To rest or not to rest?

Advice from a bilingual ball of scallion pancake dough

Due to choice, compulsion, and perhaps even chance, I’ve been taking a break recently: from the educational system, from labor, from a well trodden or clearly marked path. Though the space for contemplation has made me anxious and restless at times, slowing down has proved nourishing. In the silence between me and the world, I’ve been listening inward for what I need, writing down what I hear into a manual for how to make the machine (me) run smoothly and happily. At the top: homemade comfort food.

A few weeks ago, my mom taught me how to make 葱油饼 (green onion pancakes). I’ve been eating these pan-fried, savory pancakes for forever, so I appreciate a good one when I eat it: crispy on the outside, flaky on the inside.

For the layers in the pancake, we set aside a plate of sliced green onions and an oil and flour mixture. We mixed flour, salt, water, and oil together for the dough. But before this springy ball of dough could be rolled into a pancake, it had to rest. Unrested dough is a tight bundle that snaps back into place. Resting allows the gluten to expand and absorb water, making well-rested dough pliable and have better taste and texture.¹ Sure, the dough is just sitting in a bowl, covered in plastic wrap, but inside, it’s undergoing significant transformations.

Actually, my mom didn’t say the dough had to rest. She said the dough had to 醒 (xǐng), to wake up. Seems like the opposite of resting.

But is there not continuity between deciding to rest and waking up? The space in between -- can we call that coming to life? Do we not need to regroup before moving forward in the right direction? If you have the privilege -- no! I’m not ready to be rolled out into a pancake yet! -- resting can make a moment of stasis an awakening.

I won’t deny the restlessness, nor the stickiness of how I feel about myself and how I think others think of me to what I’m doing or not doing. (And the irrelevance of it all). I’ve often felt an internal tension between Chinese and American cultures -- quiet humility versus confident self promotion, for example -- and in my experience, a contextual mix of both sets of values works best. Perhaps even letting each set of values transform the other.

But dough can rest for too long (it’s called over-proofing), making it collapse and taste funky. One baker literally calls over-proofed dough less resilient, deflating from just a light nudge. The solution to over-proofed dough? Re-mix it by folding or gently punching it down.

So even if I do wake-rest for too long, so long that I deflate into a puffy, structureless ball of Jell-O, a little knock-down out there will set me right again. But for now, I can trust that in resting I am waking, and that there are active transformations occurring within me, even if just the digestion of green onion pancakes.

1. Effect of resting time on water distribution and gluten formation of dough

---