Stick Figures

Looking back at The Mortar so far, we’ve had some pretty long stories. And also some pretty heavy stories. I love that stuff, so expect to see more of it, but today’s selection is shorter, lighter, and ideal for reading on the move. I’d love to know what you think to it, and to The Mortar as a whole, so if you have anything you’d like to say, please just hit reply and let me have your suggestions, comments or questions. I promise I’ll reply to everyone!

Decades of moving around – first from China to Canada, and then from rental to rental in Toronto – meant that my parents amassed a small army of chopsticks, adding to the collection each time we settled in a new home. When I open up their kitchen drawer, I’m confronted with a stockpile of mismatched chopsticks of varying lengths, colours and materials, a frustrating collection that requires some excavating to find a matching pair. Desperate to be different, I decided I would invest in a set when I moved into my first apartment. Something ornate and decorated with paintings of orchids, elegant and far from the clutter of my childhood. This dream pair would serve excitement with each meal and, crucially, wouldn’t require rummaging.

It was easier said than done: mass-produced chopsticks proliferate in kitchen supply stores. They’re crafted from easy-to-splinter wood or bamboo, shiny plastic that makes loud clicking sounds or slippery steel that turns saucy dishes into a challenge akin to an obstacle course on Wipeout. None of the chopsticks within my budget were the beautiful utensils of my dreams: delicate, engraved wood, both easy-to-use and beautiful. In the end, I settled for a set of wooden chopsticks with Hello Kitty printed on the tops in shiny lacquered plastic, promising myself that one day, perhaps when I visit Asia, I’d buy that lifelong treasured pair.

I’m not the first to search for the perfect set: Chopsticks have been around for millennia and evolved to fit changing needs. The oldest identified pair popped up in China during the Shang dynasty (around 1600-1046 BCE). “No one knows exactly when chopsticks were invented,” says Chen Shen, a co-chief curator at Toronto’s Royal Ontario Museum (ROM), home to hundreds of chopsticks spanning thousands of years. Shen says they probably became common about 3,000 years ago, based on information about cooking and common types of dishes identified by archeologists.

They also discovered that the first chopsticks were likely used for cooking, rather than eating. “There were a lot of stews at that time, so if you wanted to dig out goodies, it was easiest to use chopsticks.” They were often made of ivory, or bamboo and wood (though these decomposed, so they’re lost to history). However, emperors and other nobles had silver chopsticks, since they believed the metal would change colour to alert the diner to the presence of poison.

Around 500 BCE, the teacher and scholar Confucius gained fame throughout China and popularized chopsticks along with his teachings. A strict vegetarian, Confucius found knives and stabbing food too violent. “The knife goes away from the table because it represents death and war, so it shouldn’t be where you gathered with food and your friends,” says Gwen Adams, the collections specialist for Japan, China and Korea at the ROM.

By 500 CE, chopsticks had spread around East and Southeast Asia via the Silk Road, arriving first in the Korean peninsula where Chinese influence was strong. Soon, they crossed the East Sea and landed in Japan, eventually making their way to what is now Taiwan, Mongolia, Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam.

Despite how much the storied implement has travelled, modern chopsticks aren’t that different from ancient ones, with just a few small tweaks along the way. In China, they’re long and blunt, which makes them useful for communal eating. In Japan, they’re shorter and tapered at the end, for precision when picking through fish bones. And in Korea, they’re made of metal and are flat, so it’s easier to pick out chunks in stew.

Chopsticks weren’t just utensils, mind you, they were representations of the owners who often customized them with etched poems and proverbs. Up until the late 1800s and early 1900s, people in China also carried their chopsticks and knives (making a post-Confucius comeback) in ornate holsters. These were often made of brass or pewter, and the wealthy decorated theirs with miniature paintings, along with precious silver or tortoiseshell. “When you arrived at someone’s home, you would bring your own chopsticks and they would be super elaborate to show off your wealth,” Adams explains.

With the industrial revolution, ornate chopsticks fell out of fashion, as factories made it possible for people to have multiple sets. Today, mass-produced pairs are basically the only affordable option, and wooden single-use chopsticks have taken over. Their convenience, despite splinters, outweighs the beauty of ancient, personalized sets.

Still, the objects carry a lot of symbolism. Shen keeps a pair specially for some of his favorite visitors: “Even today, when my son and his girlfriend come over for dinner, I have a designated pair for them – for hygienic reasons, but also because they symbolize their identity.” When I look in my cutlery drawer, I see a mishmash of chopsticks; the ghosts of takeout orders past mixed in with my Hello Kitty chopsticks and a few I’ve amassed as gifts (or perhaps lifted from fancy restaurants) throughout the years.

Though I still crave my own special pair, for now, I take good care of my Hello Kitty chopsticks, washing them by hand so the print doesn’t fade in the dishwasher. Regardless, eight years of using them as my primary utensil has worn down the tapered ends.

And despite the initial dread that I’m turning into my parents, my drawer of mismatched, mass-produced, multi-coloured chopsticks brings me comfort each time I dig through it before sitting down to eat.

Serviette is a magazine about food: the people who grow and produce it, the distances we travel to eat it, and all the ways it’s tangled up with culture, science, history, and design. To see more from them, subscribe to the magazine, or sign up for the newsletter.

Rebecca Gao (she/her) is a journalist in Toronto obsessed with food and pop culture. She has bylines in publications like Bon Appetit, Chatelaine, Toronto Life and Elle, and is the brain behind Every Corner, a newsletter dedicated to restaurants.

Haley Jiang is an illustrator who tells conceptual stories through dreamy scenes, vibrant colours, and organic motifs. Her works are soft and intimate. She weaves her experience and emotion to illustrate a world where the lines between reality and feelings morph into an ambiguous imagery. Through poetic storytelling, she constantly seeks ways to evoke a quiet reflection on people’s connection with the internal and external world. You can see more of her work on Instagram.

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