Ming Sings:

Ming Tsai is the owner and executive chef at Blue Ginger, an upscale restaurant in Wellesley, Massachusetts, that is consistently voted one of the best restaurants in New England. Since he opened Blue Ginger in February 1998, he has presided over a growing food empire. He is the host of two top-rated Food Network television shows, “East Meets West with Ming Tsai” and “Ming's Quest” and the author of a cookbook, Blue Ginger: East Meets West Cooking with Ming Tsai (Clarkson Potter, 1999), In 1998 Esquire named him best new chef, and in 1999, after just seven months on air, “East Meets West” won a daytime Emmy Award—the only time the Food Network has even been nominated. He has a website, appears in coffee advertisements, and does a dozen charity events a year. Tsai was an All-American squash player at Yale, graduating in 1986, and in 1995 he married Polly Talbott, the younger sister of his coach David Talbott and squash legend Mark Talbott.

Why Blue Ginger?

Red Ginger wouldn't have worked, would it? Harvard? No, it had to be Yale, had to be blue.

You grew up in Dayton, Ohio. Is that where you knew the Talbotts?

I lived about a par four from the Talbotts, but I didn't know them growing up. I didn't know anything about squash. In tenth grade I went to Andover and still harbored illusions I would play basketball. In the spring my sophomore year, while I was playing tennis, the captain said I should check out this sport squash. Junior year I was the last guy to make varsity, number 10 on the ladder. Senior year I was number one. I played a lot.

Although you are a first-generation Chinese-American, you are a third-generation Yalie?

My grandfather came to New Haven during the First World War and got a degree in economics before returning home to China. My father came 30 years later and got a degree in engineering. He stayed. My mother, whose parents taught Chinese at Yale, opened a Chinese restaurant in Dayton and that was my first experience in a true kitchen. When I got to Yale, I too studied engineering. And I played squash. Freshman year I was barely on the varsity, playing 10 or 11. But I moved up. The summer before senior year I spent in Paris studying at the Cordon Bleu, working at a bakery, and that's when I decided to bag engineering and become a cook.

I played a lot of squash that summer and came back with this gigantic hammer forehand. It was okay with loose balls, but anything tight, it was a mess. That fall Dave moved me back to my old strokes. I had an easy schedule senior year and would come in and train with Dave in the morning. We had a regular 10 a.m. match, just go and play and bet on beers for later, and then I'd practice with the team in the afternoons. I thrived on the double sessions. Played two senior year. Our number one was Hugh LaBossier, who was national champion in '86. Dave gave us just one challenge match all year: he didn't want me winning in some fluke match and then have me play number one. It was a great season. We came in fourth in the nation. I lost only one match all year and it was to Harvard, Rusty Ball. I beat everyone that year, Chris Spahr, I beat five All-Americans and in my last match lost to Harvard.

After college you went back to Paris and worked as a pastry chef at Fauchon, as a sous-chef at a bistro called Natacha, then entered Cornell's famous hotel-management school. After Cornell you worked at the Hotel-Intercontinental in Chicago, then as a sous-chef at Silks, in the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in San Francisco, and then a few years later you went to Santacafe in Santa Fe. During all these peregrinations, how did squash fit into your life?

In France, I played regularly. It was all softball, of course. I became a professional. I would train in the morning and on weekends played in pro tournaments in Bordeaux, Nice, etc. I made it into the top 10 in France, which wasn't all that impressive. We had a few good players training in Paris then: Dave Norman, Ross' brother, a couple of Kiwis, the French champion Eric Claudell. Playing squash was the best way to see France. I made enough money for expenses, was treated very well.

At Cornell I played with the team, helped Richard Chin. Showed him how to open a bottle of champagne. In San Francisco I played at the University Club and the Bay Club. Got ranked pretty high in the men's softball, one year number three, ahead of Chin, I'll have you know. Lost in the round of 16 of the softball nationals in 1988, after beating Soli Mehta in the second round; same thing in 1989, lost to Will Carlin. In Santa Fe played at the Kiva Club. Played doubles with Aziz Khan. Used to go up to Hashim's tournament in Denver. Squash has always been there. It's such a fantastic game.

And squash got you a wife. How did that happen?

Senior year, it was one of those mornings when I came into Payne Whitney to play Dave. I walked into the squash office at 10 a.m. and there was this girl sitting there. She had that goofy Talbott smile and in the back of my mind I thought, “I'm going to marry this girl.” I didn't even know who she was. I was just this cocky squash guy. She was Polly Talbott, Dave's younger sister, studying Chinese at CU Boulder. Dave and his wife Ann are born a day apart and so are Polly and I, so we had something there. Both Dragons according to the Chinese calendar. It took 10 years of courting her before we got it together. We ended up in San Francisco and I got to her by her stomach.

When we got married, Dave said, “You used to be one of my best friends. Can't believe you are now part of my family. I regret ever telling Polly to come to my office.”

“[In squash] you have to blend partners. You have to complement each other. Blend, mix, work together. Balance... Same thing with East Meets West cooking.”

The Talbotts are known as a bit of a wacky family. A lot of practical jokes. Everyone has a nickname. What is yours?

I am Chewie. From Star Wars, Chewbacka. Mark sometimes calls me King Chewie. When we had a son, in February 2000, we named him David, after Dave. Mark calls him PC, as in Prince Chewie. Everyone else has a nickname. Polly is Pooh. There is Bean, Fog, Doccy, Little Bob. Mark is usually, of course, Mork. Wendy, the oldest sister, is a doctor. We just call her Wendy.

So what is it like, Thanksgiving at the Talbotts?

It's awesome, are you kidding me? The Waspy Talbotts and Ming Tsai? No, I don't get intimidated. A gun intimidates me—that's it. We sometimes go to the house in the Florida Keys, on Cudjoe Key. They've got that hardball court there, “the southernmost squash court in the continental United States.” Doccy's got to play. We got him a ball machine recently. He'll probably be buried in a court. We go down and hang out. I cook a lot. It's a no-brainer. It's like Mark hitting a squash ball, not a big deal. I throw some fresh seafood on the grill, whip something up. Once we were down there, drinking, hitting a squash ball around the court at three in the morning. Someone said, “Let's go fishing.” We put out a couple of rods off the front porch, right into the water and we are sitting there. Suddenly a shark came swooping by, grabbed two rods and whoosh! they were gone. We couldn't believe it. Skinny-dipping, anyone? No, not for me tonight. Water's a bit too cold.

Why did you chose Wellesley for Blue Ginger? So you could be close to Yale?

No, it's horrible, but I haven't been down to the new courts at Yale yet. Dave and Mark are going to kill me. Four years ago we looked around for a place that didn't have a glut of Asian, East-West restaurants. We thought Boston was good, but couldn't find a place. Out here in Wellesley, there wasn't much competition and there was a lot of demand. The demographics were amazing. We raised a quarter of a million dollars from 10 investors including four squash friends: Alex Dean and Garrett Frank from Yale, Eric Cogan from Princeton and Tom Olson from Dayton. On the 10th of February 1998, a Thursday, we opened. Had 80 seats the first night, then 60 on Friday. We were in a panic. Maybe we had it all wrong. The stat is that only one out of 10 restaurants makes it, so the risks were high. Saturday night we had 220 seats. We never looked back.

That fall I started at the Food Network. TV has this irrational power. Everything has taken off. I've got two shows now. I've shot way over a hundred “East Meets West” shows and a couple dozen “Ming's Quests.” They air 13 times a week total. “Ming's Quest” is great, it's a sort of adventure on-location cooking show. I get to go all over the world. Was feeding snapper-heads to sharks in the Bahamas. One chomped on my right hand, my squash hand. Drew blood. Wish I had more of a scar. On the other hand sometimes I wish I had a stunt-chef.

I was down in Florida collecting alligator eggs. I look into the nest. It is just me, the cameraman, and the ranger who's been telling me that there are 1.5 million alligators in these swamps. There is an alligator looking at me. “These are her eggs? She's the mother?” “Yes. She won't be that mad.” “Really?” “They don't attack humans. And if she comes at you, just tap her on the head.” “And there aren't 1.499 million other alligators around me?” Pretty silly. Alligator tastes like chicken. Recently was ice-sailing in Minnesota. Got thrown out of the boat going 60 miles per hour. Slid about one hundred feet. Gotta make sure I don't kill myself.

Blue Ginger is famous for a couple of things besides the blue glasses, blue plates, blue lamps over the kitchen. You have become one of the leading exponents of Asian fusion cuisine, combining elements of Asian and Western food ideas. You have such tongue-tickling dishes as wok-stirred beef salad with grilled asparagus and fennel, with a ponzu-blood orange vinaigrette or grilled vegetable and five-spice duck sausage pizza. Your signature dish is the sake-miso marinated Chilean bass with wasabi oil and soy syrup with soba noodles and sushi. Give me the metaphor for the connection between squash and East Meets West cooking.

Doubles. You have to blend partners. You can't just have two completely concentrated, stiff types of players, say a big power guy and a little finesse guy with touch. You have to complement each other. Blend. Mix. Work together. Balance. It's no good to just have two individually good players. You have to understand how each operates. You need the basics of squash-footwork, stroke production, how to clear. I mean, doubles is so frustrating when you first play because these old goats can beat you. You're some hotshot singles kids and you get out on the doubles court and get crushed by a guy twice your age. It's not even close. The court is so big. It's chess and you're playing checkers. And then you have to mix two people.

Same thing with East Meets West cooking. You have to blend. And in a lot of Asian food everything is terribly concentrated, everything has a strong personality, everything is Gary Waite. I take the traditional uses of food, you know, really learn how the Japanese use wasabi. So the Chilean bass: take miso, sake, wasabi and really know them. Then take a French technique of emulsifying and emulsify the wasabi. The sushi, usually with rice, not soba noodles. There should be a balance of flavors—sweet, sour, hot and spicy, sugary—and contrasting textures—some hot, some cold, some room temperature, some soft, some crunchy. Then I plate it. The Japanese don't spend a lot of time on presentation, that is more a Western idea. They are into flavor, not how it looks on the plate. Cooking is the same as squash. In the end if it doesn't taste good, start over.

© by James Zug, 2002