proteins, especially pork and beef, were scarce during years of Mao’s China. In the middle of twentieth century China, families were forced to use commodity ration coupons (liang piao 粮票) for essentials—unless, of course, you came from the super wealthy upper class.

Rationing was meant to solve the limited food supply available for a country of tens of millions. The programs were designed to ensure that, under the collective system, everyone got their fair share. 

Although I can’t speak to how fair the rationing distributed food at the time, the stories of single egg birthdays and annual meals of beef and pork are still with me. The ingenuity of families during that era, how they made so little go so far, made those stories (and those meals) all the more special  

My ancestors settled in the Sichuan province and I was born and raised in Chengdu. We believed that every meal should be special and bring you closer together in remembering how much things had changed. 

In Chinese culture, the Sichuan region is often referred to as “The Land of Plenty.” The unique and diverse geography of the region lends itself to producing an abundance of livestock, freshwater fish, herbs and spices, and crops. There’s no concept of a “foodie,” in Chengdu because food is a fundamental part of our cultural identity; everyone from the region takes pride in being  food-obsessed.

In my family, Grandpa Li was responsible for our love of food. A war vet, and former restaurant owner, Grandpa Li was also an amazing chef. He instilled in us the value of always setting an intention before sitting down to eat. He made sure there was always joy when a meal was shared with family. To make family meals feel less depressing during these lean years of rationing, Grandpa would get very creative with ingredients and whip up all kinds of pork sliver dishes. 

There’s a whole genre of recipes in Sichuan cuisine where pork slivers (AKA shredded pork) is stir-fried with vegetables. These dishes have always been part of Chinese cuisine, but became a mainstay for many families during the rationing era. During weeks when families could trade in coupons for pork, the amount allotted to a family for the entire week was often no bigger than the size of a grown man’s fist. 

Pork sliver dishes are a great way to make a small amount of protein, if used sparingly, go further than one serving. A single allotment of pork could be made into multiple meals throughout the week in the hands of a skilled cook. When deciding on how much pork to portion out, Grandpa used to say  “just enough to flavor the pan.” Since fuel was also another commodity that fell under rationing, cooking quickly and efficiently was another mark of an accomplished chef. Meat and vegetables were cut extra fine so they could be prepared and eaten at a moment’s notice.

The era of rationing and bartering is not that far in the past, but I’d like to think that sliver pork dishes are highly underrated outside of China. They’re long overdue for some mainstream notoriety and reappraisal. 

With the impact of factory farming, and the industrial practices fueling global warming, it’s past time we re-examine our own eating habits. Pork sliver dishes should be enjoying a newfound relevance—except this time, we’re privileged enough to be able to choose to cook these meals instead of families being forced to cook this way. They use minimal amounts of meat and act more as a flavouring component than a main course.

In Chinese Cuisine, these dishes are considered, “common home cooking” (jiacangcai 家常菜) and like most beloved 家常菜, their genius lies in the details of their simplicity.  For one, a proper pork sliver dish must be cut into small thin strips so it can be well cooked within seconds of hitting the hot wok. That way, the pork achieves both tenderness and a slight chew.

The meat is also marinated with a few essential components. First, comes the flavoring, which is usually some combination of soy sauce, white pepper, minced ginger, and, yes, MSG (don’t @ me, #teammsg4eva). The second element is water. You add this to keep the meat moist during cooking. And the  final ingredient, tapioca starch, acts like a protective shell to keep the meat from overcooking and retain its juiciness.
Here’s one of my favourites: