, delves into Chinese food, culture, and diaspora identity. Through essays that challenge clichés, she redefines what it means to connect with heritage through food.){kind=link}
For Jenny Lau, a London-based musician, writer, and creator of Celestial Peach, food is more than just sustenance—it’s a lens through which to explore identity, culture, and community. Her debut book, An A to Z of Chinese Food (Recipes Not Included), dissects assumptions, clichés, and the deep connection between food and the Chinese diaspora.
The book comprises 26 essays, each themed around a letter of the alphabet, addressing topics like colonization, cultural appropriation, and the complexities of authenticity. Lau’s writing style shifts effortlessly between humor, critical analysis, and personal reflection, much like her ability to transition between playing the piano and violin.
The idea for the book emerged from her website, Celestial Peach, where she initially wrote a few alphabet-themed essays. Encouraged by the enthusiastic response, she continued writing and soon realized the project had the potential to become a full-length book.
In A is for Authentic, she critiques the obsession with authenticity in Chinese cuisine, using a Google review of an East London restaurant as an example of how perceptions of service and quality intertwine with outdated stereotypes. In G is for Gloop, she playfully mocks the wellness industry’s appropriation of traditional Chinese health foods through a satirical newsletter. L is for Lazy Susan presents a fictional induction session for new Lazy Susans, blending humor with deeper cultural observations.
One of her favorite chapters, M is for McDonald’s, explores the nostalgia of 1990s Hong Kong, celebrating the Filet-O-Fish, Snoopy Happy Meal toys, and the unique fusion of Hong Kong-style Western cuisine. Lau enjoys using humor to challenge expectations, noting that cultural writing often becomes overly serious. By incorporating satire, she invites readers to engage with difficult topics in an unexpected way.
Lau’s personal history also shapes her perspective. Born in Hong Kong, she moved to the UK at age 11 with her mother, while her father remained in Hong Kong for work. Feeling caught between two worlds, she found that food did not hold the same emotional weight for her as it did for many in the diaspora.
In H is for Home Cooking, she challenges the idea that food must always symbolize love and family. Raised by a domestic helper rather than learning to cook from her mother, she questions narratives that romanticize food as a universal love language. Instead, she acknowledges how food can also be a means of control within families, shaping complex intergenerational relationships.
The book’s subtitle, Recipes Not Included, reinforces her intention to move beyond traditional food writing. Rather than providing recipes, she examines how Chinese cuisine has been used to exoticize, minimize, and homogenize Chinese identity. Refusing to italicize non-English words or translate Chinese terms, she asserts her identity without apology.
In the final chapter, Z is for Zongzi, she reflects on her evolving relationship with Chinese food. Now a regular volunteer at the East and South East Asian Community Centre in London, she finds joy in making zongzi alongside older Chinese women, deepening her connection to community and heritage.
Lau hopes the book will encourage diaspora readers to reconsider their relationship with food and identity while prompting non-Chinese readers to engage with Chinese cuisine beyond its flavors. By the end of the book, she wants readers to feel the comfort of belonging—just as she did while writing it.
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