The world thinks it knows Chinese food. A new generation of chefs proves otherwise

The great irony about Chinese cuisine is that everyone thinks they know it: it is the world’s most travelled food, the most adapted, the most comfortingly familiar. And yet, for all its reach, it has long been pinned to a strangely narrow image: nostalgic, home-style; a cuisine of memories rather than ambition.

Even now, when the phrase “fine dining” is dropped into conversation, people reflexively summon visions of French sauces or Japanese knife work, as though China—one of the world’s oldest, most complex culinary civilisations—weren’t part of the conversation at all.

Food historians widely acknowledge this misconception: what travelled most successfully beyond China was an immigrant cuisine shaped by migration, economic constraint and adaptation, rather than the court cuisines, regional philosophies and scholarly traditions that governed elite Chinese cooking for centuries.

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Jason Liu balances modern technique with a deep commitment to tradition and localisation

The Beef & Oyster dish brings together land and sea in a study of balance and xian

Chef Jason Liu of Ling Long in Shanghai, a Tatler Best 100 Restaurants Asia-Pacific venue, knows this better than most. When he attended the World Economic Forum in 2024 as part of the ‘Young Global Leaders’, he asked the delegates what Chinese cuisine meant to them. “The answer was fried rice and fried noodles,” he recalls. For Liu, it crystallised a long-standing truth: the world has tasted Chinese food, but it hasn’t understood it. Long before European haute cuisine was codified, Chinese gastronomy had already developed systems of luxury dining through imperial kitchens, literati banquets and medicinal food theory, using concepts such as the “five tastes”—sweet, sour, bitter, spicy and salty—as a foundation for thinking about balance, one that modern chefs have since expanded far beyond.

At Ling Long, Liu’s cuisine is defined by three principles: xian, meaning freshness, clarity and immediacy of flavour; tradition; and localisation. “My cuisine always practises 30 per cent of modernisation and 70 per cent of tradition,” he says, insisting that innovation only makes sense when it grows from an existing foundation. Xian guides how dishes are built, while tradition and localisation anchor his cooking in place, allowing each dish to introduce “the culture and history of Chinese culinary art and ingredients”.

For Liu, “reinterpretation is not about abandoning anything”, he says. “It’s about evolving into forms that are more suitable for contemporary contexts.” That logic extends to how Chinese food is often perceived abroad. He doesn’t reject its reputation as comforting or family-style; he reframes it: “Chinese cuisine is accessible.” For Liu, that accessibility becomes a point of entry rather than a ceiling, allowing technique, structure and intent to surface over time.

At Ling Long in Shanghai, the cuisine is guided by xian, tradition and localisation, shaping a contemporary expression of Chinese fine dining

In Xiamen, chef Yang Kang of restaurant Xia, whom many will recognise from the hit Chinese cooking competition show Chef of China, cooks with the quiet assurance of someone deeply rooted in the land beneath him. Fujian cuisine, with its broths, preserved flavours and seaborne delicacy, is nuanced, almost understated in its depth. But under Yang, that subtlety becomes a strength. His philosophy is one of “inheritance and translation”, guided by the belief that “a tree must have roots to grow. We grow downward by rooting ourselves deeply, so we can grow upward.” For Yang, innovation isn’t about disruption but continuity, a position that mirrors how Chinese cuisine has historically evolved, absorbing change while preserving structure.

China is often described through the framework of the eight great cuisines: Shandong (Lu), Sichuan (Chuan), Cantonese/Guangdong (Yue), Jiangsu (Su), Fujian (Min), Zhejiang (Zhe), Hunan (Xiang) and Anhui (Hui). This widely used classification in Chinese culinary scholarship maps major regional styles but it remains only a framework, not a full representation of complexity. In practice, Yang’s cooking reinforces a more precise reality recognised by historians and chefs alike: each region operates as a complete culinary system, shaped by geography, climate, preservation techniques and local philosophy.

In Yang’s opinion, cuisine begins with place, then ingredients dictate structure. “We respect and use traditional techniques,” he says, “but we’re not bound by them.” For him, Chinese fine dining needs no elevation; it needs articulation, the space to speak in its own voice. His dishes reflect a clear sense of terroir: preserved tangerine peel, aged broths, dried seafoods—ingredients that speak directly to Fujian’s coastline and forests.

Yang Kang cooks with a philosophy of inheritance and translation, rooting his cuisine deeply in Fujian tradition

Crispy Wagyu beef brisket with Quanzhou curry sauce combines richness and gentle heat

Meanwhile, in Shenzhen, the focus points to cultural expression. At Fumée, chef Reina Chen, who originally trained as a Chinese opera singer, cooks with sensibilities shaped by Kunqu, one of the oldest surviving forms of Chinese opera recognised by UNESCO for its cultural significance. And while she draws on the structural discipline of modern European, particularly Spanish, avant-garde kitchens, she remains grounded in Chinese aesthetics. “My cuisine is a dialogue that travels across time and space, using the global language of ingredients to express the philosophy of Chinese flavour,” she says. Her dishes are deliberate and carefully structured, built with attention to rhythm and pacing.

Chen’s work is neither fusion nor imitation. It reflects a broader shift among Chinese chefs toward cultural confidence: engaging globally without conceding authorship. “My feet stand firmly in the soil of tradition,” she says, “but my eyes always look toward the sky of imagination.” For her, modernity isn’t about abandoning the past; it’s about allowing it to evolve. “Every tradition was once something modern,” she notes.

What links Liu, Yang and Chen is not a style but a stance: modern Chinese cooking advances by deepening its relationship with tradition. Each of them approaches that principle differently, through structure, region or aesthetics, but the result is the same: a generation of chefs fluent in global fine dining without being defined by it.

At Xia in Xiamen, the cooking is rooted in Fujian’s landscape, where broths, preserved ingredients and coastal flavours are translated into quietly structured dishes

So why does this depth remain largely unread outside China? Because Chinese cuisine has long been structured around sharing: communal tables, round banquets, familial abundance. Fine dining, as defined by the west, is individual, linear and choreographed. For decades, the two traditions simply orbited one another. What has changed is not Chinese cuisine itself, but the way it is being expressed. By working within formats that allow for pacing, emphasis and intention, chefs are able to clarify ideas that were always present. Rather than dishes arriving all at once, they arrive in sequence. Instead of quantity signalling care, precision does. In place of familiar flavours are forgotten ones reimagined and refined.

And diners are responding. Yang sees guests travel to Fujian not only to sightsee but “to understand Fujian cuisine”. Chen notes that diners are discovering that Chinese cuisine is “far more expansive and profound” than they assumed. Diners who once believed they understood Chinese cuisine find themselves encountering new registers: salted fruits, aged broths, regional aromatics and preservation techniques distilled over centuries. For Liu, receiving a creativity award at The Best Chef Awards 2025 in Milan was “very meaningful”, as both recognition and fuel. “It strengthens my resolve to keep innovating,” he says, “to show everyone that Chinese cuisine is changing now.”

Reina Chen cooks with a sensibility shaped by tradition and performance, grounding her cuisine firmly in Chinese aesthetics

The Aroma dish pairs oyster with green olive and peach in a composition that balances salinity, fruit and perfume

Soft power inevitably happens at the table. Chen calls food “the softest yet most powerful diplomat. It needs no translation to convey warmth, creativity and resonance.” Liu sees it as stewardship: “Food is a form of culture and history.” These are not abstract ideas. A dish can communicate geography; a broth can carry memory; a menu can express values. Long before diplomacy or cultural exchange programmes, food has been one of China’s most enduring cultural languages.

What emerges from the cooking of Yang, Liu and Chen is a cuisine fully at ease with itself. Rooted in history, shaped by region and executed with intent, Chinese fine dining speaks clearly when given the structure to do so. And as the wider world begins to listen more closely, the conversation is richer for it.

At Fumée in Shenzhen, Chinese fine dining is a form of cultural expression, drawing on the rhythm, discipline and aesthetics of Kunqu opera

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