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Food fermentation in Asia: a culinary atlas of pickles, pastes and probiotics

Food fermentation in Asia: a culinary atlas of pickles, pastes and probiotics

Tatler Asia4 days ago

Miso likely evolved from the ancient Chinese jiang, but it was during Japan's Heian period (794 to 1185) that it became uniquely Japanese. Fermented soybeans and rice or barley make up that signature rich, umami flavour and creamy texture. There are numerous varieties: shiro (white) miso, which is sweet and delicate; aka (red) miso, which is strong and salty; and awase, a more versatile blend. Regional misos, like the robust hatcho miso from Aichi, offer local flavour profiles.
While miso is more popular as a soup, it also stars in glazes for eggplant (nasu dengaku), marinades and even desserts like miso caramel. Packed with probiotics, B vitamins and minerals, it's as nourishing as it is tasty.
Doenjang has been part of Korean food culture since at least the Three Kingdoms period (57 BCE to 668 CE). Traditionally made by ageing blocks of dried soybean paste called meju in earthenware pots, doenjang has a rustic, deeply funky aroma and flavour that sets it apart from Japanese miso. This thick paste is used in beloved Korean stews like doenjang jjigae, as well as in ssamjang, the dipping sauce for Korean barbecue. Families would often hang meju blocks from their rafters in winter, believing the air and natural microbes imparted health benefits and depth of flavour.
Furu or fermented tofu comes in several varieties. The white version has a creamy, brie-like texture, while red furu gets its colour and mild sweetness from red rice yeast. Then there's chou doufu or stinky tofu, which is boldly pungent and revered in Taiwan and parts of southern China. Despite its intense aroma, fermented tofu has a deeply savoury profile that works beautifully in congee, stir-fried vegetables like kong xin cai (water spinach) or as a spread. Taiwan banners it so much, it even shows up in desserts, paired with sweet syrup or sticky rice.
Legend has it that natto was discovered by accident when a samurai left boiled soybeans wrapped in straw in his bag. The result was a uniquely sticky, stringy and pungent product that's still divisive today. Natto is often compared to stinky cheese in both smell and intensity. You can eat it over hot rice with raw egg, mustard and scallions or enjoy it in sushi rolls like natto maki. Despite its acquired taste, natto is incredibly healthy. It's rich in vitamin K2 and nattokinase, which have both been linked to heart health and improved blood circulation.
Tempeh is native to Java and was first recorded in 19th-century Javanese manuscripts. Unlike soy sauce or miso, which use soybean paste, tempeh is made from whole soybeans fermented with Rhizopus mould. The result is a firm, cake-like product with a nutty, earthy flavour and a satisfyingly meaty texture. Tempeh is commonly deep-fried as tempe goreng, stir-fried in oseng-oseng, or grilled inside banana leaves. As a high-protein, plant-based food with gut-friendly properties, tempeh is gaining popularity globally.
Gochujang only became a fixture in Korean cuisine after chilli peppers were introduced from the Americas in the 16th century. A mixture of fermented soybeans, glutinous rice, red pepper powder and salt, gochujang has a thick, sticky texture and a flavour that balances sweet heat with fermented umami. It's a key ingredient in tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes), bibimbap and spicy bulgogi marinades. Traditionally, gochujang was left to ferment in clay jars called onggi, which you can still see in traditional K-dramas. These allow the flavours to mature under the sun. Fermented vegetables and pickles
Above Kimchi (Photo: Portuguese Gravity / Unsplash)
Kimchi came from the need to preserve cabbage and vegetables during Korea's icy winters. While early versions were white and mild, the arrival of chilli peppers (read gochujang's backstory) changed everything. Modern kimchi is spicy, sour, garlicky and fizzy, thanks to lactic acid fermentation. It's a staple side dish served with every Korean meal, but it also appears in kimchi jjigae (stew), pancakes (buchimgae) and fried rice. Unesco has even recognised the annual kimjang season, when families gather to make giant batches, as Intangible Cultural Heritage.
Tsukemono refers to the wide array of Japanese pickles served as palate cleansers or digestive aids. These include takuan (yellow daikon pickles), umeboshi (sour pickled plums often found in onigiri) and colourful blends like shibazuke or fukujinzuke. Each region—or even household—has its take, often passed down through generations. In Kyoto, tsukemono are essential in a traditional kaiseki meal, showcasing the balance and seasonality central to Japanese cuisine.
From Sichuan province comes pao cai, a tangy, crunchy pickle that brims with chilli, garlic and Sichuan peppercorns. Made by fermenting vegetables like mustard greens and cabbage in a spiced brine, pao cai is a fixture in everyday Chinese meals, adding heat and brightness to noodle soups or hot pot. Some families maintain 'forever brines' passed down for decades, with layers of flavour and local microbiomes lending depth to each new batch.
More common in northern China, suan cai is fermented napa cabbage or mustard greens with a tart, vegetal flavour. It's essential to dishes like suan cai yu (sour fish stew) or pork stir-fries, where its acidity cuts through richness. Typically made during colder months, suan cai is milder than its Sichuanese cousin, pao cai, and often used in broths or dumpling fillings.
Atchara, the Filipino take on pickled papaya, has its roots in Indian achar, introduced via Spanish colonial trade. Made from grated green papaya, carrots, bell peppers and ginger, it's pickled in vinegar and sugar to achieve a crunchy, sweet-sour balance. Atchara is indispensable alongside fatty Filipino dishes like lechon kawali, longganisa or tocino. It's often prepared in bulk for fiestas and holidays. While often relegated as a side player, it adds a different kick to classic Filipino cuisine.
Don't miss: 8 fermented Filipino food you should know
Vietnam's most beloved pickles are light, quick and refreshing. Dưa chua, often made with mustard greens or napa cabbage, and đồ chua, the classic carrot-daikon pickle, bring crisp acidity to dishes like bánh mì, cơm tấm and fresh spring rolls. Pickled using rice vinegar and sugar, they lend balance and crunch to the country's rich grilled meats and savoury broths.
Gundruk is mountain food fermentation made with sun-dried mustard greens, radish leaves or cauliflower greens with the intention for long-term storage. Its earthy sourness is used in soups, curries or pickles throughout Nepal, particularly in the winter months when fresh produce is scarce. It's not just a food item—it's a preservation lifeline in high-altitude communities.
Myanmar's mohnyin tjin is a bold, briny pickle made from mustard greens, chillies, garlic and sticky rice. Fermented in jars or clay pots, the result is a slightly alcoholic, salty-sour condiment often eaten as a side dish or salad, dressed with sesame oil and peanuts. It appears frequently with mohinga, the national noodle soup, and pairs wonderfully with fried foods. Fermented seafood and meat
Above A look at a fish sauce factory (Photo: Quang Nguyen Vinh / Pexels)
Fish sauce may have older roots than soy sauce, with some historians drawing parallels between it and Roman garum. Across Asia, anchovies or small fish are layered with salt and left to ferment in barrels for months to years. The resulting amber liquid is intensely umami and salty, with varying degrees of sweetness and funk depending on the region. It's indispensable in Vietnamese bun cha, Thai som tam, Filipino tinola and countless dipping sauces. Each culture adapts it—Thai nam pla is bold, Filipino patis is often lighter and sweeter, while Vietnamese nuoc mam can be delicate and fragrant.
Shrimp paste is Southeast Asia's answer to anchovy paste—an umami bomb made from ground fermented shrimp, sun-dried and pressed into blocks. Each country has its variant: kapi in Thailand, terasi in Indonesia, belacan in Malaysia and bagoong alamang in the Philippines. It's toasted before use to mellow the aroma, and appears in sambals, curries, stir-fries and dipping sauces. Despite its strong scent, it's a culinary cornerstone across the region.
See more: Where does Malaysia stand in the funky world of fermented foods?
This needs a separate section altogether. The Philippines has an entire vocabulary for its fermented seafood condiments. Bagoong isda (anchovy-based) and bagoong alamang (shrimp-based) vary by region, fermentation time and seasoning. Often aged in large clay jars and sold in wet markets, bagoong can be sautéed into dishes like binagoongan, used in kare-kare (peanut stew) or eaten raw with green mangoes. Ilocano variants are especially prized and aged longer for intense flavour.
Nem chua is a pink, tangy, slightly fizzy snack made from ground pork, garlic, chilli, sugar and rice—wrapped in banana leaves and left to ferment. It's served cold with chilli and herbs, or grilled for a crispy finish. Despite being a meat product, the fermentation gives it a surprisingly bright acidity that offsets its richness, making it a coveted street snack in Vietnam.

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Food fermentation in Asia: a culinary atlas of pickles, pastes and probiotics
Food fermentation in Asia: a culinary atlas of pickles, pastes and probiotics

Tatler Asia

time4 days ago

  • Tatler Asia

Food fermentation in Asia: a culinary atlas of pickles, pastes and probiotics

Miso likely evolved from the ancient Chinese jiang, but it was during Japan's Heian period (794 to 1185) that it became uniquely Japanese. Fermented soybeans and rice or barley make up that signature rich, umami flavour and creamy texture. There are numerous varieties: shiro (white) miso, which is sweet and delicate; aka (red) miso, which is strong and salty; and awase, a more versatile blend. Regional misos, like the robust hatcho miso from Aichi, offer local flavour profiles. While miso is more popular as a soup, it also stars in glazes for eggplant (nasu dengaku), marinades and even desserts like miso caramel. Packed with probiotics, B vitamins and minerals, it's as nourishing as it is tasty. Doenjang has been part of Korean food culture since at least the Three Kingdoms period (57 BCE to 668 CE). Traditionally made by ageing blocks of dried soybean paste called meju in earthenware pots, doenjang has a rustic, deeply funky aroma and flavour that sets it apart from Japanese miso. This thick paste is used in beloved Korean stews like doenjang jjigae, as well as in ssamjang, the dipping sauce for Korean barbecue. Families would often hang meju blocks from their rafters in winter, believing the air and natural microbes imparted health benefits and depth of flavour. Furu or fermented tofu comes in several varieties. The white version has a creamy, brie-like texture, while red furu gets its colour and mild sweetness from red rice yeast. Then there's chou doufu or stinky tofu, which is boldly pungent and revered in Taiwan and parts of southern China. Despite its intense aroma, fermented tofu has a deeply savoury profile that works beautifully in congee, stir-fried vegetables like kong xin cai (water spinach) or as a spread. Taiwan banners it so much, it even shows up in desserts, paired with sweet syrup or sticky rice. Legend has it that natto was discovered by accident when a samurai left boiled soybeans wrapped in straw in his bag. The result was a uniquely sticky, stringy and pungent product that's still divisive today. Natto is often compared to stinky cheese in both smell and intensity. You can eat it over hot rice with raw egg, mustard and scallions or enjoy it in sushi rolls like natto maki. Despite its acquired taste, natto is incredibly healthy. It's rich in vitamin K2 and nattokinase, which have both been linked to heart health and improved blood circulation. Tempeh is native to Java and was first recorded in 19th-century Javanese manuscripts. Unlike soy sauce or miso, which use soybean paste, tempeh is made from whole soybeans fermented with Rhizopus mould. The result is a firm, cake-like product with a nutty, earthy flavour and a satisfyingly meaty texture. Tempeh is commonly deep-fried as tempe goreng, stir-fried in oseng-oseng, or grilled inside banana leaves. As a high-protein, plant-based food with gut-friendly properties, tempeh is gaining popularity globally. Gochujang only became a fixture in Korean cuisine after chilli peppers were introduced from the Americas in the 16th century. A mixture of fermented soybeans, glutinous rice, red pepper powder and salt, gochujang has a thick, sticky texture and a flavour that balances sweet heat with fermented umami. It's a key ingredient in tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes), bibimbap and spicy bulgogi marinades. Traditionally, gochujang was left to ferment in clay jars called onggi, which you can still see in traditional K-dramas. These allow the flavours to mature under the sun. Fermented vegetables and pickles Above Kimchi (Photo: Portuguese Gravity / Unsplash) Kimchi came from the need to preserve cabbage and vegetables during Korea's icy winters. While early versions were white and mild, the arrival of chilli peppers (read gochujang's backstory) changed everything. Modern kimchi is spicy, sour, garlicky and fizzy, thanks to lactic acid fermentation. It's a staple side dish served with every Korean meal, but it also appears in kimchi jjigae (stew), pancakes (buchimgae) and fried rice. Unesco has even recognised the annual kimjang season, when families gather to make giant batches, as Intangible Cultural Heritage. Tsukemono refers to the wide array of Japanese pickles served as palate cleansers or digestive aids. These include takuan (yellow daikon pickles), umeboshi (sour pickled plums often found in onigiri) and colourful blends like shibazuke or fukujinzuke. Each region—or even household—has its take, often passed down through generations. In Kyoto, tsukemono are essential in a traditional kaiseki meal, showcasing the balance and seasonality central to Japanese cuisine. From Sichuan province comes pao cai, a tangy, crunchy pickle that brims with chilli, garlic and Sichuan peppercorns. Made by fermenting vegetables like mustard greens and cabbage in a spiced brine, pao cai is a fixture in everyday Chinese meals, adding heat and brightness to noodle soups or hot pot. Some families maintain 'forever brines' passed down for decades, with layers of flavour and local microbiomes lending depth to each new batch. More common in northern China, suan cai is fermented napa cabbage or mustard greens with a tart, vegetal flavour. It's essential to dishes like suan cai yu (sour fish stew) or pork stir-fries, where its acidity cuts through richness. Typically made during colder months, suan cai is milder than its Sichuanese cousin, pao cai, and often used in broths or dumpling fillings. Atchara, the Filipino take on pickled papaya, has its roots in Indian achar, introduced via Spanish colonial trade. Made from grated green papaya, carrots, bell peppers and ginger, it's pickled in vinegar and sugar to achieve a crunchy, sweet-sour balance. Atchara is indispensable alongside fatty Filipino dishes like lechon kawali, longganisa or tocino. It's often prepared in bulk for fiestas and holidays. While often relegated as a side player, it adds a different kick to classic Filipino cuisine. Don't miss: 8 fermented Filipino food you should know Vietnam's most beloved pickles are light, quick and refreshing. Dưa chua, often made with mustard greens or napa cabbage, and đồ chua, the classic carrot-daikon pickle, bring crisp acidity to dishes like bánh mì, cơm tấm and fresh spring rolls. Pickled using rice vinegar and sugar, they lend balance and crunch to the country's rich grilled meats and savoury broths. Gundruk is mountain food fermentation made with sun-dried mustard greens, radish leaves or cauliflower greens with the intention for long-term storage. Its earthy sourness is used in soups, curries or pickles throughout Nepal, particularly in the winter months when fresh produce is scarce. It's not just a food item—it's a preservation lifeline in high-altitude communities. Myanmar's mohnyin tjin is a bold, briny pickle made from mustard greens, chillies, garlic and sticky rice. Fermented in jars or clay pots, the result is a slightly alcoholic, salty-sour condiment often eaten as a side dish or salad, dressed with sesame oil and peanuts. It appears frequently with mohinga, the national noodle soup, and pairs wonderfully with fried foods. Fermented seafood and meat Above A look at a fish sauce factory (Photo: Quang Nguyen Vinh / Pexels) Fish sauce may have older roots than soy sauce, with some historians drawing parallels between it and Roman garum. Across Asia, anchovies or small fish are layered with salt and left to ferment in barrels for months to years. The resulting amber liquid is intensely umami and salty, with varying degrees of sweetness and funk depending on the region. It's indispensable in Vietnamese bun cha, Thai som tam, Filipino tinola and countless dipping sauces. Each culture adapts it—Thai nam pla is bold, Filipino patis is often lighter and sweeter, while Vietnamese nuoc mam can be delicate and fragrant. Shrimp paste is Southeast Asia's answer to anchovy paste—an umami bomb made from ground fermented shrimp, sun-dried and pressed into blocks. Each country has its variant: kapi in Thailand, terasi in Indonesia, belacan in Malaysia and bagoong alamang in the Philippines. It's toasted before use to mellow the aroma, and appears in sambals, curries, stir-fries and dipping sauces. Despite its strong scent, it's a culinary cornerstone across the region. See more: Where does Malaysia stand in the funky world of fermented foods? This needs a separate section altogether. The Philippines has an entire vocabulary for its fermented seafood condiments. Bagoong isda (anchovy-based) and bagoong alamang (shrimp-based) vary by region, fermentation time and seasoning. Often aged in large clay jars and sold in wet markets, bagoong can be sautéed into dishes like binagoongan, used in kare-kare (peanut stew) or eaten raw with green mangoes. Ilocano variants are especially prized and aged longer for intense flavour. Nem chua is a pink, tangy, slightly fizzy snack made from ground pork, garlic, chilli, sugar and rice—wrapped in banana leaves and left to ferment. It's served cold with chilli and herbs, or grilled for a crispy finish. Despite being a meat product, the fermentation gives it a surprisingly bright acidity that offsets its richness, making it a coveted street snack in Vietnam.

Earth, wind and iron: how Yola Johnson's unique design philosophy comes to life in her Manila home
Earth, wind and iron: how Yola Johnson's unique design philosophy comes to life in her Manila home

Tatler Asia

time14-05-2025

  • Tatler Asia

Earth, wind and iron: how Yola Johnson's unique design philosophy comes to life in her Manila home

Taste, for Johnson, is as much a function of nurture. 'Taste begins in your mother's womb, as it is instinctive,' she says, continuing to describe an inexplicable factor. 'One's acumen to be able to recognise that which is essential or important or artistic is a big word. It doesn't seem to mean anything, but the artistic element is something undefined you cannot cage it. It is something that you either just know or do not know.' She narrates that as a child in Santa Ana, Manila, she often found herself lost in nature. 'They would find me on top of a tree, climbing it. I liked to disappear, and they would find me in fields; there was a wildness [in me]. I liked discovering things myself.' Later, her work's anthropological approach would point to these childhood predilections. She affirms, 'If you study where Philippine design originated, you have to go to the tribes from north to south. We are an amalgam of different cultures and influences—to the Malay from the Chinese, the Spanish and the Americans.' This exposure to different tribes and groups manifests in the choice of materials in Johnson's designs. There is an indigenous quality to the furniture she designs and produces, as if the pieces grew from the ground they now stand on. Early in her career, Johnson found herself gravitating towards fibres and weaves. 'The fibres of our country are the most abundant in the world,' she declares. 'We have thousands of fibres, including the abaca, which is the longest and the strongest fibre in the world!' Subsequently, when asked what she believes is essentially Filipino in her home, she immediately asserts, 'My favourite thing at home is my binding weave. Every time I see it in the morning, I feel inspired to keep going and to keep doing what I do.' Johnson's binding weave is a very basic, simple weave which she internationally patented. She has dedicated her life to championing and protecting the intellectual property of this weave, which was born of a desire to find 'something that will maximise the potential of the abaca'. Air sign Above The private living room with a melange of furniture playing with proportion and asymmetry in Yola Johnson's home Where, as a child, Johnson would be lost in the trees, as an adult she finds herself on top of one of the Philippines' most beautifully designed skyscrapers, occupying an entire floor. The ceilings of Johnson's city flat are spectacularly well-proportioned. 'This home and my Canlubang house both have ceilings. Even my Mindoro house has high ceilings. I need Iots of height, I'm a Gemini and it's an air sign,' she explains. Art is everywhere in this home. This comes as no surprise since Johnson is a protege of Roberto Chabet, widely regarded as the father of Conceptual Art in the Philippines. The furniture in the home exudes a tactile sculptural quality, managing both an air of independence and total cohesion. This is evident in opposing materials and forms placed closely together; for instance, a modern rounded metallic armchair swirls next to a linear wooden antique chair. Overall, the home displays a deep understanding of restraint. The decor is punctuated by a rigorous functionality; in some areas, there is a monastic placement of pieces. There is a gentleness in the manner of the decor, colours from pigment and patina are deep and developed. Light streams from large windows all around the home, dressed in voluminous billowing abaca curtains in their natural beige tone. The textile is both soft and structured, resonating with the rest of the home. The furniture in the home playfully employs proportion in a way that evokes feeling, a skill at which Johnson is adept. In case you missed it: Home tour: Discovering the comfort and character of Kate Sbuttoni's sanctuary in Somerset, England Photo 1 of 4 Melted candles add charm to this traditional chandelier in Yola Johnson's home Photo 2 of 4 Trinkets collected from Yola Johnson's travels Photo 3 of 4 Exploring the unique details of Yola Johnson's home Photo 4 of 4 A glazed bowl in Yola Johnson's home As a reassurance or a fair warning to the entrants to the home of her anthropological interests, a map called Back to the Drawing Board (Filipinas) by Juan Alcazaren is the welcoming site at the foyer. An etching of the Philippine map is on the board, albeit with place names spelled backwards. It is in a concrete fibre board material, with steel and an LED lamp. The home has two sitting rooms, both lined by Johnson's binding weave rugs. The first is for entertaining guests where two sofas—one, smaller sculpted wood and the other, a significantly larger one upholstered with soft cloud-like white linen—diagonally face one another. Behind the white sofa, is an unusual 15-ft-long wooden Filipino bangko or bench which needs an extra pillar in the centre to help prop it up so it does not snap. Painted in a light eggshell beige, the colours of the walls change with the time of day. In a corner, a chaise lounge covered in chocolate leather is beside an oversized floor lamp forming the boundaries of the sitting room. At its centre, a large burl and copper coffee table contrasts with the wooden armchair in the corner. A large artwork by Nilo Illarde called Wall Interventions 1, 2, and 4 is embedded on the wall. The work itself displays materials whose diversity seem to agree in a unified display of material honesty. Nothing ever pretends to be anything other than what it is made of—wood, metal, paper, fibre and glass. Above The four black paintings on the walls are part of Yola Johnson's early works Above Proportion at play in this guest room, with an oversized table lamp Above Exploring the unique details of Yola Johnson's home The second sitting room is in a similar colour to the first, reaffirming Johnson's consistency. A more intimate space filled with personal mementos such as books and children's furniture, it displays things of sentiment. The placement of children's furniture alongside full-sized pieces is again a play on proportion. An offshoot of this sitting room is a den covered in the deepest indigo. Sumptuous fabrics wrap the couch and throw pillows. The two sitting rooms are cohesive and contrasting, similar but at once so different. Across the first sitting room is the dining area where a sizable metallic chandelier hangs above two wooden rectangular tables, placed together to form a square. The central light fixture designed by Johnson is visually impressive, a tornado of metallic winged bulbs suggestive of birds, yet whose primary shape, the bulb, is closer in shape to that of an egg. Its scale is so immense it could have dwarfed everything surrounding it. Yet, it acts almost as an umbrella that covers everything with its light. One notable bedroom is bathed in a decidedly blushed pink hue in its walls and ceilings, trimmed in a darker variation of the shade. A traditional European-style crystal chandelier in a mix of clear crystal and deep pink accents hangs above, providing a contrast to the more organically shaped bed, which has been upholstered in a classic toile. Forged by nature Above Yola Johnson's bedroom in pink hues is complemented by a red ceiling Johnson's home serves as a masterclass in elegance and simplicity. The notion that our planet is an abundant, beautiful one is a message that the flat seems to deliver effortlessly. The purity of the materials serves as a reminder of how important it is to take care of our surroundings. When asked about how best to choose things for one's home, her response is undoubtedly meditative: 'You look at the object and you fall in love with that object. When you bring it to your home, that object will find its place in your space.' She continues, 'I just put it on the floor and then live with it for days, weeks or months. Maybe then that object will eventually tell you where to be positioned. For me, that's the way to do your interiors. You do not look for the object that you will put inside a certain space. The object will tell you where it will go.' Johnson ends our conversation with an anecdote, 'Somebody approached me and asked, ''You haven't done your art for so long. You haven't done any exhibition or anything. Why don't you go back to your art?'' Johnson laughs at how absurd she believes the question to be. She continues, 'My art? I never left it. What I'm doing is my art.' NOW READ 5 iconic hotels in film: Where architecture becomes the star Ode to Earth: Inside the family farmhouse of the architect Gelo Mañosa in Calatagan Home tour: A Parisian apartment blending 18th-century grandeur with curated antiques Credits Photography: Kevin Vicencio

Understanding alkaline noodles, a taste that time almost forgot
Understanding alkaline noodles, a taste that time almost forgot

Tatler Asia

time05-05-2025

  • Tatler Asia

Understanding alkaline noodles, a taste that time almost forgot

Above Traditional noodle making in Fujian province is still practised today in China Like many culinary innovations, the alkaline noodles boast a lineage stretching back millennia. Early Chinese noodle artisans discovered that water from certain mineral-rich lakes produced exceptional results. When these lakes eventually dried up, the alkaline residue left behind became a treasured ingredient. Other regions, particularly Gansu province in China, turned to plant ash derived from burned vegetation, commonly known as peng hui , to achieve similar effects with hand-pulled lamian. With the great Chinese migration, this ancient technique moved southwards, embedding itself in the food cultures of Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia, evolving into distinct regional expressions. Think Hong Kong's defiantly thin yet elastic wanton noodles; Singapore and Malaysia's ubiquitous yellow noodles, the backbone of countless hawker classics, from the ultra-savoury Singapore Hokkien mee to the dark, caramelised KL Hokkien char mee. The general use of plant ash was also observed in Taiwan until 1989, when commercially produced alkaline salts were invented for greater consistency. Above A pull of wanton mee featured in a classic Hong Kong noodle soup So why are the textural benefits of alkalinity universally celebrated, but the flavour itself remains divisive? We dive deeper into the delicious paradox. In Hong Kong, the alkaline note is more implicitly accepted of the wanton noodles, where texture is prized above all. The same with ramen in Japan, where alkaline is widely accepted as fundamental to the noodle's identity. While most manufacturers substitute chicken eggs to save cost, the best ones are still made traditionally with duck eggs, combining salt and kansui directly without added water for that inimitable texture. In case you missed it: The best hokkien mee in Singapore, according to local chefs Above Singapore's ubiquitous plate of ultra-savoury Hokkien mee is a hawker classic Conversely, in Singapore and Malaysia, the alkaline flavour is often labelled as 'kee', derived from the Hokkien dialect in Southeast Asia, and is often met with furrowed brows. Most recipes explicitly instruct cooks to blanch the noodles to reduce the alkaline characteristic. Some modern manufacturers, like homegrown LG Foods, even offer low-alkaline versions of yellow noodles to appease sensitive palates. Yet without alkalinity, these noodles are without their iconic texture, and would quickly submit to a soggy mess in their respective broths and sauces. It is this very agent that creates a flavour controversy that also promises superior structural integrity to our favourite dishes. Above Malaysia's dark and caramelised KL Hokkien char mee uses a thicker alkaline noodle typically called dai lok mee Perhaps the alkaline note suffers most from is linguistic limitation. While we have a range of vocabulary for sweetness, bitterness, umami, and even al dente pasta, the English language offers us primarily negative descriptors such as soapy, bitter, or pungent when describing alkalinity. But experienced noodle masters and connoisseurs understand that when properly balanced, this note becomes not a flaw but a mark of quality, one that subtly elevates and differentiates between one-dimensional noodles and a storied one with character and depth. Above Experienced noodle masters and connoisseurs understand that when properly balanced, the alkaline note becomes not a flaw but a mark of quality So, is the alkaline taste in noodles good or bad? Ultimately, while the textural benefits conferred by alkaline treatment remain central to the appeal and identity of iconic noodles in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia, the associated taste is viewed with more ambivalence; desired by traditionalists yet perceived to be a flaw by contemporary tastebuds. Taking sides with the former, this writer still looks out for this acquired but essential flavour that, despite its divisive reception, weaves both chemistry and history to reflect authenticity. The next time you wolf down a steaming bowl of wanton mee in Hong Kong or a ravishing plate of Hokkien mee in Singapore, pay close attention to that whisper of something unusual beneath the punchy seasonings and rich sauces. You're now tasting the phantom note, one that time almost forgot. Credits

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