Translating Recipes

Many language learners and food lovers have toyed with the idea of translating recipes as a way to hone their translations skills and/or as a means of obtaining “authentic” recipes. These days you can use Google to search for Italian recipes in Italian, Japanese bento box ideas in Japanese and find recipes for authentic Sichuan dishes written by Chinese bloggers in Chongqing. Food lovers don’t have to rely on cookbooks written in their own language any longer and don’t have to be content with  “localized” recipes which have been adapted to suit local tastes and ingredients.

Translating recipes can be a fun way to learn new vocabulary and develop translation skills. Some professional translators translate recipes and cookbooks for a living and we shouldn’t underestimate the difficulty of translating a cookbook for a foreign readership. While a hobbyist can settle for a less-than-perfect translation of a recipe he or she found on a blog or forum, the translator must pay special attention to register (who is the book being written for?) and be familiar with local measurements and ingredients. Penny Marinou, a translator based in Athens, Greece, discusses the various pitfalls of translating recipes in her article Translating for Recipe Books and Menus.

Another short but insightful article about recipe translation and “localization” can be found here. In it, the author briefly mentions the difference between “translation” and “localization”, the former being the conversion of a recipe from one language to another and the latter involving the translation and adaptation of a recipe to suit the measurements, ingredients and tastes of the target audience. Localization often occurs when some of the ingredients in the original recipe are not readily available and are substituted for other, easily obtainable, ingredients. The author argues that a heavily modified recipe is not a localized recipe but an entirely new creation and cites “chicken tikka masala” as an example. Chicken tikka masala is not an Indian dish which has been adapted to suit British tastes but a dish created by Indian immigrants with local ingredients in mind.

Last but not least, I thought I’d share a link to an article written by Peter Hertzmann, a gourmand with a passion for French cuisine and cookery. The article, Recettes en Français, is a very informative piece about his experiences with translating French recipes into English and lists a few useful resources for other enthusiasts and aspiring translators. He also shares links to recipe databases and explains a lot of the key terms and vocabulary you’re likely to encounter if you try to translate a French-language recipe for yourself.

I’ve toyed with the idea of translating recipes to share with my readers as it would be a great way for me to combine my language skills with my love for foreign cuisines. I’m not sure whether I should post recipes on this blog or whether it would be better to set up a separate blog for recipes and other food-related tidbits so that the focus of this blog doesn’t stray too far from languages and language learning…

Have any of you ever tried to translate a recipe into your native language (or any other language)? If so, what challenges did you face and what resources did you use?

Teppanyaki and the Passé Simple

I mentioned in an earlier post that I’m currently reading Christine Arnothy’s J’ai quinze ans et je ne veux pas mourir as my foreign language book of the month. One of the things I’ve learnt from reading this is the passé simple. This may sound odd but I wasn’t aware of this form until I started reading J’ai quinze ans. I certainly don’t remember learning it at school and this is the first time I’ve come across it in a French-language novel, though having said that, I’ve only read four French-language books in recent memory.

I won’t go into too much detail about the passé simple as my knowledge of French grammar is quite patchy. All I know is that it’s the literary equivalent of the passé composé and it can be identified quite easily (nous and vous forms end in âmes/îmes and âtes/îtes respectively). A quick introduction to this verb form can be found here and here.

My partner and I treated ourselves to an all-you-can-eat teppanyaki (鉄板焼き) buffet this evening, which included a lot of sushi and tempura, even though neither of these are cooked on the teppan (鉄板) itself. I wonder if this would be the correct way to say what we did this evening..

Ce soir, nous allâmes au restaurant japonais et nous mangeâmes des sushi et du tempura.

Well, folks, that’s all for the time being. I’m still feeling very full so I’m going to do what the Dutch do when they’ve eaten way too much : uitbuiken*.

* uitbuiken - the best way to describe this is “unbuttoning or loosening your trousers or jeans to make yourself more comfortable after a heavy meal”. Or more simply, “to let your belly hang out” (buik is the Dutch word for “stomach” or “belly”).

Indonesian In My Kitchen

One of the things I discovered about the Dutch is their almost universal love of nasi goreng (fried rice) and the rijsttafel (lit. the rice table). There are countless Indonesian restaurants across the country and I might be as bold to say that the Dutch prefer Indonesian food over anything else that Asia has to offer. A quick glance at a menu at a Chinese restaurant will show that half of the food on offer is, in fact, of Indonesian origin. This is not true of all Chinese restaurants in the Netherlands but it’s something I’ve noticed at most of the restaurants and takeaways I’ve visited.

A lot of Indonesian food words have found their ways into the Dutch language. Kroepoek, prawn crackers, is a well-loved snack, while for some people, bami has come to refer to almost any type of Asian noodle, Indonesian or otherwise. Words like satay, nasi goreng and tahoe are used in the Netherlands in pretty much the same way as basmati, tandoori and naan are used in the UK.  They have become part of the Dutch culinary culture and most people will know exactly what you mean if you use these words in a conversation.

One thing I’ve noticed is that many traditionally Indonesian ingredients do not have a Dutch translation. Even if they do have a Dutch equivalent, you might still draw a blank if you use that instead of the original Indonesian name. For example, I was once asked by one of my partner’s relatives if I used lombok whenever I made anything spicy. I didn’t have a clue at the time what lombok was as I wasn’t very familiar with Indonesian cuisine. It turned out that lombok was simply a type of chilli pepper.

On another occasion, I tried finding some sereh for an Indonesian recipe I wanted to make and I didn’t really know what I needed to look for. Thankfully the local supermarket had used the original Indonesian name and it turned out that the mystery item was, in fact, lemongrass. Sereh does have a Dutch equivalent, citroengras (literally, ‘lemon grass’), but it seems to be used far less. A quick look around any Indonesian food section in the local supermarket or open-air market is a learning experience and always makes me feel tempted to learn some Bahasa Indonesia.

Here’s a short list of some  of the Indonesian food vocabulary I’ve learnt during my two years of living in the Netherlands :

kroepoek - prawn crackers (rom the Indonesian krupuk or kerupuk)

tahoe – tofu (from the Indonesian tahu)

boemboe – a type of chilli or spicy paste (from the Indonesian bumbu)

nasi goreng - fried rice (nasi means cooked rice and goreng refers to any food that has been fried)

pisang goreng – fried banana fritters (pisang is the Indonesian for ‘banana’)

bami – noodles, originally brought to Indonesia by Chinese merchants (from the Indonesian bakmi)

ketjap manis - Indonesian sweet soy sauce (from the Indonesian kecap manis; manis is the Indonesian word for ’sweet’)

sambal – A type of spicy condiment which is often made from chillis

gado-gado – A type of vegetable salad with a peanut sauce dressing

tempeh – A type of soybean cake

Is anyone fond of Indonesian food? Do you have any recipes you’d like to share?