Let’s Hear It for Bouncy Foods

As a multiracial kid growing up in Sydney, Australia, my Chinese-Malaysian grandmother (who I called Po Po) described foods in a way that sounded strange to my white Australian mother.

To Po Po, shrimp noodle soup was “crunchy.” At first, I thought it was a mistranslation—with soft noodles and tender shrimp, there wasn’t much to crunch in the dish—but she insisted I pay more attention. So, I did. I listened to the sound the shrimp made when I bit it in half, and there it was: a delicate, audible, soft sort of crispness, though lacking the crumbliness of a cookie or a chip. She was right.

In many Southeast and East Asian cultures, much attention is paid to the way something feels in the mouth. Think of the varying textures of the foods we eat, like the airy crispness of the first warm bite of a fresh baguette or the way a chocolate soufflé melts on your tongue. These sensations matter almost as much—or more—than the flavors of the food.

There’s one texture that’s especially revered, though: that chewy, bouncy, near-elastic quality that’s known in East Asia as Q, or QQ for added emphasis. The word, pronounced kee-yew, is Hokkien in origin—a culture and language group that’s thought to be one of the oldest in China, and one Po Po was proud to be a part of.

“Q is commonly translated into Q弹, which translates to Q-bounce,” explains Rina Phua, a Singapore native and food blogger. “Bounce always seems to accompany Q. But it doesn’t describe just one kind of texture; it exists on a kind of spectrum all on its own.”

A well-known example of QQ: the chewy tapioca pearls found inside bubble tea. “The only possible description of boba is QQ,” says Phua. Biting into a tapioca pearl takes attention and work; it’s almost chewing for the sake of the chew.

Half the fun is in the chew. Get the milk tea recipe here.

Photo by Joseph De Leo, Food Styling by Erika Joyce

The subject is more nuanced than simply “chewy” and “bouncy.” It’s true that boba would be described as Q, but so too would Korean tteokbokki, and Japanese mochi—both staples of their respective cuisines—though they are decidedly less elastic and perhaps lower on the chewy scale when compared to boba pearls.

“Asian (and Malaysian) food has loads of Q texture, especially in the food we eat every day. Noodles, for example, which are one of my staples—and more important than even rice!—as well as the stuff we eat with our noodles: fish balls, fish cake, and farmed prawns. They all have that chewy texture,” explains Junda Khoo, cofounder and head chef behind Ho Jiak, a popular Malaysian restaurant in Sydney.

One of my favorite examples of Q is kuih lapis, a colorful, layered rice cake common in Southeast Asia. The flavor is subtle but distinctly coconutty and sweet, sometimes with a hint of pandan, depending on the recipe. Children often entertain themselves by peeling the cake apart, layer by layer, because while it’s springy-soft, it’s hard to tear into at once, requiring a few nibbles to break apart. The popular Malaysian, Singaporean, and Indonesian bite-size dish is eaten as both a snack and served at special celebrations. It’s my version of Proust’s madeleine, taking me straight back to early ’90s Cabramatta, a little Chinatown in the suburbs of Sydney, where Po Po would pick up small trays of fresh rainbow-bright kuih lapis in plastic containers wrapped in rubber bands.

Layer by layer.

Photo by Joseph De Leo, Food Styling by Yekaterina Boystova

Chewy, slippery, silky, and slimy are all textures that many communities appreciate; think of sticky Japanese natto or the slippery Cantonese ho fan noodles. In English, though, these words can often describe food that’s gone wrong—some eaters might hear the phrase “chewy meat,” and not think of fish balls—typical Q foods—but of overcooked steak or rubbery calamari.

Likewise, much ink has been spilled on how to avoid sliminess in certain foods, like okra. “Western languages don’t have positive words for some things. Slimy, for instance, is a value judgment, or that tacky feeling that okra induces… . There’s no word that makes it sound like something desirable in English,” says food anthropologist Anna Trapido, PhD.

A preference for chewiness, or any texture, is learned, dependent upon the foods we were exposed to growing up. And so it’s limiting that chewy foods aren’t as frequently served in many European cuisines, though the texture does appear in sweet snacks like gummy bears, says Willa Zhen, PhD, professor of liberal arts and food studies with the Culinary Institute of America.

But the appreciation gulf may be shrinking now, at a time when more and more cooks and eaters have more access to—and interest in—foods from cultures that are not their own. Today’s diners can choose from a wider range of restaurants in both cities and suburbs, and online grocery stores make previously hard-to-find ingredients available at a click of a button. Thanks to social media, it’s easy to learn how to use them; your Instagram feed may show you a dish you’ve never seen before—and TikTok and YouTube (and sites like this one) can teach you how to make it at home.

“I think part of why there’s an appreciation for chewiness [in certain cultures] is that it takes a lot of skill and technique on the part of the cook to highlight chewiness,” Dr. Zhen explains. To make mochi, for example, requires pounding, flipping, and smashing glutinous rice at a quick pace. “It’s also a lot more labor-intensive for the eater to enjoy, but there’s a lot to be said for being in the moment of chewing your food, appreciating the texture, and enjoying the fruits of labor that made it all possible,” Dr. Zhen says.

As foods like boba and mochi become staples across multiple cultures (and kuih shops open up in new cities!), my hope is that you’ll be honored the next time I call your food chewy. After all, for some of us, that’s the highest compliment you can get.

Kuih Lapis (Malaysian Steamed Rose Layer Cake)

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