Over the following months as I watched how Aunt cooked and managed her kitchen, the answer became clear. The usefulness and necessity of the refrigerator depends on a number of factors that are not obviously related to the thing itself, from food packaging to the layout of communities to the length of school lunch breaks.

The first, and simplest thing is what I saw Aunt cook at home. Chinese cuisine is more varied than it is usually given credit for, and the food in Jiaxiang falls under the heading of Shandong regional cuisine, which is typically saltier and more savory than the Chinese fare that has been assimilated in the West. It includes dishes like stir-fried julienned potato with green pepper; tofu and bean sprouts in sauce; deep-fried fritters of grated daikon; thick soups of millet, often with large chunks of one type of gourd or another, boiled soft. Garlic, ginger, and leeks serve as the local equivalent of a mirepoix, and are used in most dishes, while the main starch is not rice, but mantou, or steamed bread buns.

All of this matters inasmuch as the primary purpose of refrigerators is food preservation, and most of the traditional foodstuffs used in Jiaxiang could generally keep for days or even weeks at room temperature. Produce like bok choy, carrots, and leeks might dry out a little, but will not spoil very quickly. The various sauces and oils used in local cooking keep at room temperature for months easily. Even eggs, contrary to what many Americans might believe, do not need refrigeration to stay fresh.

Still, even in the local cuisine, some Shangdong foods are still relatively perishable, and cooked foods especially so. It’s here that a number of other factors come into play in making refrigeration less relevant in Jiaxiang.

Take milk, for example. Traditionally, dairy products are not a part of the Chinese diet. But within the last several decades, many Chinese have begun to acquire a taste for milk and yogurt. When I did my fieldwork in Jiaxiang, milk and yogurt were available, but the large jugs of milk that are universal in American supermarkets were nowhere to be found, and for good reason. At that time, milk in Jiaxiang was only sold in soft plastic bags or small boxes of about 200 milliliters each, roughly the size of the palm of one’s hand. Such milk is UHT-treated—sterilized at higher temperatures than are used for regular pasteurization—and can be stored at room temperature for several months without spoiling, so long as it remains sealed. The small size of the packaging is purposeful, as once a bag is opened, it can be drunk in a single serving, obviating any need for cold storage. In this instance, technologies of food processing and packaging implicitly accommodated the general lack of refrigeration in the community.

Fresh meat and tofu were the only foods common to the local diet that could not be kept at room temperature for long periods. Which meant that any time my aunt wanted to cook a dish with meat, fish, or tofu, then those items had to be purchased the same day.