Growing Up Taiwanese in Sweden
Growing Up Taiwanese in Sweden
An interview with Taiwanese Swedish food writer Karin Lei
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I met Taiwanese Swedish food writer Karin Lei for the first time this summer at a coffee shop near my in-laws in the southern Swedish city of Malmö, and it felt like catching up with an old friend. We sipped coffee while trading notes on food writing, Taiwanese identity, and motherhood. A few weeks later, she hosted my family at her house for lunch, where she effortlessly whipped up an incredible Taiwanese feast: squid and celery licked with shacha, a well-rounded three-cup chicken, and an elegant cabbage stir-fry with garlic.
We signed each other’s books. Her son (who, coincidentally, shares the same name as mine) gifted my baby boy a capybara sticker. It was all very charming.
Karin is the author of Dumplings & annan dim sum. She was born in Stockholm to a Taiwanese restaurant family, and now lives in Malmö as a food writer and cookbook author. She’s currently working on a second book about the food of her family.
The following interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
Clarissa: As you know, there was a significant migration out of Taiwan during martial law in the late 20th century. A lot of people, like my parents, went to the United States. How did your parents decide on Sweden, of all places?
Karin: My uncle already lived here with his cousins, and they had opened a restaurant called Taipei in Stockholm. My dad has been trained as a Japanese chef since he was 16 years old. There was a working visa in Sweden back then for chefs. Most of my parents’ friends who came here in the 70s or 80s were people who came for that working visa. Back then, there was a shortage of chefs. They’ve changed the rules on that now; you have to put up an advertisement for that job in Sweden before you outsource from abroad.
Clarissa: What were the Chinese restaurants like back then? (I’m using Chinese here as a general umbrella term because, in the late 20th century, a lot of people in Taiwan identified as Chinese—especially when they moved abroad.)
Karin: They were mostly owned by Cantonese and Taiwanese people. My dad worked at one called Golden Horse 金馬 in Stockholm. It was so popular that they had a coat room. My mom worked in the coat room. But it was Chinese food designed for Swedish people, so like sweet and sour pork, spring rolls, and things like that.
Clarissa: Your dad eventually opened his own restaurant in Malmö, right?
Karin: Yes. In 1989, he opened a Japanese restaurant called Osaka Inn. It was the second Japanese restaurant in town, and it was really hard.
Clarissa: In what way?
Karin: We had to explain everything. People came in and said, ‘Oh, this looks oriental,’ and would request sweet and sour dishes. My dad had to change the menu after a while because we couldn't survive on the Japanese menu. He even added Mongolian barbeque.
For example, customers would order chirashi bowls and think my dad was lazy because the dish was raw fish over rice. We had to tell them that a chirashi bowl, by definition, is fish over rice. That’s what they ordered.
Clarissa: Oh my. I’m assuming you guys made sushi with local Scandinavian fish, like salmon. (Most people don’t even realize that salmon isn’t a Japanese fish. The use of salmon in sushi in Japan is largely thanks to a highly successful Norwegian marketing campaign that took place in the late 20th century.)
Karin: Yeah. A small group of Swedish customers were interested and familiar with Japanese dishes. But almost every day when I was there at the restaurant, I’d hear a comment like, ‘Ew, I hate raw fish.’ People didn’t appreciate it back then. But Dad was always happy when the Japanese or Korean business people visited because they understood. He would get so excited whenever they booked a table and would spend the days before cutting small flowers out of vegetables and doing all the garnishes because he's like, ‘Oh, these people know, and they appreciate it.’
Clarissa: That’s so interesting, considering now I see poke stores all around town. From my limited understanding, sushi or raw fish isn’t exotic in Sweden today anymore. When did the tides turn?
Karin: The yuppie era. In the late 90s. People started serving sushi in buffets and lots of Chinese restaurants.
Clarissa: Zooming out a bit, what is the Asian food scene like in Sweden compared to other European countries?
Karin: We’re still lacking. It’s not like in Paris, where there is a Little Saigon. Restaurants are not at a point where they can make ends meet just by serving Asian people. To survive, they have to make food for the broader Swedish community.
You know, the other day I read reviews about a new Chinese restaurant in town and people were complaining and saying ‘Oh it’s the same food that old Chinese restaurants serve.’ I get it. I want the regional Chinese stuff, too. But at the same time, you have to understand it from the restaurant owner’s perspective. You have to play the safe cards.
Clarissa: With your work, you're continuing your parents’ job of educating Scandinavians about Asian flavors and condiments. But it’s in a much more direct way. (Karin hosts cooking workshops in Sweden)
Karin: Yep, exactly. But it’s also difficult. When I write about doubanjiang 豆瓣醬 or shacha 沙茶, people ask me what it tastes like. And I’m like, ‘You guys don’t have anything that tastes like this.’ But people are really curious.
My parents didn’t have the language to do this. They couldn’t even defend themselves. People would leave a bad review, and we didn’t know how to respond. They didn’t know how to market. They have a traditional Taiwanese mentality: if I work hard, then success will come.
Clarissa: For visitors to Malmö, what your recs? Best places to buy Asian pantry items and favorite Chinese/Taiwanese restaurants?