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Australia's Asian Connection

Asian immigration has had a dramatic culinary impact

by Charmaine Solomon

From a culinary point of view, Australia is not the same country we migrated to 36 years ago, when we left the tropical island of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) for Sydney—big, beautiful, bewildering. Forward scouts had warned us that Australia was a land where one could buy nothing in the way of "civilized" foods and that we should take our own supplies of spices.

Heeding the advice, I came armed with cans of curry powder my mother had blended for me. On the can was written, in her clear script, a basic recipe. With this as my lifeline, I was launched on the unknown waters of cooking real food for the first time. ("Real food" meaning meals to survive on, as distinct from the cakes and confectionery I had taken pleasure in creating.) There had been no need for me to prepare meals in Sri Lanka because every household had a resident cook. While there was a "sink or swim" feeling of being thrown in at the deep end, there was also a sense of real adventure.

This was the time of the White Australia policy. In order to obtain permission to settle in Australia, I had to provide proof of the requisite 75 percent of European blood. (Thankfully, my ancestors had arrived in Ceylon from Holland in the year 1714 and detailed genealogies of many Dutch families had been kept by the Dutch Burgher Union.) The cultural cringe was alive and well in Australia, but it was the newcomers who suffered from it. I learned to make spaghetti Bolognese and roasts almost before I learned to make a good curry.

When it came to grocery shopping, apart from the corner store with its basic supplies, there existed only the "Ham and Beef" shop, forerunner of today's delicatessen, but at that time the name was totally descriptive. There were also health food stores where one could purchase rice, split peas, curry powder and turmeric.

But what a difference the last three decades have made in the eating habits of Australians of Anglo-Celtic background, to whom the "baked dinner" was almost a religion, with services being held at least once a week; to whom a curry was what you did with the leftover roast and Chinese food the invention known as chop suey.

Now Australians delight in the opportunity of traveling through their taste buds, and often the journey takes them to Asia. Yum cha (dim sum) on weekends is becoming increasingly popular. If a Thai restaurant is known to be good, you had better book reservations. Indian restaurants are gaining popularity, especially those that offer regional or vegetarian food. Eat-in or take-away places specialize in noodles from Malaysia, pho from Vietnam, laksa from Singapore, satay and other quick meals that are incredibly tasty.

It's hard to believe that a generation ago, the average Aussie considered it the height of chic to visit the local Chinese restaurant. The sign outside assured the clientele that "Chinese and Australian" meals were served, and the menu was carefully vetted so that nothing too challenging confronted customers.

I think the change may have started with tourism to Asia With their country placed in the Pacific, nearer to Asia than to Europe or America, vacations in Asia are more affordable to average Australians. Once travelers were exposed to the excellent, bargain-priced food, there was no going back. They came home to Australia keen to repeat their gastronomic experiences, even if it meant learning to cook the food themselves. They'd seen it tossed together in minutes at street stalls and felt it couldn't be too difficult—and it isn't.

In the 1960s, the emphasis was on Continental cuisines with their richness and long-cooking methods. It has now shifted to Asian cuisines with fresh flavors and the fast, healthy cooking styles of steaming and stir-frying. I am fortunate to have lived in Australia during decades of incredible change and had the opportunity to share my love of Asian cooking through books and teaching. When referred to as the "mother of Asian cooking in Australia," I protest that I was only a midwife, merely easing its entry into this new area and sharing with others what I had to learn myself, how to cook Asian food in a Western country. I had a hard time convincing people that all Asian food did not have to be loaded with chilies. I learned not to wince when some earnest cook assured me that she made a "curry" with diced apples, bananas, sultanas and curry powder.

Chinese prospectors who came to Australia during the 19th-century gold rushes were able to enjoy their own cuisine in private clubs and restaurants, as this illustration from a 1880 edition of The Australasian Sketcher shows.

Chinese food was everything in a sweet and sour sauce, or deep-fried (including the ice cream); Indonesian food was hot sambals which made tears run; Indian food was pappadams and cucumbers in yogurt and curries with no depth of flavor, no subtle fragrant spices but lots of cayenne powder. If not hot they were considered not "authentic," so one might say the public got what they deserved. As for Thai, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian, Japanese, Nonya, Burmese, Korean cuisines—the palette of flavors that now enrapturing many Australians—they were not even blips on the horizon

In the 1960s, I used to write to my family in Sri Lanka for stocks of spices. In the 1970s, Asian ingredients started to become more accessible, mainly in the Chinatown areas of capital cities. In the 1980s, because of the influx of Asian immigrants and refugees, there was a quantum leap in growing and distributing numerous Asian herbs, vegetables and fruits. Chili sauces and other flavorings began to be produced locally. Now, in this country with its Western heritage, one is able to purchase almost as wide a range of Asian ingredients as in Asia itself.

Looking back over 25 years of food writing, I can see from my early books that at first there was no choice but to use dried curry leaves, lemongrass and galangal, and explain to readers how to make coconut milk since a quality product was not available in cans. Now, while some remote country towns might still be reliant on dried herbs, it is most unlikely that the supermarket does not carry at least a couple of brands of canned coconut milk.

As for big cities, every suburban shopping center has an Asian supermarket, perhaps more than one. The aisles buzz with activity, especially on weekends. The customers are not all Asian either. Young chefs who are not afraid of blazing trails are making a mockery of the well-known lines penned by Rudyard Kipling, "East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet." In the capable hands of today's high-profile chefs, ingredients and cooking methods of both East and West are meeting and merging. The result is an exciting blend in which neither one predominates, but each enhances the other.

Australia is emerging from the shadow of "the old country," finding its place in the Asia-Pacific region and realizing that the cuisines of its Asian neighbors are more relevant to its climate than those of Europe. The great land extending from the tropics to the south allows Australians to enjoy the gamut from mangoes, rambutans, kaffir limes, pandan leaves, crabs of dinner-plate size, to Atlantic salmon and ocean trout from the icy waters off Tasmania.

Asian vegetables are now eagerly sought by Australians of all ethnic backgrounds.

There is an exploration taking place, a happy discovery of new ingredients and fresh flavors. East and West are not only meeting, they are embracing. The coating of chopped konbu (sea kelp) on the rare slice of ocean trout, the Indian tandoori marinade on a char-grilled kangaroo fillet, the snow peas and fresh water chestnut in the salad, the threads of Thai lime leaf and slivers of lemongrass in a tomato broth, the hint of galangal in the crab-filled ravioli perhaps give us proof of an emerging uniquely Australian cuisine.