September is dedicated to the joys of food and drink. From discovering a new cocktail to securing a reservation at a celebrated restaurant, or supporting a local wine region, savoring the flavors of the world is a unique and wonderful aspect of travel. To celebrate this, this month is dedicated to a collection of tasty features, including chefs’ top tips for eating well on the road, how to choose an ethical food tour, the wonders of ancient indigenous cooking traditions, and a chat with Hollywood taco impresario Danny Trejo.
The experience in Macao echoed an episode of "Portlandia," where characters grill their waiter about the origins and ethics of the food being served. However, in this instance, the food in question was shark fin soup, and the role of the conscientious waiter was filled by an apathetic tour guide.
Shark fin soup, a dish shrouded in controversy, boasts a history tracing back to China’s Song Dynasty. It is regarded as a delicacy, celebrated for its high collagen content, which, according to the tour guide, Ken, is particularly "good for ladies." This supposed health benefit, however, comes at a steep price, both financially and ethically. According to Humane Society International, a staggering 72 million sharks are killed each year to satisfy the demand for shark fin soup, with a single bowl potentially costing as much as $100.
"Where did this come from?" "Is it sustainably farmed?" "Was the shark killed before harvesting the fin?" The group’s questions were well-intentioned but misdirected. "Yes, of course, it’s sustainably harvested," Ken responded, his tone betraying a lack of conviction.
Despite the ethical concerns surrounding the dish, a sense of unease lingered. The soup’s presence on the table was due to certain members of the group repeatedly mentioning shark fins. This marked the third instance in two days of such complaints arising in a no-frills Chinese restaurant, regardless of the ethics of the dish.
Before this trip, the only thing known about Macao was its reputation for gambling. However, Macao is a UNESCO City of Gastronomy, home to 17 Michelin-starred restaurants and a history unlike any other destination.
Macao, now a Chinese Special Administrative Region, spent over four centuries under Portuguese colonial rule, only being "handed over" to China in 1999. The result is a 12.7-square-mile peninsula and island chain boasting a unique blend of architectural styles. The streets and buildings evoke a Portuguese city, while intricate casino resorts and design hotels resemble those of Las Vegas, alongside densely packed apartment buildings.
Macao’s cuisine reflects this diverse heritage. Portuguese restaurants offer "authentic" meals prepared by Portuguese chefs. Cantonese cuisine is readily available, from Michelin-starred dim sum establishments to casual eateries. Macanese food, a fusion of cooking styles and ingredients from Europe, Africa, and Asia, creates something entirely new and unique to Macao.
The trip, alongside a group of journalists, aimed to showcase the region’s incredible cuisine, interspersed with explorations of Macao’s architecture, culture, and history. Over four days, the experience included incredible meals and a culinary adventure.
Despite the overall enthusiasm, a tension arose during certain meals. At smaller restaurants serving unpretentious Chinese fare, discussions about how weird some of the foods were emerged. This reaction was unexpected from a group of seasoned travelers. The trip was explicitly about food and exploring Macao’s culinary scene, yet professional writers repeated phrases that bordered on xenophobia: "I can’t believe you would eat that!" "But why would anyone want to eat this?" "Isn’t this exceptionally cruel?"
The initial murmurings began mid-trip on a hot September day, nearing lunchtime. The group visited Coloane, a quieter part of Macao, to see the Panda Pavilion’s residents and sample world-famous egg tarts. The pandas were a sight to behold, and everyone was hungry.
The restaurant was advertised as offering "Macao local cuisine." Once the group realized that Macao local cuisine could be a combination of Portuguese, Cantonese, and Macanese fare, it didn’t mean much. Nga Tim Café offered two menus, one for Portuguese dishes and one for Cantonese dishes. Ken ordered for the group and mentioned that he ate field mice, specifically the feet. His wry smile suggested it was a joke, but the travel companions were horrified.
As with every other meal, there was more food than could be consumed. There was pork with skin fried to shattering crispness, stir-fried beef on a bed of crispy noodles, a plate of sautéed clams, grilled langoustines, pieces of fried white fish with tiny bones meant to be swallowed, and a ceramic dish of what could best be described as a worm casserole garnished with fresh cilantro. The last dish sat untouched, posing a challenge.
When Ken asked if anyone wanted to try the worms, someone volunteered. "You can’t say you don’t like something if you don’t try it," a motto instilled since childhood. The taste was unremarkable; with eyes closed, the most prominent flavor was egg, which is disliked unless fried, soft boiled, or poached. At least another bite was taken, but every time the ceramic bowl and the shape of the worms was looked at, the stomach did a flip. Only one journalist sampled the mysterious dish.
On the last full day in Macao, the three-story Red Market was visited. This was something to be excited about. Grocery stores are a must-see in every destination. There was a desire to learn how Macanese people shopped and ate daily. An hour was spent exploring the market with its neat bundles of produce. The lower level’s butchery stalls were fascinating. An assortment of organs or a whole pig’s head could be purchased. Rows of fresh fish waited to be cooked, and a large tray of the red worms eaten the day before. While the author embraced this grocery goodness, a few members of the group pulled back. One woman didn’t even enter the market, the idea of raw or undercooked food making her feel queasy, and there was a sense of relief when the group had to leave for the next meal.
The final lunch in Macao was a Chinese food feast. There was sesame pudding plated to look like yin and yang, a pork chop sandwich, braised pigs’ feet, bowls of noodle soup, stir-fried noodles, multiple types of fried chicken, and the stars of the conversation: shark fin soup and bird’s nest pudding.
After days of pointing out the dried fins or boxes of nests, it was time to try the delicacies. The pudding was tasty, and the bird’s nest was added as a garnish. The nest was all texture with no taste, resembling crumbling gelatin. The soup sat untouched despite Ken’s assurance that no sharks were tortured for the dish. Eventually, he asked if anyone wanted to try, and someone volunteered. It wouldn’t have been ordered, but it was already on the table, and when else would such an opportunity arise? Just Eat the Soup was the sentiment.
And honestly, after all that fanfare, the soup wasn’t liked, but without trying it, this could not be known. The entire experience of Just Eat the Soup had been an adventure.
The experience of traveling and being open to new culinary adventures is what makes travel exciting. This is true for the story of Just Eat the Soup.
