The Surprising, Controversial History of Tofu
The origin of the original plant-based meat is clouded with multiple theories
Plant-based meats are exploding on the American market. Over the past two years alone, we’ve seen a 37.1% surge in their sales, with even more dramatic growth projected for 2020. Burger King credits their best quarter in four years to their new Impossible Whopper, and Dunkin’ Donuts easily doubled expected sales for their Beyond Meat sandwich. Understandably, competitors are now scrambling to add plant-based options to their menus. In a matter of moments, meat alternatives have left the fringe and burst onto the American mainstream.
Given the sudden and ongoing nature of the way this trend has been covered in the West, one might be forgiven for assuming that vegan meat is a new invention. This assumption, however, would be wrong; humans have been creating meat-alternatives for two millennia. The basic facts are not disputed: Tofu is the first plant-based meat, and the ancient Chinese discovered it. Step outside these basic facts, however, and you enter a realm of controversy. There are three competing narratives for how tofu came into the world, and the debate is far from over.
The most famous version of the story is that Prince Liú Ān (179–122 BC) of the Han Dynasty invented tofu. In some versions of the tale, the prince created the dish in an attempt at producing an elixir of immortality. (It did not grant eternal life, but its deliciousness was a worthy consolation prize.) In other versions of the tale, the prince produced the dish as an easily consumable source of nutrition for his ailing grandmother. While these both make for good stories, they are unlikely to be true: The historical records of ancient China are not above embellishing on behalf of the well-born. Case in point, this same prince also mastered alchemy, sprouted wings, and permanently escaped death via divine intervention. We should view Liú Ān’s invention of tofu with the same skeptical lens we use for Kim Jong-il’s invention of the hamburger.
An alternative theory is that the Chinese appropriated the cheese-making techniques of visiting Mongolian tribes, and applied these methods to soy-milk. According to tofu historians William Shurtleff and Akiko Aoyagi, this theory is credible for a few reasons: First, if one were to subject soy-milk to certain cheesemaking techniques, one would produce something approximating tofu. From there, it would only be a matter of refinement. Second, the Chinese were generally not in the business of raising animals for milk, and so they would have had no independent knowledge of how to produce curds. Meanwhile, just to the north of them, there were Mongolian tribes who relied on milk-bearing animals for survival. These Mongols could produce an elaborate variety of dairy products. If Chinese people discovered tofu without Mongolian intervention, the process of curd production was discovered twice in the same region. Therefore, one could argue it is more parsimonious to assume that visiting Mongols simply showed their tricks to their Chinese neighbors.
This theory is also tempting for linguistic reasons, as it would explain the similarities between the Chinese word for Mongolian fermented milk and their word for tofu. The former is called rufu, using a character that meant “spoiled” for the fu —perhaps initially out of a somewhat snobby attitude towards Mongolian dishes. The latter is called doufu, and in what might be a major clue, the same “spoiled” character is used despite its negative connotations. This is easily explained if the etymology of tofu is grounded in the word for Mongolian fermented milk, but it is harder to rationalize if the words are of separate origin.
Many of the meat-alternatives we eat today have soy as their first ingredient, and in this way, they are direct descendants of the original.
The final theory is that tofu was invented by some random Chinese chef in a happy accident. Looking at a block of tofu, this seems implausible. Everything from its color to its texture suggests a complex and unnatural production process, and so one could easily assume that deliberate experimentation would be necessary for its discovery. Inventing tofu by accident appears about as likely as discovering a new species of duck in your backyard.
However, tofu is actually a relatively simple food, and the process by which one might make it could be carried out unintentionally. Water, soybeans, and a coagulant are the only ingredients needed to make tofu. You simply boil mashed soybeans and water, and then if you scramble in a coagulant, you will produce tofu curds. According to Shurtleff and Aoyagi, there are a couple ways this process could be discovered accidentally: If a chef boiled some mashed soybeans and salted them to taste, they would stumble upon tofu, since at that time, the unrefined sea salt would have contained nigari, a natural coagulant. It’s also possible that if one simply boiled soybeans and left them in the pot for too long, bacteria could have made enough lactic acid to produce tofu curds. (As someone who has forgotten my pot on the stove many times without making a historical culinary discovery, I now feel as though fate has dealt me a bad hand.)
The story of tofu shows that while meat-alternatives are often portrayed as strange newfangled treats for crunchy Americans, they are actually just the latest iteration of two millennia of multicultural innovation.
While I think the Mongolian import theory is the most likely, I’m still rooting for it to have been an accident, as this version gives hope to incompetent chefs around the world. Regardless of how tofu originated, it has since grown into a global hit. It spread throughout East Asia with the help of vegetarian Buddhists, and now it is consumed throughout the world thanks to globalism and growing Western interest in abstaining from meat. As it has passed between cultures and across eras, uncountable varieties and recipes have been produced to enjoy this unique food. Many of the meat-alternatives we eat today have soy as their first ingredient, and in this way, they are direct descendants of the original. Modern vegan foods may seem entirely novel, but ancient discoveries on the other side of the world made them possible.
The story of tofu shows that while meat-alternatives are often portrayed as strange newfangled treats for crunchy Americans, they are actually just the latest iteration of two millennia of multicultural innovation. This centuries-long passing of the baton reminds us how wonderful it is when different culinary traditions can cross-pollinate— if the Mongolian export theory is true, this same lesson is taught twice over. When you pull up to the drive-thru and order your veggie burger, it might feel like a quintessentially modern, almost cartoonishly American activity. But when it’s time to eat, please enjoy it with a side of appreciation for this long-standing tradition, one which connects you to individuals from throughout history and around the world.
