When it came to Chinese cuisine—one rich, diverse, and steeped in 5,000 years of history—Canadian celebrity chef Christine Cushing knew that she knew nothing. That, according to Confucius, made her truly wise.
The ancient philosopher said: “I hear and I forget; I see and I remember; I do and I understand.” And so Cushing set off to understand.
Episodes follow Cushing’s travels across North America, Europe, and Asia, from stomping on noodle dough in Taiwan to consulting a Greek doctor of Chinese medicine in Athens, as she traces the cuisine’s ancient roots and chases its far-flung and lasting influence. I asked Cushing about her adventures.
When we look at Confucius, he did say a lot of things in his teachings about food: to eat seasonally, how to cut things, to not overdo things. That’s the entry point, which then opens the door to all kinds of other discussions.
The philosophy was super fascinating to me. I’m also Greek—I was born in Greece—and through learning about Chinese philosophy and Confucius, I learned so much about Greek philosophy. There was such a parallel between Socrates and Confucius. They actually are quoted as saying the exact same thing: “What I know for sure is I know nothing.” A lot of Greek philosophers used that. It’s fundamental, as that’s how you learn: really knowing you know nothing. That was the mindset that I went into this whole journey with.
We went to this [Huaiyang] restaurant in San Francisco, and the chef just blew me away. I sat down and he made me 31 different plates. It was nuts. His skills, dexterity, and incredible graciousness—there was something incredible about this man. It was a very magical night that I will probably never forget.
We tend to look at the “other,” for lack of a better word, as something different. But what I found when I traveled there is that the “other” is really just like me. You ask them about their food, you taste their food, and they’re so excited to share it with you. Everybody wants the same thing: They want to connect with people, they want to have a great life with their families, they want to share their customs and traditions and prolong them. And that’s the value of this show for anybody.
Case in point: There are these noodles called jook sing [“bamboo rod”] noodles. They’re Cantonese, from the south. I had never heard about it. I met this man that was making the noodles right in my own city, in Toronto, in this nondescript strip mall. I don’t know who else makes these noodles this way anymore, because he said even back home in China, it’s difficult—these traditions are being lost.
He uses a bamboo stick to knead the dough, and it’s a very interesting method, let’s just put it that way. He shows it to me, and I am killing myself laughing because they totally had me in the dark; I had no idea what I was getting into. I’m not going to tell you what happens, because it is hilarious and so much fun.
But then I tasted these noodles and I said, “Oh my God, I totally get it.” By making these noodles with the bamboo, there is a layering of the dough that creates a much bouncier, much more toothsome texture that you wouldn’t get if you made them by machine. With these ancient traditions, there was a reason why they did it the way they did. Now, everything is a shortcut.
Sometimes you’ve got to look to the past to see where we’re going, because there are reasons why things happened the way they happened. It’s not just random.
