Braises, Balance, and Building a Better Menu

After our first menu test, we knew we had to return to the heart of Chinese cooking. The proteins we tried last week were practical but didn’t feel authentic. That realization sent us back to the dishes we grew up with, where braises and vegetable sides weren’t just staples, but the anchors of every family table.

Braising is one of the most important techniques in Chinese home cooking. It’s a gentle method that coaxes depth from humble ingredients: tough cuts turn tender, and simple seasonings build layers of flavor over time. Soy sauce, rice wine, star anise, and rock sugar simmer together into something far greater than the sum of their parts. Think of rou zao fan (肉燥飯, braised ground pork over rice), where ground pork melts into a savory-sweet sauce that seeps into every grain of rice. Or soy sauce chicken, where slow simmering gives the meat a glossy sheen and a flavor that penetrates every bite. Even something as unassuming as a tea egg shows the magic of braising—what begins as a plain hard-boiled egg transforms into something fragrant, marbled, and deeply seasoned.

At its core, Chinese cooking has always been about health. That shows up in small details—like pairing ginger with fish to balance “cold” properties, or stir-frying leafy greens quickly to preserve their nutrients. It also shows up in larger ones: the sequence of a meal, where vegetables and soups often come before heavier dishes, is about creating harmony in the body. These ideas come from the traditional Chinese medicinal (TCM) view that food itself is medicine. Ingredients aren’t just chosen for flavor, but for how they affect energy, digestion, and balance. While we’re not prescribing remedies, we’re inspired by that same philosophy—that what we eat should nourish as much as it satisfies.

Vegetable side dishes are a perfect expression of this balance. Hot sides like garlic green beans or stir-fried lettuce with black bean paste use familiar ingredients and techniques, but they carry subtle health considerations too—garlic to warm digestion, black bean paste for richness without heaviness. Cold sides are equally important. Tofu with edamame brings plant-based protein and cooling properties; steamed Chinese eggplant with garlic and soy is light yet deeply flavored. In many Chinese homes, a cold vegetable dish isn’t an afterthought—it’s a way to bring contrast and balance to the meal. For us, presenting these dishes alongside our braises felt truer to the way we eat at home than offering a Western-style salad ever could.

Going back to these principles gave us a menu that felt more cohesive and streamlined. The braised proteins carried richness and depth. The hot and cold sides brought variety, balance, and health. Together, they told a more authentic story of Chinese and Taiwanese cooking—not just in flavor, but in philosophy.

Of course, creating a menu is never without its hurdles. Some challenges were unexpected, like rice sticking to containers or realizing we needed sauces that worked better in a takeout format. Others were bigger-picture, like adapting traditional dishes for a fast-casual setting without losing their soul.

That’s where our focus turned next: sauces. In Chinese cooking, sauces are rarely served “on the side”—they’re usually built into the dish itself, integral to the flavor. But adapting them to Western dining preferences, where diners expect dipping and drizzling, opened up new questions. How do we preserve authenticity while also meeting people where they are?

That’s the story for next week’s entry.