Episode #180: Cooking Up a Revolution
“When all the protests were happening [immediately following the coup], I was also out protesting as well, and I saw there were so many hungry protesters! Other people were donating, and I have an empty kitchen that's not being used. So I realized, if I'm not serving food to customers, and I still have my staff, and I still want to pay my staff, then just let me cook really simple stuff,” Trish says. “We were able to serve about 5,000 protesters in total. I stopped because while I was out donating food, it got a bit dangerous because [the soldiers] recognized my face.”
There were certainly close calls. Trish recalls dodging smoke bombs, evading arrest, hiding out in strangers’ homes, and always having to map out possible exits if things went south. After her neighbors told her that suspicious strangers had begun hanging around and asking about her, she knew she had to leave. So she decided to resettle in Thailand, where she could continue her advocacy and fundraising in relative safety. And as a professional chef with years of experience under her belt, she quickly realized that offering up Burmese cuisine was perhaps the best vehicle to achieve both these objectives.
“[Food] is an easy entry into conveying our messages and making a political statement, or making an art exhibition. People warm up to it.” Additionally, as Thailand began to flood with Burmese activists, comfort food did much to establish a sense of community in a foreign place. “Most of the time, we try not to talk about politics,” she says, referencing the home cooked meals she now hosts. “It's a bit of a break from whatever they are dealing with. They're able to destress in my food. Then reminiscing about home, thinking of eating a bowl of mohinga and like, ‘Oh, I miss mom now.’ And then they go back, belly full and a little bit more energized again for whatever they have to go back to. So I've noticed the power in that.”
Trish now lives in Chiang Mai, which, perhaps because of its burgeoning Burmese community, has added a number of new Burmese restaurants to its already vibrant culinary scene. Although the city has long been famous for its Asian cuisine, until recently it was limited to Thai, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, and Vietnamese. For Trish, this hinted at an underlying prejudice that many Thais hold towards their neighbors; indeed, having worked in Thai restaurants, she is familiar with this kind of discrimination, noting how some Thai staff felt uncomfortable taking orders from a Burmese boss. And she feels the same is true about Thai attitudes towards Burmese food. “They are brainwashed to think that Burmese food is dirty and unimportant,” she says. “The way they think about food is also how they think about the people, and that becomes an issue. So for us to raise awareness about what's happening in Myanmar, we have to… start breaking down the stereotypes as well. I find that food is like a very easy way. Food storytelling can entice people into talking about geopolitics.”
Yet Trish didn’t just see her cooking as playing an important role in helping break down Thai stereotypes about Myanmar. She explains how, just as Bamar culture has dominated her country for generations, so has Bamar cuisine. For that reason, she has taken it upon herself to research recipes from Myanmar’s many ethnic and religious minorities and expose them to a Bamar audience. Interestingly, her mission to document her country’s indigenous dishes came from watching the television show Chef’s Table, in which a Mayan cook was explaining how preserving traditional recipes meant more than just food: it was a part of not losing their culture and history. “I wanted to bring that community and show people that how diverse Myanmar is, and there's so many different types of food.”
Before the coup, while it was much safer for Trish to research her country’s diverse culinary landscape, she realized that some key pieces were still missing. For example, although she could find exact recipes from the royal court, she had no idea what the common people were eating at that time. This exploration helped her realize the historically important role of fermentation in Burmese cooking. As electricity has only recently arrived in the Burmese countryside, fermentation ensured that people could preserve food in the hot, tropical climate. During the transition period, she launched Poe Ferments, which recreated many traditional styles of fermentation.
Interestingly, she notes how traditional Burmese fermentation became yet another discriminatory lens through which to view Burmese food. No dish stands out more in this regard than ngapi, or fermented fish paste, which even British colonials would complain about. “You eat fish fresh, right? Like that's the common thinking. But no, we eat fish rotten! And people don't realize the amount of probiotics that you're getting from eating this on a daily basis.” The other criticism dumped on ngapi was that it was smelly, and so some relegated it to be a food of a poor or dirty people. “[They say that] foreigners can't take that intense smell. And I'm like, ‘Well, what about blue cheese? What are you talking about?!’”
Trish’s gastronomic journey has given her a broader perspective about cooking, which all started when she dropped out of a marketing course at a Thai university, deciding instead to enroll in a French culinary school. While many kitchens across Myanmar scarcely have a single measuring cup, the exactitude that French cuisine requires couldn’t have been more different. “I was a spoiled kid,” she acknowledges. “So for me to join the culinary school, the French way, the very military style kind of training and punctual stuff… I ate that up like crack! That was something that was lacking in my life, that discipline.” At the same time, she has been surprised to find some unexpected similarities between Burmese and French cuisine, such as the heavy use of butter in French cuisine and cooking oil in Burmese.
Trish worked at a French Michelin restaurant for a while, but later quit with the hope of bringing her developing skills to the reinvigoration of Burmese cooking, which coincided with the transition period before the coup. But the result was less than satisfying, as she only found work at higher-end establishments. “I was elevating the cuisine by bringing a French snare or flair to it,” she recalls. “But really, if you think about it, all I was trying to do was whitewashing. It was pissing me off, but it took me a long time to realize that… I started to feel very uncomfortable about it, because it’s devaluing the culture.” This prompted her to go back to the basics, starting with a reflection into how she could “decolonize” her mind by bringing a higher degree of authenticity in the Burmese fare she wanted to offer. As it is no longer safe to operate in Myanmar, her mission has since carried over to her life in Chiang Mai, where she launched Bamama Cooks.
“It started off as food content creating, and now it's developing into more of a community building and product-based business as well,” she notes, proud that her business model doesn’t rely on any outside sources of funding. This means they are not only sustainable, but also independent. Even better, she is able to draw from a labor pool of displaced Burmese, including those on CDM. This is especially important at a time when so many in her community are facing such great uncertainty. “When the coup hit, we had to give up everything! We had to leave our homes… and then leaving our families, that's the most tragic thing, and moving here, not knowing what to do.” She saw that many of her friends were going through something of an identity crisis to boot. With that in mind, she decided to host Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop in Chiang Mai, an event featuring music, art, and of course, food, and hopes to build on this model by hosting similar events in the future.
“The concept… was just to show that we are continue living our lives,” she said. “Despite the military trying to take our lives away, we're continuing what we're good at and what we're interested in, and I think there's power in it, and there's also strength in it.” Trish also found that offering up food became something of a great equalizer, as when prominent journalists, democracy leaders, or activists came, the act of eating simplifies life. “Just seeing them eat a bowl of mohinga and enjoying it like as if they're my brother or my sister, and without having that identity and stress tied to them, it's a joy.”
Like many journeys, Trish’s culinary voyage has landed her back to where she started. Today, she continues to contemplate the deeper meaning behind not only the food of her homeland, but also what it represents. “I had to ask myself, as a Burmese person, what is the essence of Burmese food? And that was just bringing people together and having that community vibe.”