Before Acting Became My Safe Haven, I Found It in a Chinese Restaurant

When I was around 5, my mother met a man from America who would become my father—Soo Lim Yee. They met at a dinner party while he was visiting Hong Kong on a business trip. He was smitten. They began a long-distance relationship, writing flowery love letters to each other. They would meet up for dinners whenever he flew to Hong Kong. After a couple of years of courtship, he helped sponsor our move to the United States.

One morning, when I was about 7, my mother woke Jun and me up early and said we were going out. That was it. No details on where we were headed. Next thing I know, we were getting onto an airplane. Never having been on a plane or visited the airport before, I thought, Ohh, this is fun! Soon after takeoff, my mother told me we were moving to America. “What? What’s America?” I asked her.

Once we were there, life opened up in surprising ways. When we first arrived, we stayed in Brooklyn with my stepfather’s friends. There were so many new sights and sounds that I was overwhelmed, but I adapted as quickly as I could. What helped to ease me into America’s way of life? Pizza. One of my favorite new foods was New York pizza. We’d never had cheese before, and, in fact, my mom still doesn’t like cheese, with the exception of having it on a slice of New York pizza. Go figure. What is it about the magic of a good New York slice? It’s a universal comfort food!

We stayed in Astoria for about three years before moving to Pittsburgh to be with my stepfather and join him in running his restaurant, the Chinatown Inn. At first, we lived above the restaurant, and then my parents bought a small house in Mount Lebanon where I enrolled at Jefferson Junior High School for sixth grade. I went from a big city where I had friends, an urban lifestyle, and the diversity of New York City to . . . well, white suburbia. I imported all my New York attitude and energy in my 4'11" body. Being one of, if not the only, Asian people at that school with a very Chinese name, I attracted some unfriendly sorts who made fun of me for how I looked or what my name sounded like. I was bullied. But I was a tough New Yorker, so I responded with a threat: “You want to settle this? I’ll meet you after school!” Those innocent, sheltered suburban kids would give me a confused look and ask, “What do you mean? Meet you where?” I’m sure I wasn’t very intimidating with my baby face and small self, but no one met me after school, either. (Perhaps that was my first inspiration for Mulan, Agent May, and all the other tough warrior women roles I would go on to portray in my acting career!) But we eventually settled into our life in Pittsburgh—my mother started to work in the restaurant, and the Chinatown Inn became a second home to me, as well as my part-time job. That place shaped my youth.

Even now, I can close my eyes and return to the bustle of that kitchen—the controlled chaos, the clatter of dishes, the constant hum of diners. The red-and-green pagoda entrance. The blinking neon sign. The clang of the cash register. The bustling bar. The pristine white tablecloths, which were always stained with a bit of soy sauce or stray grains of rice before they were swapped out for fresh ones. And always, at the end of the meal: a fortune cookie. The quintessential symbol of the Chinese American restaurant experience. American diners mostly ordered the classics: chow mein, fried rice, General Tso’s chicken, shrimp with lobster sauce, our massive (not skimpy!) egg rolls. And our famous wonton soup. We made the stock fresh every morning using high-quality chicken and neck bones, simmering everything into a rich, clear, amber broth. My dad always said: Good ingredients make good food. Good food keeps the customers coming back, which is why I believe the Chinatown Inn is the only remaining business from the original Chinatown in downtown Pittsburgh. Our success story and longevity started with the basics. I’ve found that to be true in life, too—what you put in is what you get out.

The first time that I became interested in acting was in an Easter play in the third grade while we were still in New York. I was one of the bunny rabbits. My English was still a work in progress, and being a bunny rabbit (I played “Stumpy”) meant I probably had the fewest lines. I remember coming on stage and tripping because I had big bunny feet, and people laughed. Instead of being embarrassed, I loved the reaction that I got, and I thought, I want to do this forever! The acting bug bit me.

Growing up in Pittsburgh, the theater was a safe haven for me—I got to be with people of like minds, who were just the funniest, most intelligent, creative, and passionate people. We had a great training program at Mount Lebanon High School, and to this day, it's still incredible.

During my senior year of high school, I applied to Carnegie Mellon University because it had a great drama program and was in Pittsburgh, which made things easier. I knew I would go to New York City for the theater scene after college, so I figured this was a way I could spend four more years near my parents before pursuing my dreams to make it on Broadway. I didn’t know I actually had to audition to be accepted into the drama program. I went into the audition thinking they just wanted to see where my skill levels were. I did my monologues. I did improv scenes. I was having a great time! I found out later that all my classmates were terribly nervous during the audition process. It wasn’t until I got an acceptance letter saying “Congratulations. We loved your audition. We've accepted you into the freshman program” that it hit me. I didn’t apply to any other colleges, so it was a good thing that I did well enough to be accepted!

Excerpted from HAVE YOU EATEN YET? Copyright © 2026, Ming-Na, Wen. Reproduced by permission of Simon Element, an imprint of Simon Schuster. All rights reserved.