Whose Tradition?

It has been a bad week for breathing here in Singapore. Monday morning we all woke up to the pungent, acrid smell of the smoke that blew in overnight from forest fires in Thailand, Laos and Myanmar. This happens a couple of times a year when our neighbors burn their fields for planting. The first time, just after we arrived nearly three years ago, I quickly dug out my stash of Claritin to help with my stinging eyes, runny nose, and nagging cough. 

Now, I have another option when the haze hits. Taking a page from Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), I brew up a pot of chrysanthemum tea with wolfberries, a potent combination that helps clear toxins from the body, especially the lungs, and supports the immune system. It really helps. I have been drinking it all week.

I have been an eager student of TCM and other traditional healing here in Singapore, and have added several new staples to my medicine cabinet. Herbal oils that take the sting out of bug bites and ward off headaches, a syrup that clears the sinuses and soothes the throat, little vials of pills that settle an upset tummy and make short work of a hangover, turmeric for, well, pretty much everything in the Ayurvedic tradition.

From that first “haze season” when I walked into a medicine hall in Chinatown and announced that the aunties in my husband’s office said I need to buy chrysanthemum tea, what else do I need? I have never missed a chance to ask a willing shopkeeper what was on their shelves, and what it could do for me. (The tea seller is the one who told me to add the wolfberries, by the way, she also sold me some rosebuds, jasmine, and lavender).

Since arriving in Singapore, I have taken courses in TCM and acupressure, studied tai ch’i and qi gong, bought many new books, and made at least two really spectacularly awful traditional herbal healing soups. 

I was jealous of my Asian friends who seemed to have been born knowing all of these things I was trying so hard to learn. Recently, however, I realized that, for them, all of these exotic-to-me remedies, teas and tinctures were more like my mom’s chicken soup. Something you just do to feel good.

Which brings me to an encounter I had today in my local grocery store. A Chinese man was in the canned goods aisle trying to find sauerkraut. He was disappointed in the lack of selection and I made some comment about how my husband’s grandma used to make it. He eagerly asked me if I knew what was in it. Cabbage, vinegar, spices, I guessed. He said he had tried to look it up on the internet, but couldn’t find any detailed recipes. I suggested he check his spelling, or, if he was really interested, make a trip to the German grocery store. They would likely have a better selection and maybe even someone who would be happy to tell him how to make it. 

He was very excited by the idea, didn’t know there was a German grocery, would go over there as soon as he could. He reminded me of myself setting out to figure out the wet market or track down an ingredient at a medicine hall.

I must have had a curious expression on my face, maybe he could tell I was wondering where he had developed this enthusiasm for a rather ordinary (to me) food as he answered my unasked question. “This” he said to me seriously, holding up his can of sauerkraut, “is excellent for detoxifying the system.”

I walked home through the haze, brewed a pot of chrysanthemum tea, and wondered if maybe I should have picked up a can for myself.