South China Seas Trading Company: A Global Foodie’s Paradise9 min read

Joyce Chang-Dickson can relate to this. Moving to Richmond from Taiwan at 16, she remembers being exposed to new cuisine in her new home country.

“My parents were pretty adventurous. They mixed different ethnic styles of foods from outside of China; some of it was Russian-influenced,” she says. She wistfully recalls growing up in Richmond, where few Chinese people lived and where farmers’ markets—now supplanted by supermarkets—introduced her to fresh fruit and produce from the valley, all radically different from the Chinese food she grew up with.

Like her husband, Joyce marvels at the way in which mainstream markets have started embracing ethnic foods and catering to Vancouver’s increasingly diverse shoppers. “The guys from Safeway, they just come in here now with a clipboard, and check what we have. Whatever we have, they just order the same thing,” she says with a small sigh. “But ours tastes better. Like the lemongrass, we get it from Thailand, while they get it from California. We tell customers that the Thai lemongrass is sweeter and has a better taste. That’s all we can do.”

Luckily for the couple, many people in the city are passionate about their food, and come to South China Seas, even if a cheaper version can be found at the local Superstore. Many people come for now-common foods like cilantro and avocado, because their selection is better. The store has survived despite the import of Asian foods by mainstream supermarkets, as well as the “eat local” movement that swept B.C. in the last few years.

“Food is connected to a lot of things,” says Don, noting that attitudes toward new foods reveal the general openness to new experiences. “Some people will walk by the store and say, ‘Ugh! What’s that?’  like they’re offended by the presence of something they don’t know.”

According to a 2007 report by the B.C. Ministry of Agriculture, B.C. farmers produce just 48 percent of the food eaten by British Columbians, with tough competition from cheap imports coming from the U.S., and sometimes, more costly food from abroad. The owners of South China Seas recognize the importance of local food, but say it would be a bad idea for people to limit their palate to locally-grown food.

“I think it’s great, as long as it’s not pushed too hard,” says Don. “The reality is that if the whole of Greater Vancouver had to feed ourselves with food grown within 100 miles, half of us would starve to death before six months.” He says the ideal situation would be to eat the fresh local foods whenever available, and limit import to the foods that cannot grow here.

To people like Joyce, obtaining “ethnic” food isn’t just about curiosity and novelty; it’s a tangible connecting point between immigrants and their cultural roots. “There are quite a few things I remember, like zung,” says Joyce. “It’s a bamboo leaf-wrapped sticky rice, and you get them from Chinatown. I always wanted to find out how [my parents] made it. You buy them from stores and they’re terrible…either the flavour’s not right or the texture of the rice is not right.” She also remembers the vivid flavours of her parents’ exquisite nian gao, or New Year cake, and holds fond memories of helping her mother decorate the cake. It’s a taste of her Taiwanese heritage that can’t be bought at any local market—a flavour that cannot be recovered now that her parents have passed away.

“Food is connected to a lot of things,” says Don, noting that attitudes toward new foods reveal the general openness to new experiences. “Some people will walk by the store and say, ‘Ugh! What’s that?’  like they’re offended by the presence of something they don’t know.” He recalls one survey, in which he read that the average American did not try foods that he or she had not tasted by the age of six, and wonders how this influences other aspects of their lives. Everyone remembers the suspicion Barack Obama stirred when he mentioned “arugula” during his Iowa campaign. The leafy vegetable has become a symbol of elitism and foreignness, a disconnect from the average American who only buys the familiar, green-leaf lettuce.

This is precisely the kind of xenophobia that South China Seas has been trying to fight for over 20 years, with its slogan, “Life’s Too Short for Boring Food.” Whether in search for a lost family cooking tradition, or a journey to the unknown through their taste buds, the people who come to South China Seas are always in for new surprises and challenges. The store–which used to stick out like a Gauguin painting of Tahitian nudes in a gallery of French demoiselles—is now the last of the Granville Island Public Market’s original tenants.

“Life’s too short to close yourself to new experiences,” says Don, before handing a green peppercorn to a young Chinese girl who has been hesitantly eyeing the bag. She begins to chew and soon squeezes her eyes shut, laughing at the green orb’s unexpected hotness. After staring at the peppercorns in wonder, she wanders through the store, looking for even more flavours to take home.

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