'Treasure Hunt' Showcases the Charm of Guangdong Culture to the World
Exploring Ten Countries in Search of Guangdong's Cultural Export Model
Guangdong Province, China, February 21, 2025 -- After releasing 'Treasure Hunt: Discovering the Folk Culture of the Greater Bay Area' and 'Treasure Hunt 2: Exploring Lingnan Modern Cultural Celebrities', Southern Metropolis Daily and N Video launched the highly anticipated 'Treasure Hunt 3: Discovering Guangdong Samples of Going-global of Chinese Culture' in December 2024. This series shifts its focus to overseas, as the Treasure Hunt team from Southern Metropolis Daily and N Video traveled across Southeast Asia, Oceania, Europe, and Africa, visiting over ten countries in total. Along the way, they invited overseas Chinese, international friends, and experts from various fields to join the journey and participate in filming. Through a comprehensive approach, the series highlights the integration and innovation of Guangdong culture abroad, promoting cultural diplomacy through meaningful exchanges. As Lingnan elements continue to captivate global audiences, Guangdong's cultural influence grows on the world stage.
Involving Primary Scene: Crossing Three Oceans and Four Continents in Search of Guangdong's Cultural Export Model
Cultural export is a journey that takes Guangdong to the world. This time, the Treasure Hunt team is venturing across three oceans and four continents, visiting ten countries to uncover the global footprint of Guangdong's cultural influence. From traditional heritage and Cantonese cuisine to traditional Chinese medicine, the 'New Trio' industries, and the entrepreneurial spirit of Cantonese merchants, the series introduces a brand-new storytelling format: On the Frontlines—real-time overseas record, and In the Studio—expert insights and guest discussions.
The Treasure Hunt team's on-the-ground explorations abroad have uncovered numerous examples of Guangdong's cultural influence worldwide. In Vietnam for example, they witnessed Guangdong-made drones soaring across international markets. In Thailand, they saw the wildly popular Yingge Dance blending with local culture. In Singapore, they discovered the booming demand for traditional Guangdong medicine. In Japan, they experienced firsthand the rising popularity China's 'New Trio' exports in the international market. In Oceania, they shared the flavors of Cantonese cuisine with friends from diverse backgrounds. In Africa, they observed major business ventures between China and Egypt. On the Danube River, they hosted tea gatherings with international guests. And along the Belt and Road, they explored the entrepreneurial spirit that unites Guangdong merchants around the world.
The first-hand overseas record stays true to the essence of culture while blending modern trends, ensuring a dynamic fusion of tradition and contemporary appeal. From content to format, from depth to digital engagement, the series integrates an internet-driven approach, leveraging online storytelling to amplify positive energy and bring the theme to life.
Secondary Observation Room: An Online Observation Room Involving Guests from Six Countries Plays A Key Role in the Treasure Hunt Story-telling
The 'Treasure Hunt 3: Discovering Guangdong Samples of Going-global of Chinese Culture' series features a specially curated 'Second Venue'—an observation room where experts, scholars, and international guests are invited to watch and discuss the Treasure Hunt stories with the audiences. This segment will provide a third-party professional perspective, fostering dynamic exchanges and thought-provoking discussions from multiple angles.
Notably, the studio lineup is highly diverse. The production team has invited an international panel of guests from six countries, along with five leading experts from various fields. Together with the Treasure Hunt team, they explore global perspectives and engage in in-depth discussions on the stories unfolding in the field, offering fresh insights from different disciplines and cultural viewpoints.
The 'Treasure Hunt 3: Discovering Guangdong Samples of Going-global of Chinese Culture' series introduces a 'Second Venue' observation room, breaking the constraints of a single-dimensional narrative. By bringing together a global perspective, it creates a dual storytelling space that presents China's story to the world in a fresh, engaging, and youth-oriented way. This observational documentary format opens new doors for audiences—while the First Venue captures the lives of people overseas, the Second Venue fosters diverse discussions, serving as a bridge between the program, its viewers, and real-world cultural connections.
Since its launch, the series has captivated audiences both in China and abroad, garnering nearly 100 million online views. Relevant videos have been prominently featured on major international and regional landmarks, including Times Square in New York, Wilkie Edge in Singapore, MBK Center in Bangkok, and key locations across China's Greater Bay Area, such as Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Foshan, Zhuhai, and Zhongshan, highlighting Guangdong's cultural innovations and its seamless integration with the international community.
Name: Jiarong Deng
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Atlantic
8 hours ago
- Atlantic
How I Accidentally Inspired a Major Chinese Motion Picture
In December, a friend sent me the trailer for a new Chinese movie called Clash. It's a sports comedy about a ragtag group of Chinese men who start an American-football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learn to block and tackle, build camaraderie, and face off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. Funny, I thought. In 2014, I wrote an article for The New Republic about a ragtag group of Chinese men who'd started an American football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learned to block and tackle, built camaraderie, and—yes—faced off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. The Chinese studio behind Clash, iQIYI, is not the first to take an interest in the Dockers' story. My article, titled 'Year of the Pigskin,' was natural Hollywood bait: a tale of cross-cultural teamwork featuring a fish-out-of-water American protagonist, published at a moment when Hollywood and China were in full-on courtship and the future of U.S.-China relations looked bright. It didn't take much imagination to see Ryan Reynolds or Michael B. Jordan playing the coach—a former University of Michigan tight end who'd missed his shot at a pro career because of a shoulder injury—with Chinese stars filling the supporting roles. Sony bought the option to the article, as well as the coach's life rights. When that project fizzled a few years later, Paramount scooped up the rights but never made anything. Now a Chinese studio appeared to have simply lifted the idea. I texted Chris McLaurin, the former Dockers coach who now works at a fancy law firm in London. (Since my original article published, we have become good friends.) Should we say something? Should we sue? At the very least, one of us had to see the movie. Fortunately, it was premiering in February at the International Film Festival Rotterdam. I booked a flight to the Netherlands. The movie I saw, which came out in Chinese theaters last month, did not alleviate my concerns. But the film, along with the conversations I had with its producer and director, provided a glimpse into the cultural and political forces that led to Clash 's creation. Indeed, the trajectory of the IP itself—from the original article to the Hollywood screenplays to the final Chinese production—says a lot about how the relationship between the United States and China has evolved, or devolved, over the past decade. What began as a story about transcending cultural boundaries through sports has turned into a symbol of just how little China and the U.S. understand each other—and how little interest they have in trying. I went to China in 2011 because I had a vague sense that something important was happening there. I moved to Beijing, with funding from a Luce scholarship, and started looking for stories. They weren't hard to find. The years after the 2008 Beijing Olympics turned out to be a remarkable era of relative openness. Many international observers saw Xi Jinping's rise in 2012 as the beginning of a period of liberalization, the inevitable political outcome of the country's growing prosperity. For journalists, China was a playground and a gold mine at once. We could travel (mostly) freely and talk to (almost) anyone. Along with the wealth of narrative material came a sense of purpose: We felt as though we were writing the story of the New China—a country opening up to the rest of the world, trying on identities, experimenting with new ways of thinking and living. The story that captivated me most was that of the Chongqing Dockers. It was one of those article ideas that miraculously fall in your lap, and in retrospect feel like fate. I'd heard that McLaurin, another Luce Scholar, had started coaching a football team in Chongqing, so I flew down to visit him. The first practice I attended was barely controlled chaos: The team didn't have proper equipment, no one wanted to hit one another, and they kept taking cigarette breaks. 'It was like 'Little Giants,' except with adult Chinese men,' I wrote to my editor at The New Republic. He green-lighted the story, and I spent the next year following the team, as well as McLaurin's efforts to create a nationwide league. The movie analogy was fortuitous. Just before the article was published, Sony bought the IP rights, as well as the rights to McLaurin's life story. The project would be developed by Escape Artists, the production company co-founded by Steve Tisch, a co-owner of the New York Giants. Maybe the NFL, struggling to break into the Chinese market, would even get involved. The deal changed McLaurin's life. Sony flew him and his mom out to Los Angeles, where a limo picked them up at the airport. He met with Tisch and the other producers. They floated Chris Pratt for the role of the coach. One executive asked McLaurin if he'd considered acting. McLaurin also met with high-level executives at the NFL interested in helping establish American football in China. He'd been planning to apply to law school, but now he decided to stay in Chongqing and keep developing the league. In retrospect, the China-Hollywood love affair was at that point in its wildest throes. As the reporter Erich Schwartzel recounts in his 2022 book, Red Carpet: Hollywood, China, and the Global Battle for Cultural Supremacy, China spent the late 2000s and 2010s learning the craft of blockbusting by partnering with Hollywood filmmakers and executives. Hollywood studios, meanwhile, got access to the growing market of Chinese moviegoers. (In 2012, then–Vice President Joe Biden negotiated an agreement to raise the quota of U.S. films allowed to screen in China.) It was, in effect, a classic technology transfer, much like General Motors setting up factories in China in exchange for teaching Chinese workers how to build cars. Erich Schwartzel: How China captured Hollywood With a potential audience of 1.4 billion, every U.S. studio was trying to make movies that would appeal to the Chinese market. This led to some ham-fisted creative choices. The filmmakers behind Iron Man 3 added a scene in which a Chinese doctor saves Tony Stark's life, though it wasn't included in the U.S. cut. The Chinese release of Rian Johnson's time-travel thriller, Looper, contained a gratuitous sequence in which Bruce Willis and Xu Qing gallivant around Shanghai. In the same film, Jeff Daniels's character tells Joseph Gordon-Levitt's, 'I'm from the future—you should go to China.' The threat of being denied a Chinese release also resulted in countless acts of self-censorship by Hollywood studios. Sony changed the villains of its Red Dawn remake from Chinese to North Korean in postproduction, and removed a scene showing the destruction of the Great Wall of China from the Adam Sandler film Pixels. In this environment, Hollywood put a premium on stories that could appeal equally to American and Chinese audiences. That usually meant going as broad as possible and leaning away from cultural specifics, as in the Transformers and Marvel movies. But in theory, another, more difficult path existed, the Hollywood equivalent of the Northwest Passage: a movie that incorporated Chinese and American cultures equally. This could be a breakthrough not only in the box office but also in storytelling. It could even map a future for the two countries, offering proof that we have more in common than we might think. The producers at Sony apparently hoped that a 'Year of the Pigskin' adaptation could pull off that trick. 'The movie we want to develop is JERRY MAGUIRE meets THE BAD NEWS BEARS set in China,' Tisch wrote in an email to Sony's then-chairman and CEO, Michael Lynton. 'This is the perfect movie to film in China.' But there was a puzzle built into the project. 'The struggle for me was trying to figure out who the movie was for,' Ian Helfer, who was hired to write the screenplay, told me recently. His task was to create a comedy that would be a vehicle for a big American star while appealing to Chinese audiences. But nobody in Hollywood really knew what Chinese audiences wanted, aside from tentpole action movies. They seemed happy to watch Tom Cruise save the world, but would they pay to see Chris Pratt teach them how to play an obscure foreign sport? Helfer's vision mostly tracked the original article: An American former college-football star goes to China and teaches the locals to play football. Everyone learns some important lessons about teamwork, brotherhood, and cultural differences along the way. He turned in a draft and hoped for the best. Most Hollywood projects die in development, and the autopsy is rarely conclusive. Exactly why the Sony project fizzled is not clear. Helfer said he'd heard that Sony's China office had objected to the project because it didn't feature a Chinese protagonist. Whatever the reason, when the 'Pigskin' option came up for renewal in 2017, Sony passed. By then, the China-Hollywood wave was cresting. The Zhang Yimou–directed co-production The Great Wall, released in 2017 and starring Matt Damon, flopped in the United States. That same year, the agreement that had raised the quota of U.S. films in China expired. Xi Jinping, who was turning out not to be the liberal reformer many Westerners had hoped for, railed against foreign cultural influence and encouraged homegrown art. His plan worked: Although China had depended on the U.S. for both entertainment and training earlier in the decade, it was now producing its own big-budget triumphs. In 2017, the jingoistic action flick Wolf Warrior 2 broke Chinese box-office records and ushered in a new era of nationalist blockbusters. At the same time, however, U.S. box-office revenues had plateaued, making the Chinese market even more important for Hollywood profits. After Sony declined to renew, Paramount optioned the rights to 'Year of the Pigskin,' and the development gears ground back into motion. This time, there was apparent interest from John Cena, who was in the midst of a full-on pivot to China, which included studying Mandarin. (He hadn't yet torpedoed his career there by referring to Taiwan as a 'country' in an interview, after which he apologized profusely in a much-mocked video.) The Paramount version of 'Pigskin' died when the studio discovered belatedly that football wasn't big in China, according to Toby Jaffe, the producer who'd arranged the deal. 'They realized that it wasn't well-suited for the Chinese market,' he told me recently. 'So the reason they bought it for maybe wasn't the most logical analysis.' The option expired once again in 2019. The coronavirus pandemic snuffed out whatever flame still burned in the China-Hollywood romance. McLaurin's China dreams were fading too. His hopes for a broad expansion of American football in China—he had started working for the NFL in Shanghai—seemed out of reach. He left China and went to law school. I figured we'd never hear about a 'Pigskin' adaptation again. When I met the Clash producer and screenwriter Wu Tao outside a hotel in Rotterdam in February, he greeted me with a hug. He told me he couldn't believe we were finally meeting after all these years, given how our lives were both intertwined with the Dockers. 'It's fate,' he said. Wu has spiky hair, a goatee, and an energy that belies his 51 years. He was wearing a bright-green sweater covered with black hearts with the words THANKYOUIDON'TCARE spelled backwards. We sat down at a coffee table in the hotel lobby alongside the director of Clash, Jiang Jiachen. Jiang was wearing computer-teacher glasses and a ribbed gray sweater. Wu, who'd produced and written the script for Clash, right away called out the elephant in the room with a joke. He had stolen one line from my article, he said with a chuckle—a character saying, 'Welcome to Chongqing'—but hadn't paid me for the IP. (This line does not actually appear in the article.) 'Next time,' I said. Wu said he'd been working as a producer at the Chinese media giant Wanda in Beijing when, in 2018, he came across an old article in the Chinese magazine Sanlian Lifeweek about the Dockers. He'd already produced a couple of modest hits, including the superhero satire Jian Bing Man, but he wanted to write his own feature. He was immediately taken with the Dockers' story, and a few days later, he flew to Chongqing to meet the players. They mentioned that Paramount was already working on a movie about the team, but Wu told them that an American filmmaker wouldn't do their story justice. 'In the end, Hollywood cares about the Chinese market,' Wu told me. 'They don't understand China's culture and its people.' He paid a handful of the players about $2,750 each for their life rights, and bought the rights to the team's name for about $16,500. Wu also met up with McLaurin in Shanghai, but they didn't ultimately sign an agreement. 'I understood that, in his head, this was his movie,' Wu said. But Wu had his own vision. Shirley Li: How Hollywood sold out to China Wu got to work writing a script. By 2022, he'd persuaded iQIYI to make the movie and gotten his script past the government censorship bureau with minimal changes. In summer 2023, they began shooting in Chongqing. Wu told me that he'd set out to tell the Dockers' story from a Chinese perspective. 'It's easy to imagine the Hollywood version, like Lawrence of Arabia,' he said. 'A white Westerner saves a group of uncivilized Chinese people.' Even if he'd wanted to tell that kind of story, Wu knew it wouldn't fly in the domestic market. 'We're not even talking about politics; that's just reality,' Wu said. Jiang added, 'It's a postcolonial context.' This argument made sense to me in theory, but I was curious to see what it meant in practice. That evening, I sat in a packed theater and took in the film. Clash opens with a flashback of Yonggan, the hero, running away from a bully as a kid—behavior that gets him mocked as a coward. (His name translates to 'brave.') It then cuts to adult Yonggan, who works as a deliveryman for his family's tofu shop, sprinting and careening his scooter through Chongqing's windy roads, bridges, and back alleys. When Yonggan gets an urgent delivery order from an athletic field where a football team happens to be practicing, the team captain watches in awe as Yonggan sprints down the sideline, takeout bag in hand, faster than the football players. He gets recruited on the spot. Although Clash has the same basic framing as the American film treatments—an underdog team struggling against the odds—the details are original, and telling. Instead of focusing on the coach, the story centers on Yonggan and his teammates, each of whom is dealing with his own middle-class problems: Yonggan's father wants him to give up his football dreams and work at the tofu shop; the war veteran Rock struggles to connect with his daughter; the model office-worker Wang Peixun can't satisfy his wife. The coach, meanwhile, is not an American former college-football star, but rather a Mexican former water boy named Sanchez. He wanted to play in the NFL, he tells the players, but in the U.S., they let Mexicans have only subordinate jobs. The sole American character is, naturally, the captain of the evil Shanghai team. Notably, there's no mention of 'American football' at all; they simply call the sport 'football,' which in Mandarin is the same as the word for 'rugby.' As for the tone, it's hyperlocal in a way that feels authentic to the material. Characters trade quips in rat-a-tat Chongqing dialect. Jokes and references are not overexplained. The film has a catchy hip-hop soundtrack featuring local artists. It also embraces tropes of Chinese comedy that might feel cringey to American audiences: abrupt tonal shifts, fourth-wall breaks, and flashes of the surreal, including an impromptu musical number and a surprisingly moving moment of fantasy at the end. (There are also the predictable gay-panic jokes.) I had been dreading a lazy rip-off, but this felt like its own thing. To my surprise, the audience—which was primarily European, not Chinese—loved it. At both screenings I attended, it got big cheers. When festival attendees voted on their favorite films, Clash ranked 37th out of 188 titles. (The Brutalist came in 50th.) After watching the film, my griping about the IP rights felt petty. Sure, Wu had blatantly lifted the premise of my article. (I looked up the Chinese article that Wu claimed first inspired him and saw that it explicitly mentioned my New Republic article, and the Sony movie deal, in the first paragraph.) But he'd done something original with it. It occurred to me that even if Wu had taken the story and reframed it to please a domestic audience, I was arguably guilty of the same crime. Just like Wu, I had been writing for a market, namely the American magazine reader of 2014. American narratives about China tend to be simplistic and self-serving. During the Cold War, China was foreign and scary. In the 1980s, as it began to reform its economy, American reporters focused on the green shoots of capitalism and the budding pro-democracy movement. In the post-Olympics glow of the 2010s, American readers were interested in stories about how the Chinese aren't all that different from us: See, they play football too! Or go on cruises, or follow motivational speakers, or do stand-up comedy. I was writing at a cultural and political moment when American audiences—and I myself—felt a self-satisfied comfort in the idea that China might follow in our footsteps. What Hollywood didn't realize is that Chinese viewers weren't interested in that kind of story—not then, and certainly not now. Part of me still wishes that a filmmaker had managed to tell the Dockers story in a way that emphasized international cooperation, especially now that our countries feel further apart than ever. But the liberal-fantasy version was probably never going to work. I'm glad someone made a version that does.
Business Upturn
a day ago
- Business Upturn
Is ‘Special Ops: Lioness' returning for season 3? Everything we know so far
By Aman Shukla Published on June 7, 2025, 19:48 IST Special Ops: Lioness , the gripping spy thriller created by Taylor Sheridan, has kept audiences on edge with its high-stakes missions and stellar cast, including Zoe Saldaña, Nicole Kidman, and Morgan Freeman. With Season 2 wrapping up on December 8, 2024, fans are eagerly asking: Is Special Ops: Lioness Season 3 happening? Here's everything we know so far. Has Special Ops: Lioness Been Renewed for Season 3? As of now, Paramount+ has not officially confirmed Special Ops: Lioness Season 3. However, there are strong indicators that a third season is likely. Zoe Saldaña, who stars as CIA operative Joe McNamara, revealed in an interview with Vanity Fair that she signed on for at least three seasons, suggesting a contractual commitment for more episodes. Additionally, South African streaming platform Showmax responded to a fan inquiry, stating that Season 3 is 'confirmed' and expected to arrive 'soon,' though no official announcement from Paramount+ has backed this claim yet. Special Ops: Lioness Potential Release Date for Season 3 Without an official renewal, no specific release date for Special Ops: Lioness Season 3 has been announced. However, based on the production timelines of previous seasons, we can make an educated guess. Season 1 premiered in July 2023, and Season 2 debuted in October 2024, with filming for Season 1 occurring between September 2022 and January 2023. If Season 3 follows a similar schedule, production could begin in mid-2025, potentially leading to a release in late 2025 or early 2026. What Will the Plot of Season 3 Be About? Special Ops: Lioness follows Joe McNamara and her team of female operatives as they undertake dangerous undercover missions to combat terrorism. Each season introduces a new high-risk operation, and Season 2 ended with the intense 'Operation Sky Hawk,' where the team intercepted Chinese nuclear scientists in Iraq to prevent escalation with Iran and China. The finale left several storylines open, setting the stage for Season 3. While specific plot details remain speculative, Season 3 is expected to dive into a new mission, potentially involving global conflicts hinted at in Season 2, such as tensions with China over Taiwan or new geopolitical threats. The series' signature blend of espionage, action, and moral dilemmas will likely continue, with Joe grappling with the personal toll of her covert work. Fans can also expect more paranoia, double-crosses, and intense firefights, as teased by the Season 2 finale's setup. Aman Shukla is a post-graduate in mass communication . A media enthusiast who has a strong hold on communication ,content writing and copy writing. Aman is currently working as journalist at
Los Angeles Times
a day ago
- Los Angeles Times
Distilling seven Australian seasons in a bottle ... with ants
Ants in gin, Australia's rule-breaking chefs, Adam Leonti's date-night pasta, curbing L.A.'s cream-top enthusiasm, Chin Chin's endangered Chinese chicken salad and more. I'm Laurie Ochoa, general manager of L.A. Times Food, with this week's Tasting Notes. For Daniel Motlop and his fellow Larrakia people in the Darwin region of northern Australia, there are not four seasons but seven. Some seem intuitive for outsiders to grasp — the rainy season (balnba), monsoon season (dalay), heavy dew time (dinidjanggama) and big wind season (gurrulwa). Others are named not only for weather changes but animal and plant patterns as well as harvest traditions, such as barramundi and bush fruit time (damibila), build-up time (dalirrgang) and the speargrass, magpie goose egg and 'knock 'em down' season (mayilema). These seasonal variations are different from ones observed by other indigenous societies in the country. 'In Australia,' said Motlop, who built on his fame as an Australian rules football star to become a native foods entrepreneur, 'we've got over 500 different aboriginal groups.' For instance, the Woiwurrung, of the Yarra River Valley in the country's southern reaches, observe eel (iuk) season and kangaroo-apple (garrawang) season. A sense of place, ancestry and the rhythms of nature are important for Motlop. Which is why he named his distillery company Seven Seasons — to honor the heritage, he says, 'of my grandmother's country up in Darwin.' Last week, Motlop was in Southern California pouring samples of some of his distilled spirits at the Great Australian Bite, an L.A. Times food event held at chef Curtis Stone's Four Stones Farm in Agoura Hills. 'Different signs in nature tell us when a season's starting,' Motlop said during the welcome drink hour. 'A lot of these native ingredients represents a certain season.' One of his most popular distilled spirits is a kind of vodka made, Motlop said, with 'yams harvested by aboriginal people up at the top end of Australia' during the rainy season. In the build-up season, just before the rains hit, he said, 'you can't really find that yam.' But with the rains' arrival, little bell flowers pop up from the yams in the ground, a sign that the tubers, which come in multiple varieties, can be harvested. One of the yams Motlop's team uses in Seven Seasons spirits is 'quite creamy,' he said, 'and another one is a bit like horseradish.' These are blended together, evoking, Motlop said, 'the flavor of the earth.' His most unusual and sought-after spirit might be green ant gin, made with boobialla, which is a native flowering juniper; strawberry gum, a kind of eucalyptus with a bell-shaped fruit; lemon myrtle; pepper berry, and, floating in the liquid if you give the bottle a shake like a snow globe, green bush ants, which Motlop says adds a pop of citrus flavor. (He points out that only the worker ants are used for the gin and the harvest never happens during the ants' breeding season.) Seven Seasons' spirits aren't easy to find at this moment in Southern California, but gin from another Australian small craft distillery pouring at last week's event, Four Pillars, based in the Yarra Valley, is sold in many L.A.-area stores, including Total Wine and Woodland Hills Wine. 'Australia went from about eight distilleries to about 600 distilleries in a period of about 20 years,' wine and spirits writer Mike Bennie said at the event. 'There's been a massive interest in the utilization of native ingredients in Australia ... and tasting Australia through the native things that don't grow anywhere else.' Native ingredients are just one aspect of Australian culture that make its cuisine distinct from other places and hard to define. In some respects, it's like California, both for its climate, openness to new flavors and the multiplicity of international influences that appear on the plate. Last week, restaurant critic Bill Addison wrote about eating at Jung Eun Chae and Yoora Yoon's Korean restaurant Chae outside of Melbourne, where the food, he said, 'expressed another side of the culinary Korean diaspora unlike anything I've experienced.' Clare Falzon, who traveled from her Barossa Valley restaurant Staġuni to join Stone as co-chef for the Great Australian Bite, brings her family's Maltese heritage into her cooking. 'I'm utilizing memories from my childhood experiences from when I was overseas, as well as produce from Australia,' she said after serving guests freshly baked flatbread topped with smoked tomato cream, amaranth, sumac and basil. 'Malta has Italy to the north and North Africa to the south so that's quite a lot of cultures smashed together.' 'You know, your background is Maltese, mine are convicts,' Stone said to Falzon, taking a break from the grill where he was serving spiced lamb ribs to the crowd. 'The truth is, we're rule breakers in Australia. We're a little anti-authoritarian. And I think you see that in the cuisine. You see lots of different multicultural influences and you also see a real spirit.' Date-night pasta: Watch Alba chef Adam Leonti make his lightly smoky spaghetti with lemon, which may be the perfect dish to make for a date. Find the recipe here.
