The first time I saw “food translation” as an individual topic in translation theory class, I was intrigued. Unlike well-established theories such as functional theories, it felt more like a vague yet lively interdisciplinary field—until I participated in a service-learning project making egg tarts with secondary school students from ethnic minority background in Hong Kong. That experience truly deepened my understanding of language, culture, and empathy behind food and translation. Our first consideration was cultural acceptability. We had to thoughtfully navigate religious and ethical dietary restrictions. For instance, during preparation, our team discussed whether dairy-based butter was suitable and concluded that we should switch to coconut oil in future versions to meet potential vegan or halal requirements. We also avoided adding gelatin ingredients, which may cause problems for Muslim or vegetarian students. In reality, however, this varies from person to person. For instance, strict Sikhs prohibit the consumption of pork and alcohol, but upon inquiry with Danvir, a Sikh student who worked with us, he personally did not have such taboos. I realized that cultural sensitivity also means asking politely and avoiding assumptions. It reminded me of Michael Cronin’s idea that food is not only biological but also semiotic and cultural. And additionally, I think its “translation” requires awareness of both visible and invisible cultural cues.
Before, I saw “translation” as a technical and academic task that converts words from one language to another. But through this experience, I realized that translation is inherently social and purposeful. Skopos theory emphasizes that translation should always serve its intended purpose and function effectively for its target audience in its specific context. In our project, we needed to translate the recipes and safety manuals into English, Chinese, and Hindi, in which we applied Skopos theory. Considering that the audience of our recipe was students, we ensured that our translation was functionally suitable for young readers. For example, when translating the recipe into English, we avoided using overly stiff tones. However, considering that it was students, we retained the accuracy of word choice, which made the instructions easier to understand. For example, “掃去面片上多餘的乾粉，並加少量水有助於卷的更贴合” is translated into “Lightly brush the dough with a little water before rolling—this helps it stay tight.” This is not a literal translation but the sentence structure of “Lightly brush…” and “this helps…” avoids formal or technical expressions, maintains instructional clarity, and adapts the content to the cultural expectations of English-speaking children. During post-editing, even small choices, like whether to use emojis, were reconsidered as we interacted with the students from ethnical minority backgrounds and better understood their needs.
This leads to another framework that resonated deeply — sociology of translation. We were not merely transferring meaning between languages. Instead, we were negotiating across cultures and expectations from different groups. One example is the abovementioned post-editing process when we took students’ needs into consideration. Moreover, there were no native Hindi speakers on our team, so we relied on AI tools followed by discussion and back-translation to ensure accuracy. Additionally, during our cooking session, we showed Danvir our draft Hindi recipe. These processes highlighted how translation is not an isolated act but a collaborative and socially embedded process. At the same time, my role as a note-taker during every meeting also allowed me to listen, record, and ensure everyone’s voice was heard. I saw this as another form of translation in a broader sense.
Perhaps the most profound lesson from this experience was understanding how experiential learning like this service-learning project deepens theoretical insight. In class, I had studied concepts like “slow language” from Michael Cronin and the challenges of translating food-related texts. But here, theory met reality. We had to slow down, study, and sometimes even test the recipes ourselves to ensure the meaning of the translation, such as whether “stack” or “roll” was needed when making egg tart crusts. It was no longer just about finding the right words—it was about ensuring that the meaning, emotion, and intention behind the instructions were preserved.
My perception of the translator’s role also shifted. Translation is not only about words; it is about people. Initially, our interaction with the secondary school students was somewhat awkward. But as we worked together, especially after a humorous attempt at making soufflés, the atmosphere warmed. We began talking more, sharing stories, and learning from one another. I got to know more people from different cultural backgrounds and reflected on whether our recipes were culturally inclusive enough and whether we could consider more alternatives to be accepted by people from different food cultures. In this way, translation became like cooking: a human act filled with empathy, respect, and creativity.
