I regularly visit this hot pot restaurant with my family in Taiwan. Photo: Jui-Lang Shen.

Dunking small slices of raw meat and tossing vegetables into the pot full of simmering broth in the middle of the dining table, all of my family members are home for dinner. Having hot pot is a typical scene for a Taiwanese family during the Chinese New Year — ingredients including cabbage, bok choi, mushrooms, fish balls, pork or beef slices, all cooked in chicken or pork broth. We catch up and laugh while waiting for the food to cook.

Having hot pot was an escape for me when I was in high school. Aiming to get into the best college in Taiwan, I studied late at school for the notorious entrance exam. Wednesday was my favorite day of the week because that was when my mom would take me to a hot pot place after a long day of studying at school. We called it a “date,” while my father and younger sister stayed at home for their own date.

We talked while the food was cooking. My mom, who is a junior high school geography teacher, told me how tired she was of having to repeat the same course, eight times to eight different classes, as the school no longer hired new geography teachers and she was one of a few who hadn’t retired. I bragged about how hard I had studied for a recent simulated exam and how high I scored. We ended the date with cups of plum tea to cut the grease of a rich meal.

A perfectly-cooked slice of meat requires just 10 seconds of soaking in the boiling broth. Photo: Jui-Lang Shen.

The soothing effect of a hot pot meal travels with me, no matter where I am. It helped me survive the winter in Finland, where I chose to do my study abroad year in college, in the city of Tampere. The city only gets five hours of sunlight in winter, just enough to drive a newcomer crazy, depressed by the eternal darkness.

To cheer myself up, I threw a hot pot party and invited my friends from China, South Korea, Latvia, Spain and the U.S., who suffered as well from the depression the darkness caused. We sat around the pot, swore at the weather and complained about how we missed the sunshine in summer. I taught my Latvian friend the art of having a hot pot: dip the slim pork slices in the boiling broth for just about 10 seconds to create a perfectly-cooked, tender slice of meat. The hot pot and, ironically, “the darkness” bonded us.

The first restaurant I looked up on Yelp, when I arrived in New York, was a hot pot place. I found one in Flushing that serves a version that tastes like the one I enjoyed in Taiwan. I go to the restaurant regularly, at least once a month. Having the comfort of hot pot helped me adapt to life in the U.S.

My special attachment and love for hot pot will help me to keep moving forward. It is easy to make and always gives me something welcoming — a taste of home.

Timmy Shen

Timmy Hung-Ming Shen is an M.S. student at Columbia Journalism School, where he covers education, ethnic communities and food. Previously, he interned at PBS in Taiwan and Radio Moreeni in Finland. Back in his homeland Taiwan, he received a B.A. in journalism from National Chengchi University. He loves to cook Chinese/Taiwanese food and is addicted to hot pot. Follow him on Twitter at @timmyshen0716 or email him at hs2859@columbia.edu.