To speak of opium, alcohol, and food in the same breath is to invite suspicion. Yet in Kolkata’s Chinese kitchens, they once formed a coherent medicinal world. Much has been said about the Chinese community in Kolkata. The story of Tong Atchew arriving in 1778 and setting up a sugar mill with Governor General Warren Hastings’ permission; the subsequent arrival of Chinese migrants from Guangdong, Canton, and Hubei in the 18th and 19th centuries; the newcomers settling down as leather tanners, shoemakers, dentists, and restaurateurs in Tiretta Bazaar and Tangra in Kolkata; the reverse migration of Chinese Indians following the deportation of around 3,000 to an internment camp in Deoli, Rajasthan, during the Sino-Indian War of 1962—these are well-known facts of history.

Today, the strongest vestiges of this once vibrant community are to be found in Indo-Chinese cuisine. Dishes like chilli chicken and Hakka chow mein enjoy widespread popularity across India and abroad, with restaurants in New York and London serving iterations of Indo-Chinese food. However, long before it became commercialised, Chinese cuisine in Kolkata was an entire system of nourishment meant to cater to both taste and health. Chinese tea, opium, locally distilled liquor, as well as the diverse array of dishes that the Chinese brought with them were thought to be not only flavourful but also medicinally potent. As the community dwindled and their cuisine became commercialised, the philosophy behind their culinary habits slowly disappeared from public memory, but left its impression somewhere.

When the Chinese first arrived in Kolkata, they also imported their philosophies of healthy eating and drinking, centred on maintaining the qi (vital energy or life force) by balancing yin and yang (complementary and opposing forces central to life). In traditional Chinese belief, the bodily humors must be kept in right balance for health, wellness, and longevity. One has to eat and drink by balancing the opposing energies of yin and yang, roughly corresponding to heating and cooling forces.

In Chinese kitchens, ingredients such as fatty meat, oily nuts, seasonings like garlic and ginger, alcoholic tonics, and cooking methods such as roasting, grilling, or stir-frying are seen as have heating or yin qualities. Vegetables, seafood, and cooking methods such as boiling or steaming are said to have cooling or yang properties. The idea is that to live a long and healthy life, one needs to keep the body in balance by consuming a diet blending heating and cooling elements in appropriate measure.

Living in memory

The Chinese diasporic community in Kolkata carried this philosophy with them. We get a glimpse of the dishes served by them in the 1920s in a menu for an exquisite seven-course meal provided by Canton restaurant in Kolkata’s Bowbazar area to Bradley Shelland, a British diplomat. The spread included Bird’s nest soup, mavi fish, prawns with mushroom, flesh with shark’s fin, Chinese curry, pudding, and a seven-year-aged Chinese egg. What is striking about this menu is not only how different it is from the commercialised Indo-Chinese cuisine we know today, but also how most of these dishes were meant to be both nourishing and tasty.

Shark’s fin was considered a strength-giving food for its rich protein and mineral content. Bird’s nest soup was believed to possess properties that could prevent ageing and alleviate conditions such as stomach ailment and asthma, while also enhancing physical strength, metabolic function, and libido. Members of royalty and the elite classes in 18th century China consumed these dishes to show off their wealth and extend their lifespans.

A more contemporary example of healthy eating practices comes from my interviews of Tony Lo, the secretary of Nam Soon Church in Kolkata’s Chinatown. Now in his 70s and raised in a Chinese immigrant family, Tony’s memories are particularly useful for understanding how Chinese health-focussed practices adapted to Kolkata and incorporated local ingredients over the years. “Chinese food mein sab cheez ka limit hai (Every ingredient comes with a limit in Chinese cuisine),” he said. Talking about the simplicity of Chinese food, Tony mentioned a staple: a meat source like chicken or fish, cooked in broth, thickened with corn starch, and seasoned with ginger, white soy sauce, sugar, and salt.

This dish strikes the right balance between “heating” and “cooling” elements. The broth contains fat from the chicken or fish, but is not greasy. It is lightly flavoured, without the use of chillies, peppers, oils, or spices. Whatever saltiness the soy sauce adds is offset by the sugar, creating a dish that offers a harmonious blend.

In stark contrast to Tony’s chicken or fish broth is something like, say, chilli chicken—a dish which is an archetype of commercial Indo-Chinese food. It is made with chicken thighs (a fattier cut of meat), which are usually deep-fried, then tossed in chillies and myriad sauces. Everything about this dish leans towards the “hot” category, disrupting the aim to achieve bodily balance.

Tony Lo also talked about Chinese medicinal teas. The Chinese diaspora would struggle to cope with the hot, humid summers of Kolkata: dehydration, indigestion, and “overheating” of the body were common. Tony recalled a simple home remedy for these troubles: dried shiuli flowers (night-flowering jasmine) boiled and strained to create a tea-like mixture. This herbal concoction was used for indigestion, loose motion and blood in stool. It would be created in large quantities for year-round use and mixed with barley to cool the body and soothe the stomach in summers. Local Chinese medicine shops also sold teas and herbal blends for pains, aches, and other physical discomforts, and they were often prepared from locally sourced ingredients.

Opium as painkiller

The Chinese used opium and liquor for recreational and medicinal purposes. Chinese-run opium dens were operating in large numbers in 1920s’ Calcutta. There were also local distilleries producing Chinese liquor. The British were keen on stopping these operations, apparently on moral grounds. The real reason was that they sought a share of the profit generated by the lucrative businesses. But they highlighted the moral stigma, which ended up overshadowing opium’s medicinal uses.

Opium, said to be the world’s oldest painkiller, has been a part of Chinese medicine since the 10th century. Used for regulating bowel syndromes and relieving pain, it was regularly prescribed by doctors. In striking contrast to Western depictions of Chinese opium dens as centres of vice, most of Kolkata’s opium dens were actually quite peaceful places, where people went for a kind of therapy. Usually illuminated by oil lamps, they induced a feeling of repose. The patrons would be provided with pipes, opium, and a little seat. It was not unusual for people to consume opium to relieve aches and pains after a hard day’s work.

Chinese liquor too had medicinal uses. Talking about Chinese bone-setters in his neighbourhood, Tony mentioned how they would mix a powder with liquor and apply the mixture on the site of injury before bandaging up the area to hold the broken bone in place. In the winter months, the elderly in Kolkata’s Chinatowns usually suffered from whooping cough. To get temporary relief, they would consume a powdered medicine mixed with commercially available liquor. Belonging to the category of “hot” food, it was a perfect fit for the colder months.

By bringing with them their philosophies of food and healing and adapting them to local culinary traditions, Chinese immigrants created systems of cuisine and medicine that were neither Chinese nor Indian but a powerful mix of the two. Seen in this light, the story of Indo-Chinese food is not just about the cuisine itself but also about the ways in which migrant communities reshape cities, creating lasting traditions that are richer for being of a mixed lineage.

Rishav Chatterjee is a student of History. He finished his postgraduation from the University of Oregon and is currently associated with the Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Kolkata. 

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