As chefs grow older, working far beyond usual retirement ages, how can restaurateurs find and prepare a new generation of chefs with the same skill sets?
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During a recent busy lunch hour at Shi-Art Chinese Cuisine in Richmond, the 80-year-old head dim sum chef scoops a mix of chopped mustard greens and shrimp into thin dumpling wrappings, nimbly shaping the edges and tops by hand.
He’s a master at what he does but will likely leave by the end of the year. Owner Guan Wen Shi explains the chef has been helping out until Guan can find a replacement. It’s a tenuous arrangement as even the chef’s own family doesn’t know about, and likely wouldn’t approve of, his toiling in the kitchen at his age.
But finding a successor with his level and range of expertise isn’t easy.
“Some only know how to fold. Others only know how to chop or only know how to stir-fry. Not many can do the complete set,” said Guan.
Guan and the proprietors of many of Metro Vancouver’s other top Cantonese-style restaurants are confronting the same challenge: As their chefs grow older, working far beyond usual retirement ages, how can restaurateurs find and prepare a new generation of chefs with the same skill sets?
“At our last meeting, lots of owners were talking about their head chefs getting older. ‘How many do you have?’ And it was, ‘I have two. They’re 70 and 80 years old.’ They should be retiring.”
But Guan, Tse and others at the association plan to advocate for a formal training program to build a bigger pipeline for younger chefs and to give them a pathway into the industry.
The program was originally established to meet a need for traditional Cantonese chefs and its students used to be taught in Cantonese in restaurant kitchens, said Dennis Innes, dean of hospitality and culinary arts at VCC.
We find that the younger generations are reluctant to get their hands dirty.
Perkin Lai, son of the founder of The Boss Bakery and Restaurant Chinatown
The college later found that it was helpful for students to have a dedicated learning space to practise and master techniques. There is capacity to expand the program if there is demand to train more chefs, said Innes, and the school is in touch with the Chinese restaurant community.
Perkin Lai, son of the founder of The Boss Bakery and Restaurant Chinatown, shares other restaurateurs’ concerns about finding a new generation of chefs.
“Most restaurants are willing to train, but we find that most (chefs) are unable to stay with the harsh conditions of the kitchen. Most chefs are in hot, greasy kitchens and on their feet most of the shift. We find that the younger generations are reluctant to get their hands dirty.
“Chefs that complete some sort of training are more likely to look for jobs in hotels or fine dining restaurants. Chefs that are able to withstand the pressures of the kitchen often leave for jobs like construction or renovation jobs, where it is equally demanding, but often higher paid.”
Passing on traditions
Vancouver Chef William Lew’s grandfather ran The Ho Ho Restaurant in the city’s Chinatown when it opened in the mid-1950s. For decades it was known for its village-style Cantonese cuisine. Lew got his love of cooking from his grandfather, but went on to become a musician and complete a degree in animal biology at the University of B.C. rather than going to culinary school.
William Lew worked his way up in Western-style restaurants, taking rising chef positions at high-end restaurants and hotels across the city — from Black+Blue steak house to the Fairmont — that serve French, Italian and West Coast fare.
A stint at iDen Quan Ju De Beijing Duck House, a one-Michelin-star Chinese restaurant near Vancouver City Hall at 12th Avenue and Cambie Street, gave Lew some insight into how culinary expertise is passed on in Chinese restaurants.
In a Western kitchen, the head chefs are like conductors pulling together an orchestra of players, he said.
“What I quickly learned is that in the Chinese restaurants, the best chefs are the ones who are the front-line players. They’re the ones on the wok. That’s why it takes decades and years for their apprentices to watch what they do, to even be allowed to work, other than (the chef’s) day off, which is far and few between.”
“I will make sure the (head) chef can relax a little bit, seeing the benefit of teaching someone who can do his job, and he does not lose his job as a master.”
He’s hoping to set up a model where younger chefs value the experience of the master chefs who, in turn, see the benefits of giving opportunities to the next generation.
‘There are little sparks’
It’s a start but Lee Man, a founding judge of the Chinese Restaurant Awards, thinks the issue of older chefs retiring before they can be replaced is going to start coming to a head.
He has written extensively about the Cantonese cuisine ecosystem and about the chefs who are getting older or who have retired or died in recent years.
“He kind of oversees the beginning of making stocks, checking over ingredients. They’re still quite active in the cooking.”
Many Chinese restaurants, and restaurants in general, reduced kitchen staff during COVID-19, said Man, and some of the workers who left didn’t come back. And many of the chefs who used to come to Metro Vancouver from Hong Kong are now choosing to work in the booming cities of southern China, he said.
“The cost of living is better. The kind of things that used to make Canada a safety valve in terms of people who wanted to go abroad from Hong Kong … a lot of that has disappeared for the middle class there,” said Man.
“They have made their way here and when you go to these restaurants, you can feel it. They’re going to stay put. They are really going to sustain that next step. They will broaden and deepen the kinds of cuisine that are in front of us,” said Man.
But the “kind of Cantonese magic” that had a heyday in Metro in the 1980s and 1990s — when there were more chefs who could deliver it and more customers who demanded it and were willing to pay top dollar — will be harder, though not impossible, to find, he said.
He often thinks about master chefs like Leung Yiu Tong at legendary places such as the Hoi Tong Seafood Restaurant. He also owned the restaurant, which closed in 2019. He died in 2021.
“I miss his bitter melon omelette,” said Man.
It’s a wistful reflection, but he quickly points out that chefs such as Roger Ma at Boulevard Kitchen and Oyster Bar are skilfully bringing traditional Cantonese dishes to new restaurants.
Ma is making a fantastic, five-spice barbecue roast quail based on his grandmother’s recipes that is a “complete Chinese dish,” said Man.
And, he added, Doug Lee has been making black silky chicken prawn toast and king crab over savoury custard in a brew pub.
“He’s making some of the craziest, most intricate kind of Chinese food you could imagine with a tiny, tiny kitchen. And so, there are little sparks.”
Man disagrees with the idea that the old-school offerings are more authentic than these new versions: “It really comes from understanding ingredients and cooking from your heart.”
It really comes from understanding ingredients and cooking from your heart.
Lee Man, founding judge of the Chinese Restaurant Awards
Some of the emerging mavericks in the market are, in many ways, as protective as the traditional Cantonese master chefs about their techniques. They post on social media, but also want to be under the radar and they can be as fussy as the previous generation about only serving clientele who deeply appreciate their work, said Man.
At the same time, some new entrepreneurs in town are serving traditional Cantonese cafe or diner-style noodles and sandwiches at more casual spots such Cha Kee in Richmond or Ho Yuen Cafe in Vancouver.
Over time, more cooks and chefs who work at such places may gain confidence and be inspired to revive more complex dishes, said Man.