From a historic standpoint, there are a variety of ways in which different communities and cultures across the world have chosen ingredients and cooking techniques to survive dynamic social, economic or environmental conditions. Many of these ingredients and dishes are today considered to be exotic. The perception of these dishes has evolved from merely being a means to an end. Instead, they have come to be perceived as delicacies passed down from one generation to the next, simmering their way into the cultural fabric of the community. Haam Chhoi is one of those dishes.
A recipe passed down from my Hakka grandmother, this was a dish I grew up eating at home. In translation, haam chhoi means salted or pickled greens. We mostly salt and dry mustard leaves or cauliflower leaves, but this can be done for other green leafy vegetables as well. To me, it was just one of those home-made Hakka dishes which we did not find in restaurants but ate as home-cooked food. It was only when I was a teenager with a keen interest in learning about culinary practices, that my father shared the history of how haam chhoi was a dish born out of harsh circumstances and therefore functioned really well for survival during those times. My father explained that the Hakka people originated in northern China before migrating to southeastern provinces in search of better prospects. Travelling back then was far more challenging than it is today. Consequently, they needed to come up with different techniques to store food because the weather too could get quite harsh at times and finding readily available food was challenging.
This little piece of history was truly fascinating. At the time, the idea of salting, sun drying and pickling as a method of preservation seemed revolutionary to me. Haam Chhoi could be used in soups and stir fries and was quite versatile as a dish. Though I did wonder, why the Hakka people carried this recipe with them to India when they migrated. While some migrated later, the initial waves of Hakka Chinese immigrants to India, specifically to West Bengal, began during the late 18th century and continued throughout the 19th century. Haam Chhoi, therefore, gradually evolved to become the Hakka delicacy we know of today, moving beyond the survival food it once was. A piece of history the community could remember about their people and a story they could narrate to the next generation over a dinner table conversation, much like my father did with me.
Another part of me marvelled at how it was actually a great recipe to carry along to a new land. As immigrants without easy access to the food they once ate in their homeland, dishes that were easy to preserve and versatile to use naturally became staples of the migrant kitchen. With a shelf life of almost a year, and the availability of green leafy vegetables in Bengal, it would have been an invaluable culinary legacy to pass down to the next generation. It is also a dish I, as a fourth-generation Hakka Chinese person in India, warmly introduce to friends who visit wanting to try home-cooked food.
It was only a few years ago when I visited Kolkata and wanted to learn about my roots a little more deeply that I stumbled upon the oldest surviving Chinese restaurant in the city, Eau Chew. This eatery amazed me because it was the only place outside Hakka homes that I had seen, serve haam chhoi. Right there on a printed menu, no less! Many food enthusiasts visit Eau Chew and savour haam chhoi, which is served there stir fried with chicken or pork. I was quite proud to see a dish which made its way into Hakka kitchens through stories of famine and harsh travelling conditions, being relished as a delicacy.
Advances in food preservation technology have completely shifted how we perceive the dishes we choose to prepare and eat. Today, many Hakka households in India rarely dry or salt their own vegetables, viewing it as a cumbersome, outdated chore. When I asked my aunt a few weeks ago if she still makes haam chhoi, she admitted that she, like so many others in our community, has stopped because of the intense effort required at the start. It strikes me as deeply ironic how a culinary practice designed for survival and convenience is now avoided for being too inconvenient. However, this is also what adds to the perception of the dish as being exotic. Living in the age of convenience, we have come to view time-consuming, labour-intensive meals as a luxury—one available only to those who can afford the investment of time and effort required to prepare them. Hence, making these once ordinary dishes, extraordinary.
Seeing a dish born from a need for survival become something we view as too time-consuming to prepare, highlights the profound way the context of time and setting changes our perspective on food. Hakka families in India today have largely adopted local Indian home cooking, favouring mostly quick, uncomplicated soups and stir-fries from the Hakka cuisine in their daily routines. In a way, our ancestors’ quest for convenience lives on—we are simply adapting to the rhythms of a different era. As a result, haam chhoi is no longer an everyday staple, but a prized specialty reserved for special occasions.
Nikita Chung 