Candice Chung's memoir, Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You, explores her complex relationship with her family and how their culture influences their ability to be vulnerable with one another. Candice was estranged from her aging parents for over a decade due to a relationship they didn't approve of, the end of which gives her an opportunity to try to reconnect. Candice uses food as a centre for a journey through her adut life, and how emtionally unavailable parents impact all facets of her life.

I want to start by saying I see the vision, and I know exactly what this book was *trying* to do and I think the concept is beautiful. The narrative ebbs and flows - the reader gets a piece of the puzzle that is the author and her parents, then how this has effected another part of her life, rinse and repeat. The attachment we are allowed to develop to our parents has an unfathomable effect on all other relationships throughout our life, so this si a really solid foundation. Unfortunately I think the parents are not central enough given the title and premise of the book. The story veers too far away from the central themes too often and, not saying I want people to be miserable, but I'm not engaged in stories about people having nice albeit boring relationships.

I was excited to read this book because I loved Crying in H Mart and I had a feeling they would be similar due to the blurb, which is not a good comparison. I am a very empathetic reader and it is not often that I don't get emotional reading a memoir, but I feel like this book didn't go deep enough. The author tells us: my parents don't use their words to express their emotions - and it really doesn't go much deeper than that. I do think the writing was really unique and I would love to read literary fiction by this author if that ever came about.

3.5
I expected a bit more from this memoir, and I was disappointed by how it turned out.
I can see what Candice Chung tried to do here - mixing memories from her parents, stories of food (she is a restaurant reviewer), and reflections on food and identity, a lot of them quotes from books she loves (Deborah Levy, one of my favourite authors, features heavily). She relies on these quotes a lot, and it felt a bit artificial at times - like she was trying to reach a certain word count, or gain a credibility that I would have given her without the literary quotes. Overall I found it pleasant but it didn't quite work for me as a food memoir.

A big part of the book was centred around her new relationship with "the geographer" and reminiscence of her previous relationship with "the psychic reader", and her distant relationship with her parents, but their lovely outings to restaurants she is reviewing.

I felt she had all the right ingredients for a great book but used too much of this and not enough of that. If I was asked, I would say this is a book about new love or new relationships, not particularly a memoir centred around food. Which is fine but not what I wanted to read.

Free ARC sent by Netgalley.

Memoir orbiting food and its meanings
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To be honest, the reason is because it’s kind of a given, that your children are wanted and loved; the other side of the coin is that you’re beholden to generations before you, not least your parents. However, they say it in other ways; I find it funny that Chung omits the one thing that all Chinese parents say to their kids: ‘Have you eaten yet?’ As if there’s a meal ready to be laid out at the first sign of peckishness.

Which of course there is.

Chung gets to the heart of what food means to her and her family: professionally, as a restaurant critic; as part of a Chinese family, where the quality of Chinese food is something that every Chinese person has an opinion on; as a partner to the geographer (all the boyfriends/exes are unnamed in this), cooking for just the two of them; as a migrant, from Hong Kong to Australia, to New York, to Glasgow. But it’s not really about food: it’s about love, and family, and friendships, and ultimately about being comfortable in your skin. All the things.

Four and a half stars

Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You is a gorgeous memoir by Candice Chung, with delicious descriptions of food and how meals/cooking play such a big role in all of our relationships.

I think my biggest complaint with the novel—and the reason it doesn't have as high of a rating as you'd expect—is because the summary feels off. Yes, Candice's relationship with her parents is unraveled throughout the book, but it doesn't feel like the sole anchor. The timeline of her relationship is much more focused on, much more vivid, and feels like the through line of it all.

Don't get me wrong — the writing itself was breathtaking. I loved the constant switch-ups in chapter styles, incorporating her letters and texts, and of course, the food. It left my chest aching in the best way. And I did love her reflections on her relationships with not just her partner, but her parents, and those in her orbit.

I truly enjoyed reading the memoir. But, I do agree that the actual delivery of the book doesn't match the the promised summary.

This just wasn't a memoir I could dive into, no matter how hard I tried. I don't know why it wasn't engaging for me, I loved the description

Thank you to the author, Elliott & Thompson and NetGalley, for an ARC in exchange for an honest review. My apologies for the delay in posting, I have had continuing familial health challenges to contend with in the past months.

I don't think I've ever read anything quite like this memoir, which explores a period in the life of the author after the end of a long-term relationship, when she tries to reconnect with her estranged Cantonese parents. I felt a strong strain of wistfulness and longing - her parents, one might feel almost stereotypically for Asian parents, don't verbally express their love but show it through care, including food. That the author is a food critic and takes her parents along to visit restaurants she is reviewing is an interesting twist. In the end though, the memoir is less about the author's parental relationship and more about falling in love with a never-named man, referred to only as "the geographer". It is wonderfully written, but some may find it exasperating due to the non-linear structure. I loved it.

This is the kind of memoir that quietly nestles into your heart! What begins as a simple, almost offhand admission—that she’s never told her parents “I love you”—unravels into a tender, poignant, and at times wry exploration of culture, emotional restraint, family estrangement, and the language of food.
Newly single after a long relationship, Candice, a food journalist, is not only reeling from heartbreak but also adjusting to the loss of her most loyal dining companion. When her Cantonese parents unexpectedly step in to accompany her on her culinary outings, Candice is faced with more than just awkward mealtimes. Can they share a meal without digging up decades of distance? Can something as simple as food begin to fill the gaps that words never could?
In a culture where “I love you” often goes unsaid, Chung asks what love looks like when it’s expressed through gestures instead of declarations—through packed lunchboxes, hard-earned silences, and dishes cooked just right. Her memoir captures the ache of growing up in a household where affection is carefully folded into rituals but rarely spoken aloud.
Rather than follow a traditional narrative arc, Chung invites readers to sit beside her as she flips through her photo album, sharing moments that shaped her: the sting of a breakup, the awkwardness of first dates during a pandemic, the unspeakable ache of cultural and generational disconnection.
While food is the thread that ties her story together, this is not a book about recipes. There’s a subtlety in how she lets food carry emotion where words fall short. Meals become a space where discomfort, affection, and attempts at reconnection play out.
The book ebbs and flows with the rhythm of memory—sometimes fragmented, sometimes meditative, but emotionally honest. At times the first half felt disjointed. The second half of the book, shifts its focus more toward her family, especially her parents, and that’s where the emotional weight truly lands. The silence between them, the unsaid words hanging in the air, the unspoken hurts and inherited expectations—they all come to the fore in deeply affecting ways.
The prose is sharp, reflective, and often tinged with sardonic wit. Lovers are referred to by job titles, moments of vulnerability are wrapped in dry humor, and literary references are sprinkled throughout adding layers of introspection. Yet Chung never centers herself as the most interesting thing in the story. She allows the emotions, questions, and cultural contradictions to speak louder, exploring rather than explaining.
Ultimately, Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You is not about confrontation, but about curiosity. It’s about learning to hear what’s been said all along through shared meals and fleeting glances. It’s a heartfelt reminder that love doesn’t always sound like “I love you”—sometimes, it looks like “You can always come home.”
If you’ve ever grown up in a family where love was implied more than expressed, or if you’ve ever struggled to bridge the cultural divide between generations, this book will resonate deeply. Nostalgic, wistful, quietly powerful—this is a story that lingers long after the last page.

⭐️⭐️⭐️ (3/5)

Thanks to NetGalley and the editors for the free review copy of Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You.

This book offers an honest and reflective look at intergenerational relationships, emotional expression, and cultural expectations within Chinese families. I appreciated the personal stories and the exploration of how love is often communicated through actions rather than words.

While I found the subject matter compelling and important, at times the structure felt a little uneven, and I wished for a bit more depth in certain sections. That said, it’s a thoughtful read that will resonate with many, especially those from similar cultural backgrounds or anyone navigating complex family dynamics.

Candice Chung's little memoir 'Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You' is, at its heart, about the relationships in one family and the custom and practice in the family's culture - and yet it is so much more. By learning about how the unspoken is nevertheless transmitted in Candice's birth family, we are led to explore more ways in which the unspoken permeates and influences our lives. We understand better how love is expressed nd the mixed messages that both the spoken and unspoken word can give. Second guessing feelings and emotions and what is and isn't 'allowed', behaviourally, does highlight some nuanced differences, but yet allows us to find the universality of gesture, look, touch. What is taken for granted by one may so easily be misunderstood by another and -ultimately, perhaps being outside of our home culture can bring a freedom never before encountered, unencumbered by the expectations of long held beliefs and ideas.

As a food writer, Candice Chung also brings us into her world and the 'language of food' - also culturally nuanced - is explored. This is no academic lesson, rather just telling it as it happened in her circle and letting us discover for ourselves. This could have been a novel, but is the more authentic and revealing for being a memoir. The story is, of course, personal and Candice is an endearing and heartfelt depiction of self. I delighted in her lovers being denoted by job titles rather than names and warmed to all of the 'characters'. Clever writing!

'Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You' is a gentle, revealing and sometimes slightly heartbreaking and wistful recounting of how understanding of our own mores can be explored and better understood through the behaviours and expectations of others.

It's a beautiful little book well worth the read on many levels

I adore reading memoirs but unfortunately this one didn't work out for me. It wasn't as engaging as others I have read.

Was fooled (slightly!) by the title - but one may be forgiven for thinking of this book as just another diaspora memoir. It's a genuinely nice blend of food, pre-, during and post-pandemic times, and the ebb and flow of relationships (platonic and romantic) with time and ageing. There are parts of the book that may feel slightly disconnected or disjointed, but I think this is partly due to the structure of the book - occasionally, almost diary-like.

Thanks to NetGalley and Elliott & Thompson for the ARC!

Candice Chung’s "Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You: A Memoir of Saying the Unsayable with Food" is a breathtaking book with an unfortunate title—you’ll find little of the familial drama you might expect.

It’s a bit surprising that Chung, a former food journalist, names the memoir after her parents when they seem to inhabit the margins of the story; it’s really about the author’s burgeoning romance with “the geographer.” That said, perhaps the title accurately reflects the way that Chung’s parents always exert a subtle influence in the background of her life. Either way, would-be readers should expect more than a trope-filled book about difficult Asian parents.

Instead, "Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You" is an unabashed, romantic delight. It’s a reader’s memoir, decorated with references to Yiyun Li and Gaston Bachelard and Deborah Levy and sentences like, “I want to eat something unreasonable. I want to eat a pure bright light.” It’s about falling in love and crawling out of fear. There’s a humility and aspiration toward beauty that immediately elevate the book above many of its peers.

Simply put, Candice Chung does not treat herself as the most interesting part of her book. She allows herself to approach her themes as an act of exploration rather than explanation, noting early on that “. . . at the start of a story, protagonists are almost never aware of their needs.” For some readers, that uncertainty might be frustrating.

Chung wastes no time trying to convince us that her story is exceptional, but she writes with a grace that seems to believe that every life is exceptional. The best memoirists recognize that the form’s value is in how it’s told—even the most mundane life can be magical if it’s interpreted as such. Chung presents even negligible details with such care and richly textured prose that their specificity touches on something universal. For example, when she describes the discomfort of trying to decide whether or not to leave a date due to a scheduling conflict, we can feel her sweaty-palmed, stomach-churning anxiety. She seems to linger on every word, dwelling in language as a collection of flavors. It’s appropriate that a food writer would craft prose that seems concerned with mouthfeel.

If pressed for critiques, I would say that the memoir loses a little focus as the author’s romance progresses. It’s not exactly a problem because the prose is still so gorgeously written, but I found myself wondering what the book is about. Similarly, there are numerous shifts in form, evocative of Carmen Maria Machado and Maggie Nelson (both of whom are referenced here), but their inclusion often feels a little arbitrary. As an example, there’s a chapter that morphs into a choose-your-own-adventure. It’s fun and wonderfully executed, but it doesn’t contribute to the memoir as a whole project.

But those little complaints don’t matter, and how could they?

Chung seems most concerned with the particular joy that is cooking for others and sharing a meal with them, and she invites us in, complete with clutter of a messy kitchen. For a book about “saying the unsayable,” the author never struggles to find the perfect word, and in a world of easily digestible and forgettable memoirs, it’s refreshing to read something that both trains the reader’s palate and rewards them for it.

This didn’t work for me. I thought it would be more engaging but I ended up finding it boring and gave up on it. I was hoping for more depth.

This book was fantastic. I loved the story and I’m so glad to have gotten to read it early. Thank you so much to the author and the publisher for making this available.

I have a really hard time reviewing memoirs. It feels distasteful to look at someone's life, documented, and try to give it a star rating.

Based on the title and synopsis, I was SO interested. This book had moments of joy and nuggets of comedic gold but there was something about the general layout of the book that was incredibly confusing and difficult to follow. Candice jumps between formatting and prose style throughout, which makes for a slightly jarring reading experience.

I think this book had a lot of potential and I enjoyed the parts that focused on her parents a lot more than the other bits. There was a heavy focus on her new budding relationship whereas I felt like the title suggested this would have been focused more on her parents and her family.

Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You is a tender exploration of family, culture, and the unspoken ways we show love. Through food, some shared some alone, Candice Chung chronicles a specific period in her life when, after the end of a long-term relationship, she attempts to reconnect with her estranged Cantonese parents.
Written in a creative non-fiction style, this memoir is unlike most. It's non-linear fashion it is capturing the emotional ebb and flow of healing, dating, and rebuilding family bonds. The non-traditional structure is a refreshing take and suits the introspective, fragmented nature of the story she’s telling.
While the book touches on food as a bridge between past and present, readers looking for vivid, detailed food writing might find it a little light. Similarly, at times I wished for more personal depth particularly around her relationship with her parents as the title suggests.
Still, there's an undeniable warmth in Chung’s voice and a realness in the way she portrays complicated family love. It’s a gentle, thoughtful read that embraces the imperfect, non-verbal ways we try to connect with those who matter most. Overall a lovely read.

Thanks to NetGalley and Elliott Thompson for the ARC!

I enjoyed this memoir, although I did feel the title and blurb was a bit misleading. I was expecting a lot more about the author's parents and what food meant to them as a family, but it was more focused on the author's burgeoning romance with a man known only as "the geographer". I didn't mind not knowing his name and the love story was very sweet but it just wasn't what I was expecting so I had to readjust. Once I did that I enjoyed the book a lot more. I liked the foodie content and her relationships with both the geographer and her family members were interesting and emotional. I'm glad I read it and I'd recommend it if you like memoir, food writing and books about relationships.

I received an advance copy of this book so grateful thanks to the publishers and Netgalley. My review is entirely voluntary.

This book hit me so hard, it was so nostalgic! Like, you don’t need to be Chinese to feel this. If you grew up in a family where love wasn’t always spoken out loud, you’ll get it. You’ll feel it.

Themes: Chinese parents, generational trauma, migration.

It’s not a dramatic, twisty read. It’s quiet. It’s reflective. It feels like flipping through someone’s old photo album while they sit beside you and share stories they’ve never told anyone else. You start seeing how "I love you" can sound like "Have you eaten?" or "Wear a jacket." It was very relatable.

This isn’t a book that screams for your attention. It’s one that lingers. One that makes you call your parents after reading. Or just sit in silence thinking about them.

Rating: 4.5/5. Beautiful, quiet, and deeply personal.

I was definitely drawn to this book based off the title, an experience that I could absolutely relate to. I went into this thinking we would get insight into the author’s tumultuous relationship between her and her parents with food at the center of it.

There were glimpses of those moments, particularly towards the latter half of the memoir when she mentions more of her interactions with her parents during a period of transition in her life. However, it seems as though her family existed more as side characters in this memoir than the focus, leaving me with little insight into who her parents are and how she was or wasn’t able to connect with them.

My biggest issue is that she mentions several times that she was estranged from her parents for 13 years, but never divulges why this was the case and how this was resolved or unresolved. 

This memoir left me wanting more and I’m left disappointed given its banger title.

If you are looking for a book that explores romantic and familiar relationships during the pandemic, this one’s for you. The story itself jumps back and forth in time, with no clear linear path, but the narrative works with Candice Chung’s style of writing.

Thank you to NetGalley and Elliot & Thompson for this ARC. All opinions are my own.

I really enjoyed this memoir ,the connection of food family traditions.Candice Chung writes so beautifully in her own literary style.I am looking forward to to more from this author. #netgalley #elliottthompson