Wendy Zeng grew up watching the Food Network. It would be a regular fixture on her television as a child, and even all through university. It was something that we instantly connected over, as the Food Network was also a program that my sister and I were absolutely transfixed by as children, before we were even allowed to use a stove or oven. Fast forward several years to 2021 and Wendy has been crowned as the winner of Chopped 420, a cannabis-centered spinoff competition of the iconic series. A truly full circle moment. Since then, Wendy has been at the forefront of the culinary cannabis movement, providing education and accessible options when it comes to the responsible consumption of this exciting new branch of cooking.
Before meeting Wendy, I had familiarized myself with her work through articles, interviews and social media. However, meeting her in person and hearing her talking about her food philosophy allowed for an even deeper level of connection and understanding. I could feel the richness of her experiences through the way that she talked about food, culture and community – what it is like evolving through food, re-learning what it means to be a chef through the immigrant’s experience, and gaining new appreciation of togetherness through connecting with like-minded individuals.
As I walked through the front gate of Wendy’s home in East LA, I was greeted by her two French Terriers, Stella and Luna. Wendy welcomed me into the house through the screen door and as I entered the abode, I was immediately embraced by a powerful sense of character and home. The living room wall was covered from floor to ceiling with a kitschy-cool wallpaper, perfectly complemented by a plush velvet green sofa. Plenty of plants were hanging from the ceilings, their tendril-like leaves hanging lazily towards the ground. Much like Wendy, the house was a vibrant reflection of layers and stories that unfold endlessly.
Wendy later explained to me that she and her husband recently bought the house and completely refurbished the exterior so that it could be a space to host Mogu Magu events – an AAPI food, culture, and cannabis collective that Wendy co-founded. Here, they host weekly events where guests can come and connect over a love of food and cannabis through an Asian feminist lens. Wendy even grows her own szechuan peppers in the garden. As the afternoon unfolded, we continued to talk about growing up in North America and how that affected our relationship with food.
As I’ve grown older, it’s heart-wrenching to realize how many immigrant-raised children have gone through similar experiences as myself – being ridiculed for bringing “stinky” ethnic hot lunches to school, begging our parents to let us pack Lunchables or sandwiches to school instead. There is a striking disconnect between being shaped by such significant culture and traditions, and the fear of being othered as a child, an experience that has shaped many of the boundary-pushing creatives that I’ve been lucky to meet through LANG.
As Wendy cooks one of her favorite eggplant dishes, inspired by her grandfather’s family recipe, we continue to chat about how food is inherently political, her desire to build a space for intentional consumption and how she refuses to compromise her food any longer. You can read our conversation with Wendy Zeng below.
LANG: What is your food philosophy? How did you first get started cooking with cannabis?
Wendy Zeng: Food brings people together and forges connections to the earth and each other, which is so core to our human experience. This guides my personal relationship with food and when I’m cooking for others. We only have a finite number of meals we get to eat in a lifetime so every meal counts and has a purpose, even if the purpose is simple like carving out a moment to be fully immersed in the pleasures of eating. I try to challenge myself to grow as a chef and organizer by asking myself, “How can I use food as my medium to bring people together and facilitate deeper connections?”
The very first time I cooked with cannabis was making brownies with my college roommate and we ended up overdosing ourselves. Hahaha. Back then we didn’t have the kind of widespread access to information on how to properly dose like we have now. We bought an “eighth” so that was the measurement we were familiar with and we put the entire eighth in 1 pan of brownies, which is a really high dose. I was so high I could barely move – stared at the ceiling for hours thinking, “Am I going to be high forever?” That experience made me curious to figure out how to properly dose and the importance of sharing that knowledge so everyone can get the experience they signed up for.
My first cannabis pop-up was designed all around the idea of proper dosing and spreading knowledge. We had dosage guides, CBD mocktails, low dose options for a steady build up of moderate dosing, pairings, and non-dosed options.
L: How does your approach to food and cooking tie into your identity as an Asian American?
WZ: Food is political whether we want it to be or not. People have always been diasporic due to political shifts throughout history and food has evolved with those shifts. Food has the power to tell stories of immigrant experiences and reveal truths about our humanity beyond nations and borders. Being an immigrant is to live in the in-between, not belonging or fitting in anywhere while simultaneously co-opting influences wherever we occupy. My approach to cooking has been to celebrate the diverse food cultures I’ve been influenced by on my immigrant journey, from Chengdu in Sichuan province of China to Memphis to Los Angeles. I’m an avid traveler and I travel by eating my way through each destination. I’m always fascinated to learn how other people created deliciousness from the resources and diasporic cultures they had access to. That’s what drew me to eating and traveling, so it’s the same way I’m influenced to create.
I try to stay authentic to my individual experience, not to overpolice myself about “authenticity” because that almost feels like I can’t evolve and experiment. Even Asian food itself is so diasporic and ever-evolving within the continent with so many nuanced regional cuisines.
L: What was your evolution as a chef like, learning to embrace your cultural identity through your cooking?
WZ: Being from a place like Chengdu, I can’t help but be proud of my food cultural heritage. I feel incredibly privileged to have been born to and immersed in such a food and leisure loving culture. Sichuan’s diverse geography and climates offer an abundance of regional specialties you can’t find anywhere else in China. The whole province is full of picky foodies who seem to be in competition with each other in search of the next delicious food craze. The food-obsessed Sichuanese people keep the quality and variety of the food scene constantly innovating and getting more delicious.
Coming to America, the lens on food and food media is very Western-centric, so often the perception of Chinese food is reduced to a monolithic stereotype and all that vast regional nuance is lost. I want my food to get people interested in a more nuanced understanding of other cultures.
L: What are some of the obstacles or judgments that you’ve had to face as a chef cooking within the cannabis space?
WZ: Some people still carry stigma about cannabis and they are quick to dismiss cooking with cannabis as gimmicky or they imagine people being too high and messy at infused dinners. I’m sure that’s out there but most chefs I know in the space are just passionate about expanding possibilities for new culinary experiences and they’re really about promoting responsible consumption. Whether it’s showing people what it feels like to have precision low-doses throughout a multicourse dinner or events that incorporate cannabis in holiday traditions, all of these efforts help build better education and new associations.
L: What is Mogu Magu and what is your vision for the collective?
WZ: Mogu Magu is an AAPI food, culture, and cannabis collective. The literal translation of “mogu magu” means mushroom weed auntie. Mogu sounds like the word for mushroom in Chinese and Magu refers to the hemp goddess of longevity found in Daoism. When Christina and I first learned about this Magu figure, it led us to learn so much about cannabis’ roots in China. So many people, myself included, did not know Cannabis was first discovered in Western China. In ancient Chinese texts, cannabis is mentioned in the "Shennong Ben Cao Jing," which is one of the oldest known pharmacopeias in Traditional Chinese Medicine. Our people have been healing by consuming this plant since the beginning. It’s only right that we are a part of its modern narrative. We wanted to create a space for connecting over our love of food and cannabis from an Asian feminist perspective, so we started hosting Mogu Magu gatherings.
We refer to our collective as a “potluck” model. I generally cook the food but the attendees bring everything else to make it special. Many of the attendees are entrepreneurs and creatives in the space so they come bearing gifts like their products, services, and expertise. It’s a great place to get honest feedback from the homies, support each other in the industry, and learn with and from each other. Although there’s an abundance of products to imbibe, the focus on culture is front and center. There’s a lot of storytelling, sharing of traditions and building new ones, and food and cannabis workshops. My hope is that people leave feeling more seen and connected with each other so we can create collective healing that reverberates.
L: You’re known for your vibrant green hair. How would you describe your sense of style and how does it play into your sense of self-representation?
WZ: So much of my childhood and 20s has been occupying spaces where I’m “supposed to” fit in. I see other people around me presenting and behaving in ways also striving to “fit in.” I’m not immune to that pressure and I try to fit in too but everytime I try, I just feel more alone and out of place. At the end of the day, I have to occupy this body as I move through the world so I shifted how I thought about “fitting in” to mean more about feeling more like myself. I feel the most comfortable when the outside matches the inside and generally the inside has a sense of brightness and vibrancy.
My style inspos change a lot but it’s always centered on how the pieces make me feel. I often find myself holding paradoxical feelings at the same time so I like pairing aesthetics that are unexpected.
L: Can you tell us a little bit more about the dish that you’re making today? How does it represent you as a chef?
WZ: The dish I made today is inspired by two dishes that my grandpa taught me how to make. The sauce is a play on Yu Xiang Eggplant (鱼香茄子), which is a Sichuan Eggplant Stir Fry dish using “yu xiang” or fish-fragrant seasoning. There’s no fish in the actual dish but it’s a famous seasoning combination that’s often used to cook fish. It’s one of the dishes my grandpa taught me how to make when I was 8. When we moved to Memphis when I was 10, I made it with my parents all the time and it was one of my favorite things to eat.
When I turned 18, we finally got our green card and felt enough of a sense of security to go back to China to visit family. I was so excited to eat Chengdu food, especially grandpa’s food. On that trip, my grandpa taught me how to make stuffed eggplants that he called “pies.”
This recipe is an adapted version with some of my own tweaks to it like the super light crispy batter. It perfectly describes my origin story: Chengdu bred, Grandpa taught, and doing it my way from all the inspirations I found along the way.
L: What makes someone LANG?
WZ: LANG is someone having that main character energy. Someone who you can feel the energy shift when they enter the room. LANG is the “shiny” part of the Chinese term for “pretty,” which I think refers to the part of us that’s so undeniably ourselves that it needs to be seen.
Photographer: Daniel Nguyen
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