# Rice noodle rolls ( with or w/o Hong Kong bolognese depending on beef availability) **Chef:** Priya **Cookbook:** Breaking Bao: 88 Bakes and Snacks from Asia and Beyond **Potluck Date:** January 17, 2026 --- ## Recipe Rice Noodle Rolls) Ramen Cheese Itz Ginger-Togarashi Cookies with Lemon Icing Matcha Shortbread with Raspberry Ganache Digestive Cookies with Horlicks Ganache Fig and Marzipan Mooncakes (Cantonese-Style Baked Mooncakes) Audris’s Black Sesame Ricciarelli (Chewy Black Sesame Almond Cookies) Mochi Lamington Chiffon Cake Raspberry Cream Chocolate Mochi Bolo Bao Cream Puffs (Bolo-Topped Cream Puffs, Royal Milk Tea Diplomat & Boba) Royal Milk Tea Diplomat Yin Yeung Crullers (Hong Kong Milk Tea & Coffee–Glazed Crullers) Black & White Mochi Munchkins Ferrero Mochi Bomboloncini (Ferrero Rocher–Filled Fried Sesame Balls) Gochujang-Furikake Caramel Popcorn Miso Caramel–Covered Marshmallows Vanilla Marshmallows Pistachio, Pineapple & Dragon Fruit Nougat Dragon’s Beard Candy White Rabbit Sachima Acknowledgments Index About the Author Back Cover Guide Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Contents Introduction Bao Acknowledgments Index Start of Content Pagebreaks of the Print Version Cover Page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 41 40 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 53 51 52 54 55 56 58 57 59 61 60 64 62 63 69 65 70 66 67 68 72 71 73 74 75 77 76 78 79 80 81 83 82 86 84 85 88 87 89 91 90 93 92 95 94 100 96 97 98 99 102 101 103 105 104 106 107 108 109 110 112 111 113 115 114 116 118 117 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 136 135 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 148 149 147 150 151 152 155 153 154 156 157 158 159 161 160 162 164 163 165 167 166 168 170 169 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 183 182 184 186 185 187 189 188 191 190 193 192 194 196 195 197 199 198 200 201 202 203 205 204 206 207 208 209 210 213 211 212 214 215 217 216 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 232 228 229 230 231 234 233 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 Introduction Introduction In my seventh-grade history class, each student was asked to bring in some sort of food or treat that represented their culture to share with the rest of the class. It was meant to be a lesson in the importance of learning about each other, giving out little pieces of your background for others to enjoy. Immediately, I knew what I’d bring: White Rabbit, my favorite candy from Hong Kong. White Rabbit is a delicious, creamy confection that resembles a white Tootsie Roll with a texture like that of a Starburst. Each cylinder of chewy-yet-toothsome sweet milk candy is wrapped in a thin sheet of rice paper with about a half inch of overhang that serves no purpose other than to instantly glue the entire candy to your inner lower lip. My sister and I would shake our heads side to side and see how long the candy could hang on before falling off our faces. These were candies that, even at such a young age, carried memories for me, candies that brought me a deep happiness that I was eager to share with my class, candies that held weight. Unfortunately, nobody in my class shared my enthusiasm. Instead of having fun with the rice paper overhang like my sister and I did, my classmates tried peeling off all the rice paper. Even after I explained to them it was edible, they all just found it too “weird” even to taste. I returned to my desk heartbroken among a sea of uneaten White Rabbits. Back then, so many of the things I enjoyed with my family were “weird,” so it’s unsurprising that I eventually grew tired of explaining and defending my culture and succumbed to the pressure to fit in and be the best “American” I could be. My parents met each other at university in Toronto, Canada, where I was born. My father, a jolly man with Buddha x Homer Simpson vibes, was born in a small village in China. His father, originally from the Philippines, would eventually return there, leaving the rest of the family to escape communist China on their own. My dad has 101 stories of navigating through the mountains as a child alongside his brother with my grandmother guiding them. Eventually, they made it onto a raft and floated to the safety of Hong Kong. My mother, a nonstop giggler and snacker with major green M&M vibes, spent her childhood in British-ruled Hong Kong before moving to Toronto for high school. Her mother, hailing from Shanghai, had an affinity for all the finer things in life, especially French cheeses. When I was five years old, we moved to Los Angeles, where my sister would be born. We grew up in a very non-diverse suburb, and we stuck out like a sore thumb. My schooling experience was terrible. I was constantly bullied and mocked for being and looking “different.” When I was ten, my dad’s job moved us to Hong Kong, where my parents enrolled me in the French International School. Being surrounded daily by the children of wealthy European and British businesspeople in Hong Kong did not do my self-esteem any favors. Once again, I found myself ridiculed and alienated in the country that I thought would accept me. While these moves were tough on me emotionally, the silver lining was always the food. While based in Hong Kong, we traveled extensively throughout Asia, dining everywhere from local street markets to fancy restaurants adorned with golden chopstick holders. After a few years, we moved back to Los Angeles. My parents continued to travel to far-off places, and each time they would return with a whole suitcase filled with local snacks. My sister and I thrived on the different flavored chips and confections they’d bring to us. It felt like Christmas morning each time I opened up a suitcase loaded with foreign treats just waiting for me to taste them. A month after turning seventeen and graduating high school, I received a modeling contract in San Francisco and left home. This eventually led me on a fourteen-year-long tour of the world as a mediocre model and professional nomad. I had the privilege of finding myself time and time again in different corners of the world. Each country felt like a new beginning, but everywhere I went, one thing remained the same: I was constantly reminded that I didn’t belong. Back then I was hard to miss, standing at 5 feet 10 inches and 110 pounds. People who had not grown up around many Asians treated me like I was on display at a traveling freak show. It felt like no matter where I went, nobody could relate to me as a human. It seemed to me that, in everyone else’s eyes, my entire identity revolved around my ethnic background. I didn’t want to talk about how Asian or what Asian I was anymore, and it made me shy away from anything that would point back to my heritage, including the cuisine. Each new home became another chance for me to try to fit in and find acceptance, and with that came studying the local cuisine and culture. While living in Europe and the United Kingdom for about a decade, I discovered the power of the dinner party to bridge cultural gaps through food and community. While living in Paris, I couldn’t walk past a bakery without a huge smile on my face. I gazed at the walls laden with boules and baguettes and the display case filled with perfectly laminated croissants begging for me to pick them apart, layer by layer. It was then that I knew I would become a pastry chef. Becoming a chef would be the perfect way not only to explore and appreciate different cuisines but to relearn how to appreciate my own. There is a plethora of foods that exist in different iterations all over the world and dishes that can be traced back through their many transformations. For example, flan—whether it’s called a custard, steamed in a dish, or baked in a shell of pastry—exists universally. A Chinese scallion pancake makes it way south and turns into a roti canai in Malaysia, and then west to become a roti or chapati in India. Training to become a chef would allow me special access to these interwoven food histories that had given me solace when the rest of the worl --- *Downloaded from BCBCBath Cookbook Club* *https://bcbcbath.com*