Fusion Cuisine

Written by Duncan Holmes | 12 January 2009

I have an irrational fear that one day in the not-too-distant future, no matter where we choose to go in the world, all food will taste the same. By osmosis, accident — or because of overly creative cooks who inadvertently pushed well-intentioned taste envelopes too far — a moment will come when a restaurant meal in Moncton will look and taste the same as it does in Moscow, Melbourne and Montevideo.

Call it fusion, food mongrelization or simply a case of unbridled taste inbreeding, but the writing’s on the kitchen wall. Clues? When you see daft items like gung haggis fat choy or ragù a la Bolognese; when you come across a spiffy Hong Kong restaurant with a name like San San Trois or a place in New York called Sushi Samba and you witness the strange things that crop up in your own neighbourhood, the world of distinctive tastes begins to cloud over and the windows that once yielded exciting regional differences begin to close. Pairing anything with everything will become the norm, distinctions as we know them will disappear, fusion will turn to confusion and we’ll be left with nought but a beige blob on a plate that tastes like, well, nothing.

Food fusion — simply put, the bringing together of elements of different culinary regions — has been around forever. It was not until the 1980s, however, that a chef (allegedly from Florida) gave the concept a name; what we had once thought of as fun became confusingly formal. While the tastes of China, India, Malaysia and all the rest had often ended up on the same plate, it was now official, the movement had a name, it required and expected the usual descriptors, and it invited the predictable detractors.

As Vancouver stylist, cook and TV presenter Nathan Fong and his kitchen peers will be quick to tell you, something that tastes great of its own accord won’t necessarily taste just as good or better when fused to something else. The legendary London cook who moistened a customer’s chicken tikka with Campbell’s tomato soup, cream and some spices, inadvertently fusing a sloshy masala creation into a national dish, was dubiously lucky. And, to be fair, there are others who, without Campbell’s soup, have succeeded in making the fusion thing work. They have shown us that, done right, international fusion doomsday — “the world as a single city,” as one blogger put it — may yet be avoided.

Goodness knows, we all want more taste. Exponentially as we travel, nibble and nosh in foreign lands, we continue to discover that there is much, much more out there than Alberta beef and Yukon Gold potatoes. And thankfully, perhaps where you live, there are those who bring the exotic we yearn for right to your neighbourhood.

A block or two west of the fluorescent, formica-and-hell-fire woks of Vancouver’s Chinatown, Wild Rice (www.wildricevancouver.com), a welcoming contemporary bistro, is serving “modern Chinese cuisine.” In this oft-praised space, fusion happens all over the menu. With the greatest of care, Wild Rice brings together Asian traditional and foods that are decidedly local.

Here the congee is lighter, made with local halibut — even lighter with lemon, coriander and an infusion of jasmine; here are mussel pot-stickers with a roasted-garlic and ginseng aïoli; here are crispy candied-Indian-salmon wontons. Picture a Hui-style lamb shank, neat and tidy, with lentils, a roasted-coconut curry and a smash of taro root. Oven-roasted wild BC sablefish, with a golden-fried brown-rice farro paddy and baby bok choy in a spicy crystallized ginger and palm-sugar reduction. It all deserves a much nicer label than mere fusion!

Andrew Wong, one of the two owners of Wild Rice, grew up with Cantonese-type fare: slabs of bok choy, spicy pork dishes and a daily ration of tofu, enjoyed mostly with a beer, sometimes with a Johnny Walker Red. It was the way of many of the city’s Asian restaurants. After an early start in the restaurant business and years of hard work, Wong saw an opportunity in creating a distinctive cuisine that crossed potentially risky borders but that should only aim to improve the basics, bring on tastes that aren’t blurred and provide more comfort, wine and great drinks to entice guests to linger.

Across town at Vij’s, a sixty-five-seat haunt that attracts streams of beautiful people and tons of positive press, Vikram Vij and wife Dhalwala manage to stay close to their Indian roots while making clever gastronomic marriages of the tastes of India and the contemporary offerings of their region. Their restaurant’s signature dish is the lamb popsicle. At a party one night, Vij noticed that guests were struggling to remove the meat from a lamb chop with a knife and fork. Why not marinate the chop for a couple of days in mustard and sweet white wine, cook it and serve it with a fenugreek cream curry — encouraging guests to hold it by the bone, like a popsicle? It was an instant hit.

Those of us who enjoy life in the kitchen are, by nature, adventurers. We consult our cookbooks, our cupboards and our souls to create tastes that will please, to make meals that are memorable. Fusion, or whatever may come our way, is not a finite thing; the parameters of our endeavours are those we draw for ourselves. Maybe that’s our only challenge — not to bring the world of food together into one taste puddle, but to define and celebrate distinctive differences that are ours alone.

Wild Rice’s Halibut Congee with Chinese Silverfish Crackers

Wild Rice’s Cucumber and Winter Melon Salad

Vij’s Marinated Lamb Popsicles