I agreed to zuo yue in part because I like the idea of participating in a cultural tradition, especially one that may have health benefits and allows me to eat special, hopefully tasty, foods.  I have vague memories as a child of my mother going through zuo yue after each of my sisters were born, 4 and 5 years after me.  My grandmother made crock pot after crock pot of the most delicious-smelling chicken soups that I wasn’t allowed to eat, which seemed supremely unfair at the time (it
still smarts, a little).

The fact that we’re living in Asia right now also makes zuo yue appealing, since I feel like I’m bringing a little bit of local culture into our new family.  I’m sure that trying to explain zuo yue to a doctor in the U.S. would be a little more challenging, but here, our Chinese Malaysian doctor, educated in the U.K., didn’t even blink when we told him about our plans.  He reassured us that there wouldn’t be any harm to the herbs and foods I’m supposed to eat, but that in his experience, most new parents zuo yue primarily to please the older generation (i.e., the new grandparents).  At the same time, he says that there hasn’t been any significant medical proof to demonstrate the health benefits of zuo yue.  For her part, my mother swears that zuo yue has made her physically in the tip-top health she’s in today, and judging by her quiet fire and teeny frame, it can’t hurt to try it.

Zuo yue is also a booming business here in Kuala Lumpur.  As soon as I stopped looking like I was eating a big lunch every day and the baby bump started to actually take form, strangers would stop me to tell me about this amazing pui yuet (confinement nanny), and how I simply must call her (but also make sure she knows not to watch too many Chinese soap operas while the baby is napping).  There are medicine shops that sell you prepackaged Chinese herbs, one package for each day, for ease of preparing the soups over the course of the month.  Confinement centers are also a popular option here, where new mothers can check in with their babies and have all their needs attended to during zuo yue.

As for me, I won’t be checking into Hotel de la Confinement anytime soon.  My pui yuet is my trusty dad, who will be arriving the day before my due date to prepare the special soups that I need to eat.  We’re also taking a more modern approach to zuo yue.  The old tradition says that since the new mother can’t get too cold, there’s no bathing for 12 days after delivery.  Also, the new mother can’t wash her hair for 21 days.  Yes, you read that right.  My mother’s convenient rationalization has come to the rescue, though, and I won’t be engaging in either of these practices because there are showers and hair dryers now, which minimize the chances I’ll get chilly.  To whoever invented both — thank you.

I plan on posting about my zuo yue foods as much as I can, but as I have no idea what’s in store for me, I can’t guarantee that the soups will be the stuff gastronomic dreams are made of.  I learned as a child that Chinese herbs can be some odious stuff.  I can’t tell you how many times I came bolting home from school as a child and poured myself a glass of what I thought was grape Kool-Aid, only to discover it was a  muddy slurry of gobo and black grass jelly.  All I can say is, hopefully you’ll sympathize with me as I try to get through the rougher-tasting stuff.

So, back to the pig foot.  Over the past week, I’ve been assembling the necessary ingredients for my dad to hit the ground running with my zuo yue diet, and the other day he requested a fresh pig’s foot, which I could freeze until he arrives.  Since my sister was still in town, we hit the market together and I picked one out, explaining to my pork guy that I needed it for zuo yue. He nodded knowingly and swung the limb off its hook, chopping the foot into more manageable pieces about the size of spare ribs.  I brought my sack of pig foot parts home, transferred them to a Ziploc freezer bag, and labeled it “Pig Foot Parts – 8/16/2010” with a Sharpie.  I don’t know how many chances I’ll have to do that in my life, so I took a moment to savor it.

Just like I’ll savor the time at home with my new little eater.

For more information on confinement practices, click here.  For more on confinement soups, click here.  For more about my mother, click here.