Great Chef, Great Person: Cheng Yen-chi

Cheng Yen-chi, also known as Chef Ah-Chi, is the executive chef of Fullon Hotels and Resorts. In addition to his day job, Chef Ah-Chi has in recent years taught culinary arts, hosted a cooking program on TV, and published a popular cookbook.

More impressively, Chef Ah-Chi is also known for being a genuinely good person. In March 2010, the Taiwan edition of Readers' Digest surveyed the Taiwanese public on which public figures it trusted. Chef Ah-Chi ranked sixth after the Venerable Cheng Yen, forensic scientist Henry Lee, director Ang Lee, Cardinal Paul Shan Kuo-Hsi, and Cloud Gate Dance Theatre founder Lin Hwai-min. Clearly, in looking out for our tummies, the warm, unpretentious Chef Ah-Chi has won our hearts.

You may not have eaten Chef Ah-Chi's food, but you certainly know his name. A warm, unpretentious figure, the chef has won our hearts and our trust.

Chef Ah-Chi is a hit outside of Taiwan as well. In October 2010, he introduced Taiwanese-style catering to mainland China when he brought a group of 19 well known chefs there to prepare a banquet.

The event was hosted by a major Taiwanese corporation opening the Nan-jing Taiwan Trade Mart, a store that deals exclusively in Taiwanese products, including foods, computers and bicycles. The company arranged a 120-table opening-day banquet for 1,200 guests in the store's open-air plaza. No mainland chefs dared take on the challenge of such a large banquet, so Chef Ah-Chi recruited help from Taiwan.

He began his preparations a month and a half in advance by shipping in Taiwanese tableware, sauces and pickles, partially prepared items, and SGS-inspected ingredients. All told, he imported one and a half cargo containers worth of stuff that had to be carefully transported from Taiwan to Nanjing.

Concerned about cleanliness, a worried Chef Ah-Chi paced the entire venue before the banquet's start, wiping dust out of bowls and glasses. "I was the most nervous person there," he recalls. He says he was less worried about whether attendees would like the food-few people in Nan-jing are familiar with Taiwanese food-than he was that everything be clean and that the service be five star.

On the day of the event, he joked with the invited Nan-jing VIPs, telling them: "There's nothing good to eat in Taiwan today because all of our best chefs are here!"

Hundreds of members of the mainland media and workers in the hospitality industry were in attendance as well, one of them even wondering aloud how something outdoors could be high class.

"Taiwanese outdoor banqueting culture seems very modest and unassuming," explains Chef Ah-Chi, "but it's actually a very high-end affair." He observes that Taiwan's country folk are exceptionally amiable, and feel obliged to lay on a good spread for their guests, especially since they are feeding them right by the side of the road.

For the Nan-jing banquet, Chef Ah-Chi had to serve all the courses within 80 minutes. Organizational skills are as crucial as culinary skills when feeding 1,200 guests at 120 tables. "You have to be on your game when catering," says Ah-Chi. He explains that you need to have a plan, and you need to be adept at everything from stocking your kitchen to getting the dishes to the tables.

Ah-Chi and the 19 other chefs certainly impressed their guests with the wonders of Taiwanese cuisine. They also managed to engage with local chefs while there. Ah-Chi came home astounded by the meticulousness of the Nanjing chefs he met.

He observes that one of their strengths is raw manpower. In the case of one appetizer, they place rehydrated dried shrimp in small clamps for four hours, then arrange them in the shape of a Chinese crabapple blossom. For another dish, they spend an hour or two carving tofu into the shape of a chrysanthemum blossom before deep frying it. Such laborious, time-consuming processes just aren't feasible in Taiwan.

Chef Ah-Chi teaches simple ways to make first-class food.

Chef Ah-Chi's experience at several major hotels gave him government connections that led to him preparing several state banquets. But from his perspective the responsibilities that go along with arranging a state banquet far outweigh any honor derived from it. "It's like walking on thin ice, terrifying. The least mistake and you're sunk."

Chef Ah-Chi says that there are a number of constraints on the ingredients you can use for such a meal: everything must be a domestic specialty and must have some kind of "punch line" so that the host has something to explain to the guests.

You also have to know where the guests are from and whether they have any special dietary customs you need to account for, such as whether or not they eat beef or pork.

One diplomatic representative from an African nation gave Chef Ah-Chi pause by requesting Taiwanese milkfish sashimi.

Most sashimi is made from deepwater fish because such fish tend to be relatively free of parasites. Almost no one dares make sashimi from farmed fish because it's very difficult to be sure that such fish are safe to eat raw.

Though Chef Ah-Chi was stunned by the request, he had little choice but to comply. He had a fish flown up to Taipei fresh, killed and cleaned it himself, but was still worried. Hoping for the best, he served it with strong wasabi, added salt and soy sauce, and tossed in a few perilla leaves, which are reputed to have disinfectant properties.

Chef Ah-Chi teaches simple ways to make first-class food.

"I've seen so much over the last 40 or 50 years," says Chef Ah-Chi. He explains that while Taiwan's mountains, plains, and surrounding seas provide it with outstanding seafood and produce, the island is home to many nouveaux riches who have the money to eat well but don't know how. They don't appreciate fine foods or understand how they are prepared, and instead respond to them by being hypercritical.

Chef Ah-Chi recalls a big-time businessman complaining to him about his rouzao fan: "Using pork rind in stewed pork is hickish and crude!"

"He just didn't grasp the pork rind's function in the dish," says Chef Ah-Chi. He explains that the saltiness of the sauce breaks down the proteins in the meat during the stewing process, drying it out and making it tough. The pork rind provides a layer of fat, giving the dish a smoother mouthfeel. Without it, the meat and fat wouldn't come together and the dish wouldn't taste very good.

In Chef Ah-Chi's eyes, dishes like ang-jim-bi-go (紅蟳米糕/serrated swimming crab and glutinous rice cake) and mullet roe with Asian pears (or daikon) are very representative of Taiwanese cuisine because they combine the fruits of the land with those of the sea.

Strangely, though Chef Ah-Chi will be preparing fine foods and cooking for others until his dying day, he most often fills his own belly with instant noodles, sometimes mixing them with congee. "Congee and instant noodles are awesome together," he says, his face brimming with satisfaction. Dubious? Then try it yourself!