“Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance”

10 Minute read

24 Apr 2025

Journalist

Calvin Eng’s Cantonese-American cookbook redefines tradition, flavor, and home cooking.

Before Calvin Eng ever cooked a single dish at Bonnie’s, he had a motto.

“Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance,” he said. Not just a kitchen credo—but a life one. It’s written on his brain, drilled into his cooks, and now, in a way, woven through the pages of his debut cookbook, Salt, Sugar, MSG.

It’s a phrase that sounds deceptively simple—like something taped to a locker room wall—but for Eng, it’s a whole operating system. It’s how he leads a kitchen. How he parents a toddler. How he balances heritage and innovation, reverence and reinvention. And it’s the backbone of Salt, Sugar, MSG—a book that’s as precise as it is personal, as practical as it is poetic.

Born and raised in Brooklyn to a Cantonese family, Eng never worked in a professional Chinese kitchen. But his understanding of Cantonese flavors was absorbed long before he ever wore chef whites—over family-style meals, weekend trips to Chinatown, and years of eating like an insider. Salt, Sugar, MSG distills that lifetime of knowledge into a home cook–friendly, third-culture snapshot of what Cantonese-American food can be.

Tradition, Flavor, and a Dash of Rebellion

Though Eng refers to his food as “Cantonese-American,” he’s quick to clarify that this isn’t fusion—it’s personal. His culinary education didn’t come from a Chinese kitchen, but from childhood: watching his family cook, eating with relatives in Brooklyn, and soaking up flavors on weekends spent in Manhattan’s Chinatown. “Everything I know about Cantonese ingredients and flavors is through those experiences,” he said.

That lens guides both his restaurant and his cookbook. “I want the flavors to always be Cantonese first,” he said. “The ingredients or techniques can come from anywhere, but the flavor has to lead with Cantonese identity.” The result is food that balances memory with innovation, structure with spontaneity.

There’s a quietly rebellious streak to that mindset—especially in what Eng chooses to reclaim. The title of the book, Salt, Sugar, MSG, centers a once-vilified pantry staple that has long been entangled with anti-Chinese sentiment. “MSG is safe. It’s delicious. It’s a part of how we balance flavor,” he said. “And for a long time, it was a scapegoat for racism against our food.” For Eng, calling attention to it isn’t just culinary—it’s cultural.

Calvin Eng Shopping. Credit: Alex Lau

Balancing Identity and Innovation

Eng’s approach to recipe development is rooted in intuition, but sharpened by intention. At Bonnie’s, and throughout the book, he constantly balances reverence for tradition with his own creative instincts. That doesn’t mean reinventing for the sake of it—it means knowing when to push, when to preserve, and how to make flavors that reflect his roots, even when they take on new forms.

“The flavors always need to land as Cantonese,” he said. “That’s the anchor, even if the path to get there looks different.”

That line—the one between respect and reinvention—is something he walks consciously. And in writing the book, it became even more pronounced. “We had to keep asking ourselves, would someone at home really want to do this?” said Phoebe Melnick, Eng’s partner and co-author. “Do they want to deep-fry this? Would they have this ingredient? It made us think differently—not just about taste, but about accessibility.”

That question—Would someone actually make this?—became the filter. Not everything made the cut. Some recipes were scrapped entirely. Others were reworked to strip down technique without sacrificing intention. “We weren’t just writing a restaurant playbook,” Eng said. “This had to work for home cooks.”

A Cookbook That Cooks Like Home

Unlike many restaurant cookbooks, Salt, Sugar, MSG isn’t designed for armchair admiration—it’s meant to be used. The structure reflects how Eng grew up eating: family-style, with a mix of dishes on the table, not plated one at a time.

“There’s always a vegetable, a fish, a protein,” he said. “And you eat that with rice.”

So rather than building courses around mains and sides, the book is organized to encourage mixing and matching—just as his family did. Chapters are designed like a home-cooked meal: balanced, modular, and meant for sharing.

That spirit of practicality runs throughout the book. Eng and Melnick designed recipes not just for flavor, but for feasibility. Dishes like sweet steamed egg custards, comforting congees, and shrimp with candied walnuts—Eng’s all-time favorite—are rooted in memory, but calibrated for modern kitchens.

“I had to flip my brain,” he said. “This wasn’t about showing off. It was about creating something people could actually cook.”

Even visually, the book avoids the fuss of overproduced food styling. It’s grounded, direct, and deeply personal—an invitation, not a showcase.

Toasted Sesame Shortbread. Credit: Alex Lau

Calvin and Phoebe with their toddler. Credit: Alex Lau

A Personal Manifesto

For Eng, Salt, Sugar, MSG isn’t just a cookbook. It’s a statement of identity—a document of flavor, memory, and cultural pride that didn’t exist until he made it.

“If a restaurant like Bonnie’s had already existed in New York, I probably would’ve just worked there,” he said. “Same with the book. If this had already been done, I might not have pursued it.”

The feedback has been overwhelmingly positive—from fellow Cantonese Americans, from other third-culture kids, and from home cooks who see their own family stories reflected in the food. But for Eng, the reward goes deeper.

“It’s not easy to make these dishes at home,” he said. “It takes time, commitment, and effort. So when someone reaches out to say they cooked from it—that they connected with it—it means everything.”

His guiding philosophy, repeated throughout the book and his kitchen, is simple: “Proper preparation prevents poor performance.”

It’s a line that applies to mise en place as much as it does to life. But in Eng’s case, it also sums up the thought, care, and clarity behind every recipe, every story, and every decision to push Cantonese-American cooking forward—on his own terms.