Like dumplings, immigrants often arrive folded by circumstance. They carry stories alongside them – stories of sacrifice, resilience, joy, and grief. Over time, their presence changes the table. New flavors become familiar. What once seemed foreign becomes comfort food. The dumpling that looked strange and even, perhaps, scary at first becomes the one you crave most.

Dear Neighbor, 

As a new Lunar New Year arrives, families across the world gather around tables filled with dumplings. Steamed, boiled, pan-fried, folded, pleated, crisped, stuffed with meat, tofu or vegetables, dumplings show up in countless forms across cultures. In Chinese tradition, they symbolize wealth and good fortune, making them obvious choices for small bites – but in truth, dumplings don’t come from just one country.

In parts of China, families fold jiaozi together, passing down recipes and stories with each pleat. In Japan, plates of gyoza fill small kitchens with delicious scents. In Korea, bowls of mandu often mark holidays and moments of togetherness. Across Eastern Europe, families much like mine gather to make pierogi, or drop dumplings individually into paprikash. In Italy, ravioli are rolled out, stuffed, and crimped closed as flour falls to the floor like snow. In Latin America, empanadas are filled with favorite foods and fried. Even here in the South, we know the comfort of chicken and dumplings soup. 

Different shapes, fillings, cooking methods, and more. Same idea, though: food as love, food as memory, and food as community.

That sounds a lot like the America I grew up in. Probably sounds a lot like yours, too.

America is not one recipe, and it’s definitely not a monoculture. Instead, we’re a colorful table filled with many dishes, shaped by people from different places, languages, and histories. Each group brings something clearly distinct – flavors, traditions, even ways of seeing the world. Some arrive with nothing but hope. Some come chasing opportunities and work. Some are fleeing hardship or violence. There’s a common thread there – every single one brings humanity and new knowledge with them.

Like dumplings, immigrants often arrive folded by circumstance. They carry stories alongside them – stories of sacrifice, resilience, joy, and grief. Over time, their presence changes the table. New flavors become familiar. What once seemed foreign becomes comfort food. The dumpling that looked strange and even, perhaps, scary at first becomes the one you crave most.

Cultural exchange works the same way. When we try foods from other cultures, we are practicing curiosity – something our children know and many of us learn to forget in the doldrums of life. Curiosity is saying, “Your story matters enough for me to know it.” Listening to the people around us (or choosing a new food to try) means letting ourselves be changed in small but often meaningful ways. It’s said that it’s hard to fear someone once you’ve shared a meal with them. It’s harder still to deny someone’s humanity after you’ve enjoyed the food they learned to make from their grandmother.

This is why immigrants matter – not just to our economy, but to our culture and our country on the whole. They help build communities that are more vibrant, more creative, more resilient. They open businesses, teach our children, heal our sick, grow our food, and create art. They remind us that America’s strength has always come from people who were once told they didn’t belong and proved otherwise.

That being said, of course, not everyone likes every dumpling. Some people prefer theirs crispy and pan-fried. Some want them steamed in bamboo racks. Some prefer meat-based fillings, others prefer vegetarian ones, and that’s perfectly okay. Diversity doesn’t require sameness, it requires simple respect. You don’t have to love every flavor to acknowledge that they deserve a place at the table – I certainly haven’t banned mushrooms, for instance, from mine.

Lunar New Year invites us to reflect on renewal, fortune, and family. It’s a moment to honor traditions that have traveled across oceans and generations to arrive here. It’s also a reminder that culture is not static, and it shouldn’t be. Without these kinds of exchanges, would folks in North Carolina know what San Francisco sourdough is? What kind of world would that be?

So this year, when you bite into a dumpling – any dumpling, pierogi, ravioli, gyoza, or empanada – consider what it represents. It’s more than a food, it’s a hand-folded reminder that the world is richer when many cultures are allowed to show up fully. In just a bite, it’s a small, delicious lesson in how diversity doesn’t dilute a nation; it feeds it.

Many dumplings, many styles, and one table. That’s an America worth keeping.

“Dear Neighbor” authors are united in a belief that civility and passion can coexist. We believe curiosity and conversation make us a better community.