FLAVOURS FROM HOME:
Storyteller. Diaspora. Copywriter. Feminist. Roller skater. Mother of dogs. Klutz. Learning/ unlearning. Hufflepuff. Has a food blog and a new recipe book. Meet Ming-Cheau Lin, author of Just Add Rice.
We chat to Taiwanese foodie Ming-Cheau Lin, and she shares a few recipes from her debut cookbook, Just Add Rice
Where South Africans would say, ‘How are you?’, the common greeting in Taiwan is “Jibàbui ” which translates to ‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘That, for me, encapsulates the heart and soul of our culinary tradition,’ writes Ming-Cheau Lin in the introduction to her Taiwanese cookbook Just Add Rice. ‘It hints at the communal sharing of food, but also reminds people of the times when food was not abundant and there was a lot of poverty, and so it’s also about eating enough.’ Ming-Cheau grew up on Taiwanese cuisine. ‘Like most immigrant families, we bond over food, and we use it to preserve our culture. My parents wanted us to eat what they ate growing up, and to make it accessible to us. My mom cooked most of our meals, but as kids we’d help with peeling, chopping or bringing my mama ingredients.’
The family settled in Bloemfontein after her parents immigrated to SA in 1991; she was three at the time.
‘As a child, I often asked my folks, “Why South Africa?” and never got an appropriate response,’ she writes. ‘Only as an adult did I discover that the government had offered incentives to Taiwanese folk to move here. The invitation came because Taiwan isn’t a member of the UN, which had boycotted all relations with SA due to apartheid. It’s not ideal but the opportunity was there, and in our ignorance this country became our home. I shake my head in second-hand embarrassment at having been a part of that, but even so… we wanted to contribute positively to the SA economy, and still continue to do so.
‘My parents had spent everything they had getting us here, so we lived at my aunt and uncle’s house in the beginning until we could afford a small townhouse. My mama (previously a piano teacher and trained in pharmaceuticals) became a housewife, managing our home and taking care of me, my older sister and younger brother. My papa, a qualified pharmacist, worked at a plastics factory.’
As a child, Ming-Cheau wanted to be a politician, study law and fight crime.
‘I was captain of the debating squad and I loved meeting different people. It also got me very interested in politics – I carried a pocket-sized copy of the Constitution in my blazer pocket. Not very common for a teenage girl, and less so for an immigrant of East Asian origin! My parents weren’t exactly stoked that I was doing debate, because it’s considered “unruly for a young lady” to argue like that. So I had to challenge their perceptions on what feminism is as well. They have started to understand over the years that I’m unapologetic about the way I am.’
It wasn’t until she moved to Cape Town in 2007 to study brand communications that Ming-Cheau fully embraced her cultural heritage.
‘Without my family or a community, my heart ached for comfort and familiarity,’ she writes. ‘But as I spent more time in the kitchen I discovered the remedy for homesickness through home cooking, with flavours from my parents’ kitchen.’
In 2011, she started a blog called Butterfingers. co.za (‘I’m a klutz,’ she says) to record family recipes.
‘It worried me that I’d forget these recipes. These dishes weren’t around me every day; they’re not represented in food media. If I had kids, how would I pass that on to them? These are things I truly enjoy and would want them to love as well. You almost have to reinforce it to remember it; it’s not represented out there for you to connect with.’
As Ming-Cheau’s interest in different cuisines grew, the blog expanded beyond Taiwanese recipes.
‘I wanted to learn more about food in general, so I could understand it better.’ She started to experiment in the kitchen and even signed up for a patisserie course. ‘I make a mean shortcrust,’ she says with a laugh. ‘I have an international diploma in patisserie through City & Guilds. Making desserts is one of my passions as well. I like playing with flavours and incorporating my knowledge of East Asian cooking to make hybrids: in my book there is an Asian pear and pecan nut tart recipe. [See page 105.]’
‘Without my family or a community, my heart ached for comfort and familiarity. I felt lost. But as I spent more time in the kitchen I discovered the remedy for homesickness through home cooking, with flavours from my parents’ kitchen.’
Her husband, Kyle, has had his own influence on her cooking.
‘I married my best friend, who’s Dutch by heritage,’ she writes. As a result she also dabbles in Dutch cooking, trying her hand at things like speculaas (spiced biscuits), bot
terbrood and bitterballen (meatballs). ‘I like to taste new things and educate my palate. Kyle’s grandmother left him a Dutch recipe book and we get his mom to translate what we don’t understand.’
Perhaps part of embracing Kyle’s heritage comes from her sense of being an outsider. Ming-Cheau describes her childhood as ‘challenging’. ‘It was evident that we weren’t the same as everyone else,’ she says. ‘My parents taught me to be proud of being Taiwanese, but as a child immersed in a culture that didn’t mirror my home culture, it was difficult and confusing. We’re now in a good space where we can almost reclaim these things that were once deemed “other” or weird. And be proud of it.’
But that wasn’t always the case. At school, she suppressed a lot of her own cultural identity ‘because I was always made to feel embarrassed to be Asian, to be different. I think food played a big role in that as well, because you get mocked for coming to school with a lunchbox that’s a lot different to everyone else’s, or very pungent in smell. I remember opening my lunchbox and a bunch of kids making rude comments. One said it smelled gross, fishy; then more came over to look and laugh and said “chingchongs eat funny things”.’
Nevertheless, Ming-Cheau was a scrappy kid.
‘I used to get into fights when I was little, standing up to bullies,’ she says. ‘And in the process I myself got bullied a lot. I think I’ve always felt strongly about fairness, and being able to stand up for someone else made me feel stronger. It helped shape my patience, my level of understanding and my empathy for others. We are all the way we are because of conditioning. It’s about humbling yourself to realise that you don’t know everything and there’s always room to unlearn, especially biases that were created through conditioning. Unless we unlearn, we can’t move forward.’
So it’s no surprise that when it comes to distinguishing between cultural appreciation versus cultural appropriation, Ming-Cheau speaks her mind. Last year, she tweeted her disapproval when two white men opened a restaurant in Joburg and called it Misohawni.
‘A new “Asian” restaurant opening in Joburg, owned by nonAsians,’ she tweeted. ‘It covers 3 different cultures: 1. Ramen (Japanese), 2. Poke (Hawaiian) & 3. Korean BBQ. As an Asian woman, I really hate the name. It might seem funny, but when men say it while they sexually harass you, it’s not.’
Her tweet went viral. ‘Number one, they called it Misohawni, which mocks the way Asians speak. Secondly, it’s very degrading for Asian women. As someone who has men say to me “me so horny” … it’s a sore topic. They’d have been profiting off Asian cuisine and degrading Asian women in the process. How is that fair towards people of our cultures?
‘We see these stereotypes all the time, and they’re learnt. If they’re hurtful, they shouldn’t be perpetuated. It’s about being mindful, and being kind to others. That’s a good example of cultural appropriation, of not understanding the culture even though you’re profiting off it.’
She’s also had beef with chain eatery Simply Asia. Three years ago, Ming-Cheau emailed them about their packaging design: a bowl with two chopsticks wedged into it.
‘In Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese and Korean culture, chopsticks stuck in food symbolise death,’ she explains. ‘I mailed them and said hey, reconsider. They said that when the packaging ran out, they wouldn’t repeat it. But years later, it was still the same.’
Ming-Cheau posted about it publicly, sparking a conversation online with Simply Asia. They’ve now changed their branding.
‘Yes, it’s a Thai restaurant, but our countries play a massive role in Asia. And it comes down to research – the person designing it and the person approving it obviously don’t know that. But shouldn’t they do some research first?’
She’s happy that she did it. ‘Something good came out of it; it’s great to see brands taking responsibility.
‘In SA, East Asians make up a small percentage of the 0,9% Asian population,’ says Ming-Cheau. ‘We’re not represented often. So I like to use my platform and voice to speak about my experiences.’
Her latest venture does just that. Just Add Rice is a combination of stories and recipes celebrating her identity as a Taiwanese South African. The title refers to the way Taiwanese food is served: instead of having a single dish as the main meal, mealtimes consist of three to five communal dishes, with rice as the main starch. The biggest misconception about Taiwanese food, she says, is that it’s expensive.
‘In every culture there’s fine dining, and then there’s humble cooking. My book is about home cooking. It’s about being in SA as immigrants, working with a small budget and feeding a family. We made it work. And in college it was similar; working with what I had to recreate flavours from home.’
The next step, she says, is opening a small family restaurant.
‘I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Taiwanese home cooking than to create a small restaurant that serves it – especially in a country that doesn’t enjoy much exposure to it. I want my parents to be involved in the business, and my husband, if he wants. He’s a microbiologist and brews his own beer.’