Shanghainese chef Chris Yan’s story starts in a typical enough fashion; raised by his grandparents two hours outside of Shanghai in a rural village where you ate what you grew, and meat produce was a rare luxury. “It was a very simple life, and it’s in my mind all the time,” recounts Yan. “We ate food with very few ingredients; tomatoes and potatoes from our own garden, tofu and mushrooms… occasionally a neighbour would give us a fish they’d caught, and we’d hang it outside, salt it and leave it to dry, so it’d last longer. To this day, I still love salted fish,” Yan reminisces.
When he moved back to Shanghai to start school at 10, Yan’s parents were busy working, so when he came home in the afternoons, he learned how to get dinner started. Beginning with rice and moving onto vegetables, it was a natural progression for Yan. Typical of many families in China, the home was one shared with extended family. “My aunties and uncles would teach me how to make simple things to help my parents, but when mum would get home, I would always sit with her in the kitchen, not because I wanted to learn, but because it usually meant she’d sneak me snacks!” he laughs.
When Yan moved to Australia at the age of 28, food became a way to stay connected to his family.
The food I cook is based on memories. What I ate with my family growing up is always in my mind.
“In high school, I read a story of a gay man in a magazine, and it was then that I realised, this is who I am,” he says. “From the start, I knew I didn’t want to pretend I wasn’t gay, and get married. I thought to myself being gay is not my fault, but [co-opting a woman into getting married] to cover it up, that would be,” Yan reflects.
At the age of 28, one year shy of the legalisation of homosexuality in China (and five years before it was declassified as a mental illness), Yan moved to Australia. “The whole of my life, I had to hide who I was from everyone. It makes for a very hard and complicated life. People had started talking behind my back and I thought ‘if I can’t find love in China, I need to go somewhere where people were freer [to express their sexuality]’."
To combat the sacrifice of moving away from his family, Yan turned to his cooking to remain connected to them. “The food I cook is based on memories. What I ate with my family growing up is always in my mind. The food I cook now at Lotus, The Galeries, is based on that, with little twists and new ingredients that reflect my personality and what I have discovered being here in Australia,” he says. From the simplicity of his tofu, tomato and mushroom dish on , to the menu he presents at his restaurant, it’s clear that Yan finds joy in celebrating the simplicity and humbleness of great produce and honest, clean flavours.
Love and memories are the best ingredients you can add to your cooking.
In addition, a deep sense of nostalgia and cultural authenticity runs through creative expression. “When I cook for Shanghainese customers, and they come up to the pass afterwards and say ‘you must be from Shanghai [the way you cook]’, it makes me so happy,” he says with a smile.
When asked what the secret is to his unapologetically personal approach to cooking, he says: “People often ask what my secret seasoning is, in my food. It’s not a secret at all - just put your love into it. Love and memories are the best ingredients you can add to your cooking."
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tastes of shanghai
Jacky’s Shanghai fried rice cake
