The Case Against Translating Food Names
Translating food names could come from a place of good intention, but could it also stem from a colonial mindset and the desire to please people?
Halo! Happy Monday everyone :)
In the last two weeks, I saw many new names in my subscriber list, so I would like to start today’s newsletter by saying hi to you! Welcome to Kepayang. 🏞
Just to reintroduce myself, I’m Fabi - a full-time content creator focusing on food, sustainability, and culture. You might know me from TikTok as I share a lot of one-minute cooking and educational videos. I enjoy scrolling through my For You Page and timeline, and one of the perks of doing that is that it never fails to give me inspiration to… create more content…
Today’s newsletter started with my little observation of people, maybe Indonesians, when it comes to talking about food. I’ll be discussing about:
🗣 How people in Indonesia are now becoming more comfortable speaking in English, which includes translating food names.
🙏 What motivates people to do this practice (e.g. to avoid confusion, to make it easier for English speakers to understand).
🤔 How translating food names can oftentimes fail to deliver the true essence of the food (e.g. the history, culture, and emotions that are associated with the food).
🤦♀️ Some implications from doing this practice, such as the eventual loss of identity and room for cultural appropriation.
P.s. I got a special announcement for my Indonesian readers at the end of this newsletter. Please stay tuned! 🎄⛄️🦌
Living in Jakarta, a city where the need to speak English is quickly growing, means that you would find it being used in almost every instance that you could think of. From a job interview, a subtitle in a local movie, to a food menu in a restaurant. It’s a practice that is becoming so common, we even need to coin a new sub-dialect called Jaksel - a style of communication where one would code-switch between speaking in Bahasa Indonesia and English within one sentence.
People on the internet hate hearing someone speaking in Jaksel as they think that Jaksel's speaker is snobby and pretentious. This may not make sense to you if you’re an international reader, but it will when you take into account the fact that English language education used to be hard to access and limited to those in the middle to upper economic classes.
While I also get where they are coming from, I must admit that I too, am guilty of speaking in Jaksel with my friends. Here is what I would sound like if I were to decide what food to order in a cafe with my friends:
🙆♂️: “I’m ordering now ya, udah tau mau pesen apa?”. I said to my friends that I was going to order, and asked whether they were ready too or not.
🤷♀️: “Hmm gue nggak begitu laper deh. Wanna share fries?”. They said that they were not really hungry, and asked me if I wanted to share some french fries.
🙆♂️: “Me too! Boleh deh, let’s share aja. Any drinks?”. I said yes to their suggestion and asked whether they wanted to drink anything.
🤷♀️: “Mau. Enakan yang mana ya? Matcha or coffee?”. They said they wanted a drink and were torn between choosing matcha or coffee.
🙆♂️: “I’m feeling like Matcha sih, tapi terserah lo aja”. I said that I would go for the matcha, but it’s really up to them.
You get the point. It’s honestly a very harmless conversation of two people deciding what to order in a cafe. As a bilingual, I often do this naturally when I can’t find the word I’m looking for in the language I’m thinking of. Other times, it’s just easier and faster, and I know my friends would still get what I’m trying to say. But I totally understand how this can come across as confusing, if not, trying too hard to sound like a foreigner for some.
But in my defense, I am not the only one who is guilty of this, as most restaurants and cafe are now translating their menu into English too.
Take an example of the menu below, from a fast-casual Indonesian restaurant chain:
The word curry appeared four times on the first page of the menu and each one of them is a different type of curry. Of course, you could tell that it’s not the same from the type of protein they use - be it chicken, cow’s foot, cow’s brain, or goat. But how would you tell that they use an entirely different set of spices when the only thing that you could see is the word curry? At this point, I would not be surprised if someone would label Opor Ayam, Lodeh, and, Soto Betawi into a single, reductive name: coconutty soup.
To add to this madness, people also like to translate food names into totally different things. Like how I once saw someone on TikTok genuinely referring sate (a dish usually consisting of grilled skewered meat) as a kebab because it resembles a shish kebab, or these memes that called telur gulung (deep fried scrambled egg on a stick) as Indonesian corn dog and klepon (a traditional cake made of glutinous rice flour, filled with brown sugar and covered in shredded coconut) as green takoyaki.
People tend to translate food names in two ways: either dumping them into a single umbrella term or comparing them to a more familiar dish, even if it's an entirely different thing.
Obviously, people do this for a reason. One reason that I could relate to is definitely for ease of communication, especially if we’re speaking with someone who is not familiar with the food we’re referring to. A popular restaurant with a big expat market might settle with just writing ‘curry’ all over their menu as they know explaining the difference between Rendang and Gulai will take forever and probably just fly over people’s heads instantly after they finish eating. Or, a food reviewer might just say Indonesian corndog instead of telur gulung to quickly give a clear image of what the food looks like - it’s yellow, kind of phallic but chonky, and served on a stick.
Unlike how many people misjudged a Jaksel speaker to be motivated by the need to be associated with the high society, I would like to think that the practice of translating food names to English comes from a sincere place of empathy. For example, if I were to visit France and I needed to order a pastry in the middle of a very packed touristy viennoiserie, I would too be confused to distinguish the difference between pain au chocolat or chocolatine. So having a label that says ‘chocolate pastry’ would be helpful and make everyone's lives easier. As long as I got a pastry with chocolate in it, I would be happy.
But first, I doubt that the French would do that for anyone, and second, if you know shit about French pastry, you probably are now getting ready to roast me for calling pain au chocolat and chocolatine the same thing - and that is exactly how I would feel too when I see someone calling both Opor Ayam and Soto Betawi as coconutty soup.
Food names carry more than just a label to help distinguish them from one another. They also carry history and culture; they explain how they were made, and in some instances, they carry an identity that holds power.
Translation oftentimes fails to deliver these ideas, emotions, and intricacies that are associated with the name. A Gulai, for example, is a type of meat stew that is cooked just until the meat is tender, while a Rendang, is the continuation of Gulai, cooked until all of the water is evaporated and all the spices have turned into a caramelized, dark brown, almost black paste. Both of these dishes don’t typically use curry powder, so it makes zero sense to call both of them curry just to make it easier for an English speaker to understand.
In fact, if you really want people to understand the dish clearly, it would be much easier for you to explain what goes into the dish and how it was made rather than just straight-up translating them.
For my Indonesian readers, try explaining the difference between Soto Betawi and Coto Makassar. Both of them are thick, savory beef stews, but one uses coconut milk and one is with ground peanuts. One of them is said to be the result of mashing Chinese and native Jakartan culture, and one of them came straight up from the royal circles of Sulawesi. Obviously, these facts don’t just pop into my head on a daily basis, but taking a minute or two to share insights about these dishes, rather than simply translating them into “beef stews”, not only provides others with a genuine understanding of the dish but also an opportunity to fully appreciate it.
You might translate food names to genuinely help avoid hassle or miscommunication. But could this also stem from a colonial mindset and the desire to please people?
Having a colonial mentality means having a belief that you, a whole person with a rich culture and background are inferior to your colonizers - in Indonesia, that would be the Dutch, English, and Portuguese. There are many signs that one could possibly have this mentality - from the media they consume, the beauty standards they follow, to the language they use. Borrowing an example from A Plan Magazine, this mentality could manifest into action such as judging how fluent someone is with English, or valuing English more than our own language; which is kind of the same thing with the whole translating food names situation.
If we can learn about the differences between pain au chocolat and chocolatine, or distinguish between bolognese and marinara sauce, why wouldn't we expect someone to understand the distinction between Soto Betawi and Coto Makassar? Is it because we feel that our culture isn't as important or interesting for others to know? Or is it because we assume others might find it challenging to comprehend? Both of these assumptions are pretty disrespectful if you ask me. Because if we were to switch places and I am now a foreigner in another country, I would want to know everything about the food that I’m about to eat and not be gatekeep-ed.
When it comes to educating people about our cultures, misinformation is dangerous as it opens doors to the loss of our identity and cultural appropriation.
Indonesia is an archipelago with many distinct cultures that spread across hundreds of islands. Imagine if people kept saying ‘curry’ for every thick, soupy, spicy meat-based dish in Indonesia, regardless of the origin, the spices, and the technique that they used to prepare. Or let’s say we use the word ‘kebab’ for the hundreds of type of sate that exists here, be it with beef, chicken skin, mushroom, or cassava leaves; whether it is drenched in peanut sauce, covered in shredded coconut, or just sprinkled with MSG - as long as it’s served on a stick, it’s a kebab.
Not only does it spread the wrong information, but it could genuinely be taken as the truth by someone who is not familiar with Indonesian food. This person could go back into their homes from their vacation in Bali, and when asked what kind of food they tried there, they would just say “Oh I don’t know, I mean I had a lot of really nice curry, but I don’t know the specific names, I guess it was just a normal curry?”. Or worse, this person could also tell everyone about their new findings on Indonesian kebab. They would go like: “I didn’t know kebab was actually invented by Indonesians! I had the best kebab there”.
When a mistake is left uncorrected, it slowly becomes a new truth; the new normal.
I fully acknowledge that there are need for accessibility when it comes to helping an English speaker understand a foreign concept, in fact, it is important. Communication can only be deemed as effective only when your message is delivered and understood. There is no point in sticking up with our local language when it hinders understanding. Luckily, this doesn’t have to be the case every time.
Surprise surprise, there’s a method, a technique, a secret hack that we can use to still both preserve our food names and get our explanation across. I call it: STAN and Explain - or Say The Actual Name… and explain…
Let’s simulate!
Instead of saying ‘beef curry’, try saying beef rendang and explain that it is slow-cooked for at least 12 hours with aromatics like galangal, turmeric, and lemongrass.
Instead of saying coconutty chicken soup, say opor ayam, and explain that it’s a chicken soup that uses turmeric and coconut milk as its soup base.
Instead of saying green takoyaki, say klepon, and explain that it’s a glutinous rice flour cake filled with palm sugar.
Doing this is like hitting two birds with one stone - or actually, let’s not hit birds. It’s like… passing through two islands with one single row. I hope that makes sense because I just literally translated an Indonesian proverb.
By doing STAN and Explain, you get to preserve the original food name and allow the other person to fully grasp the idea. I know, it’s way too long, and sometimes you’re just not feeling like doing a TED Talk on Indonesian food. But doing this means that you respect the other person by assuming they’re open to new things, smart enough to take on unfamiliar concepts, keen about your culture, and willing to learn. So remember to stan and explain!
Translating a food name could be trivial to you, and it could also come from a place of good intention. However, when its roots and impact are observed, I realize that this practice is worth reconsidering. Do we really do this out of empathy? Or out of a desire to be accepted by someone we deem superior? If yes, why do we perceive ourselves as unworthy of interest, and do we truly want our culture to be gradually reduced and eventually shaped into a totally different thing?
Too much for a Monday morning?
Anyway, have you ever heard a ridiculous translation of a food name? What was it and how did you react? Comment down below!
Other contents that I made recently:
📖 Read my latest essay on why the soybean industry in Indonesia is a walking red flag: here.
🍜 A recipe video of vegan gochujang udon: here.
🍴 A recipe video of buncis cah soymeat (sauteed string beans): here.
🤷♀️ A video of me discussing why Tifanny’s Plate might not be for you: here.
Open Call: I’m looking for Christmas Stories!
Kepayang is writing a special story on Christmas food-related traditions in Indonesia and I want to hear them from you! If you:
Are an Indonesian living in Indonesia, preferably outside Jakarta or Jawa.
Love and/or celebrate Christmas
Have an interesting story to tell on Christmas food (e.g. your family traditions, favorite local booze, creative ways to cook leftovers, etc..
Slide to my email readkepayang@gmail.com to pitch your story (no more than 100 words please!) with the subject: [HEAR ME OUT - Your name] (Damn Catchy Title). Feel free to use Bahasa Indonesia!
The deadline is 30 November 2023. 🚨
What I’m looking for:
A personal, original story.
Nothing too over the top or pretentious. The more mundane the better.
Something that is rooted in your local culture.
Something that you are proud of for the whole wide web to read.
After Pitching:
Shortlisting: I promise, I will read each one of your submitted stories.
Quick Call: If your story stands out, I will reach out to you to set a quick call for you to tell me more about it! This won’t take long and you will be compensated for your time and energy to share the story. I’ll buy you a coffee or… a milk tea if that’s what you’re into (Rp50,000 worth of GoPay)
Writing: After our call, I’m gonna develop your stories into one giant story to showcase Christmas food-related traditions in Indonesia and it will be published here!
You can check this FAQ sheet here or email me for further information!
If you like today’s newsletter, please like and share it with your friends! Comment down below your thoughts and let me know if you have any other topics you want me to discuss. Until then, I’ll see you in two weeks!
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love the acronym, shall use it