When I think back to my early 2000s childhood, there are few things I remember as vividly as trips to my favourite Malaysian bakery. - which opened in the 1980s and lives on today in Adelaide - was a child’s dream. Picture rows of sweet-smelling, glossy buns behind a glass counter, flanked by a candy-striped pole in pink, yellow and white; a pastel-coloured sign reading Nanna displayed above it all, catching the eye of fellow schoolchildren, office workers and families alike. At a time before before multinational Asian bakery chains landed in the city, this tiny, unassuming spot was my introduction to the likes of kaya (coconut jam), Hong-Kong style egg custard tarts, and buns filled with taro or topped with spring onions.
It’s easy to see why, at under 10-years-old, I was drawn to this. For one, it was delicious. It was also well within my childhood budget (a luxurious $5 weekly stipend); highly approachable, and a source of comfort - a comfort that I couldn’t quite put my finger on at the time.
At a time before before multinational Asian bakery chains landed in the city, this tiny, unassuming spot was my introduction to the likes of kaya (coconut jam), Hong-Kong style egg custard tarts, and buns filled with taro or topped with spring onions.
Looking back, I think I appreciated simply being offered an alternative to the Western bakery. Defaulting to a Western lens when thinking about ‘bread’ - sourdough, scones, croissants - is what I had become used to. After all, those bakeries were everywhere. This bakery, with ingredients that reminded me of my (Thai and Chinese) mum’s cooking - chillies, anchovies, sweet pork - reminded me that food had the power to bring me closer to my cultural background. At the same time, while the flavours were distinctly Asian, being bread-based meant they didn’t seem out of place in an Australian lunchbox. They were relatable to my peers while inviting conversation. A bridge to share a little about my identity was an opportunity I didn’t take for granted.
If a place could resonate with me so strongly as a second-generation immigrant, I wonder what they mean for the people who brought them to Australia, and the generations that came before them. It’s nearly impossible to tell by sight alone. The charm of these bakeries can't be separated from how humble they are: you feel that they may have always existed there, unchanged; as if they were built into the planning of the cities they find themselves in. But look a little more closely, and they speak volumes about history, resilience, and creativity. They tell the stories of cultures that took what was handed to them by colonialism, and responded by reimagining them as comfort foods of their own.
"Looking back, I think I appreciated simply being offered an alternative to the Western bakery." Source: Supplied
The stories are different across Asia, but adaptability is the common factor. Over a century as a British colony clearly influenced Hong Kong’s culinary scene. In Japan, bread became more common during the Meiji era; in Taiwan, the Japanese occupation in the 1930s led to a rise in Western-influenced baking across the island. In Malaysia, it took until the 1960s for bread to rise in popularity. With time, came innovation: using their dim sum pastry skills; shokupan (Japanese milk bread) saw the; Filipino staple kababayan is made with condensed milk (and). These Asian bakers - and their descendants - would eventually end up on the shores that bread originally came from, bringing their recipes with them to offer comfort to the migrant diaspora, and introducing something new to everyone else. There’s something beautiful about a cultural exchange that carries years of weight, but only takes a minute to consume.
Countless Asian bakeries have sprung up across Australia in the years since I discovered Nanna Hot Bake. But it’s that tiny place - with its glass counter, pink-painted sign, and jumble of microwaves and ovens - where I can’t help but think about the proud migratory histories of ‘white’ bread. I wish I could discover it for the first time all over again. But that’s something for a new generation of children, bright-eyed and excited to pay for an egg tart with a gold coin.
Nicole today. Source: Supplied
