The Man Behind Asia’s Best Female Chef: Master Tiger

[Investor]

Capital always hungers before the eaters do.

Now most investors, clutching domestic hot money,

under the cautionary tales of “meddling only to mess things up,”

are still ravenous before they crash and burn.

The dining scene has become the new hotbed for money chases.

I can’t help but use a slightly Cantonese-accented pronunciation to call these “investors,” which brings them closer to the truth: “speculators.” Without exception, they ride the wave in, then charge ahead full speed, and right at the peak they’ve already mapped out all the escape plans for the hot potato.

But the truly successful ones

all got in early,

tossing the earnings from the journey right back into the basket.

If you want the sweet potato to be more fragrant and tender, you have to wait long enough—

just keep walking without going hungry.

Master Tiger is no exception.

An atypical culinary investor, Master Tiger, I met at the dining table. He wears many hats: internet professional, boxer, former influencer B&B owner, home chef, folk crosstalk performer… I even think that compared to his first identity, all the rest are far more interesting.

Many who chat with him are won over by his "Qipa Shuo"-style wit and humor, then lower their voice and praise him with a true fan’s interrogation: You’re actually the investor behind Tang Xiang Obscura? What a waste not to be a talk-show host!

He’ll probably reply sincerely with, “Keep a low profile.” At that point, if you look at his tattoo that reads "Get Rich Quietly," you won’t have the expression you’d reserve for a naturally gifted comedian. I admit it’s the funniest tattoo I’ve ever seen. But strangely, at the same time, as you laugh, a flower blooms in the dust of your heart: Oh, this boss is something else.

Not long ago, I once again went for a meal by DeAille Tam, chef and co-founder of Tang Xiang Obscura, mainland China’s first female Michelin-starred chef and Asia’s Best Female Chef.

DeAille’s slender fingers gently pointed to the “Guochao” (China chic) series she started playing with from the amuse-bouche, and my mouth almost watered in rhythm with her soft voice: here’s a Hong Kong salted lime soda, there’s Beijing candied hawthorn turned into chocolate, Taiwanese pineapple cake with a crust infused with Yunnan Dianhong black tea, and white sugar cake fermented with Heilongjiang kvass…

DeAille had just won the Asia’s Best Female Chef Award from the "Asia’s 50 Best Restaurants 2021" list, becoming the first female chef from mainland China to receive this honor.

I can’t help but marvel: no wonder in her hands, “Longjing Shrimp,” “Fish-Fragrant Eggplant,” and “Corn Bread” all turned into groundbreaking creations, yet they seem like magical coincidences.

This is Tang Xiang’s “Longjing Shrimp”: the soul is the pairing from Hangzhou, China, but the presentation uses Western culinary artistry, utterly captivating. DeAille says: “The main ingredient is Canadian spot prawn, paired with a warm pigeon egg. The Longjing tea is crucial—I make it into tea powder and tea oil to marinate the shrimp. Inside, there’s a rich crab shell bisque, caviar, and hijiki seaweed that looks like tea leaves. The ‘tea leaves’ steeped in tea broth don’t have the tough fiber of fresh tea leaves. Before eating, pierce the egg yolk and enjoy it with ice plant.”

Finally, after a bite of “Longjing Shrimp” and a sip of 2009 Robert Parker 91-point Italian FRANZ HAAS Pinot Nero, my laugh muscles relaxed back into ease, but he still didn’t let me off: “At first, I wanted to tattoo the socialist core values ‘Patriotism and Dedication.’ This year I’ll also add ‘Lead by Virtue.’”

As the man behind the scenes, Master Tiger’s daily life is simple: mostly work. In his limited spare time, if he’s not boxing, he’s cooking or tasting dishes.

“Boxing keeps me sharp, gives me a different perception of pain.” Even when talking about serious matters like investing, Master Tiger adopts a freewheeling manner like boxing, but listen carefully and you’ll understand that not a word is in jest.

“First, think: what does the ideal restaurant look like? I set the investment goal. Then, ask: what do I truly want to achieve after investing? A restaurant with a distinct personality is what I want—better to have 10% of people love it 120% than 70% sort of like it. The highlights have to be striking, or don’t bother at all.” When he decided to let DeAille helm Obscura, Master Tiger was moved by her innovative spirit: “There was a fusion feel I’d never tasted before, and I saw possibility.”

When asked what he values most in an investment, Master Tiger says potential tops the list. “I most want the restaurant to realize its potential with our help. Investors aren’t just rich people. A good investor is one that the team truly enjoys working with during the collaboration. Every new project needs a boss who can help the team and fully respect the team. I don’t make much from dining. Just looking at ROI, I don’t think it’s suitable. We have to create—that’s what has sustaining, long-term power. Of course, we can’t lose money. What’s the point of making Western food super delicious but just marking time? So what?”

Master Tiger emphasizes: “DeAille’s cooking journey mirrors overseas Chinese returning to China to find their roots. Our advantage is getting to the essence faster.”

For example, most first-time guests are still amazed by such “Fish and Lamb Delight.” “The bottom is New Zealand lamb, and the caviar uses the oldest vintage, from fish at least 20 years old. It’s paired with layered sweet sweet potato, and the sauce is fermented bean curd paste, with Laba beans and miso in the middle,” DeAille explains.

And then, the famous Sichuan dish “Fish-Fragrant Eggplant” arrives! The dish names on Tang Xiang Obscura’s menu are deceptively simple—behind names like “Green Pepper Fried Cured Pork,” “Roadside Skewers,” and “Porridge” lie entirely different worlds.

The “Fish-Fragrant Eggplant” before me is no exception. I’ve even written an article about the story of how this dish contains no fish. While presenting it, DeAille chatted with me about this; this time she put the invisible fish back into the dish, creating a “Fish-Fragrant Eggplant” that actually has fish.

You see, fish-fragrant eggplant is traditionally sour, spicy, and salty, but she deconstructed the flavors anew. She used fish sauce instead of salt to season the black garlic eggplant purée, and added Beihai red Sichuan pepper for a surprise, creating a uniquely layered taste. “The dried Japanese bonito flakes are pink, from fatty cuts, so the color is pinker. The little orange pearls are fish-fragrance flavored—bite into them and a rich sauce bursts out.”

The philosophy of blending Chinese and Western cultures gives DeAille’s creations a cross-cultural following. Italian egg dumplings with a filling of Beijing handmade cheese. A miniature side of sea cucumber and Beijing scallion. Lift the frost-patterned millet crisp and discover the green part is extracted scallion oil, while the scallion whites are turned into triangular layered pastries. A temptation for both Chinese and Western diners!

She honestly shares her love for combination, linking styles and dishes from different regions. Master Tiger says: “Everyone has a soft spot, and expressing things from different culinary backgrounds in different ways is very sexy. A restaurant must have personality! Don’t cater to those who don’t get it—taste doesn’t overlap. Many restaurants do PR when they get a bad review; we don’t call. It’s the guest’s right, and I don’t refund. I don’t want to over-cater to the market. I can kneel to make money but stand tall to be myself. I myself love music and painting—only things with strong personality excite me. People follow you because you have personal flair; it’s impossible for everyone to love everyone. Actually, few people have the courage to do things that stand out from the crowd. The stronger the character, the more interesting friends you attract; the more mediocre you are, the more generic the people you draw.”

At first, I simply thought this mindset might be ingrained from his internet background, but the deeper I got to know him, the more I realized that his time in Shangri-La gave him a daredevil side beneath the snowy peaks.

I swallowed the sauce, feeling content, and continued to ask Master Tiger what he values in dining investments. He said he didn’t go straight to work after university; in his junior year he went to Yunnan and negotiated for a guesthouse. “Right after graduation, while my classmates looked for jobs, I chose to go have fun first—decide to be different, live a carefree life, and only then go to work.”

As we talked about everything under the sun, his laughter couldn’t hide the toughness behind it; everything seen and tasted was inevitable. The legendary part about Master Tiger is that he meets all challenges with a playful mindset. At 22, full of youthful vigor, he went snorkeling in Thailand and was bitten through the stomach by a tiger. His friends were all worried, but he joked that the Thai people consoled him: “You must have looked delicious; that’s why the tiger bit you.”

The house he once ran his guesthouse in dates back to the Ming Dynasty, over 260 years old and locally infamous as a “haunted house.” “He Long once lived in that house—He Long wasn’t afraid, and neither am I. No one else dared to stay there. The first floor was a huge cowshed, no courtyard walls, thieves would come in, so I kept a Tibetan mastiff, but in the end I felt the dog was scared too, its bark sounding like crying.” Yet it was precisely this place that he turned into a renowned must-visit spot!

Getting to know Master Tiger first had one benefit: it helped me better understand DeAille’s dishes. In Shangri-La, Master Tiger once ran China’s earliest influencer boutique hostel, a gathering spot for artsy young women and the launchpad of his culinary journey.

“A guesthouse owner is usually a good cook. It’s only natural for guests to eat at the hostel. There was a Sichuan restaurant next door, so I went to learn. I also had a teacher who was a Western chef, cooking purely Italian. The foreigner’s own business wasn’t as good as mine because he stuck too closely to the rules. A pizza, from ordering to eating, took an hour—guests got hungry. Our dough was half-baked in advance, made with flavors Chinese people like, better than a plain bake. I could get one out in 20 minutes—hugely popular!”

He talks about his model-like wife: “The first time I met her, she ate in one evening what a girl would normally eat in a week and a half. Sometimes we’d hit three or four spots in a night, each time eating for two or three people, and she still hadn’t had enough. But her figure stayed great. At that moment I thought, wow, this girl is so adorable!” What sounds like a tease is really a proud show of affection!

His wife became an unstoppable devoted fan of his culinary journey. And so, Master Tiger’s home banquets looked like this:

In the kitchen, Master Tiger steadily broadened his skills: saliva chicken with his own sauce mix, Sichuan-style beef ribs slow-cooked at low temperature, Sichuan pepper tofu, cold-dressed rabbit, scallion-braised sea cucumber, coral trout, abalone braised pork, ginger duck, Guangxi sour radish stewed intestines, typhoon shelter crab… nothing stumps him! His signature dish is quick-fried pork kidney, a true test of heat control.

He’s meticulous: for instance, lobster is halved and pan-fried with Sichuan pepper. And his “one shrimp, two ways” includes an amazing Fujian braised noodle—using shrimp heads to make the broth, how could it not be delicious?

Master Tiger jokes that in internet circles, he’s considered quite a foodie. “I know my stuff, I’m willing to spend on food, and my taste is on point. Western and Chinese chefs are different; I find the former easier to collaborate with. Chinese kitchen management sometimes has bad habits, like PUA-ing the boss. But I don’t PUA my staff—I want to give them a big enough stage to create.”

As a Fujian native, Master Tiger says: “However, I also share some insights on Chinese ingredients with DeAille. Only by living locally for years can you know, for example, that Fujian mud crabs include scylla paramamosain and scylla serrata—one without patterns, one with. Good food takes time to research; regional ingredients really can’t just be talked about, you have to spend time testing and making, you need to understand the stories from local dining tables.”

And his passion for food has deeply influenced DeAille: “The boss comes to share; locals have ideas and inspiration.”

“I think when dishes carry emotion, guests can feel it. Guests bring their own life experiences and hearts; I try to understand from their perspective. Whether you add or change something, it can still be felt. The essence of different dishes is absorbed from others.”

Master Tiger encourages DeAille to explore more “treasures” deeper into inland China. She truly keeps absorbing every moving detail about new ingredients, seasonings, and presentations, then surpasses them. This whole process is inseparable from her meticulous observation. Even this “tableware” was found by DeAille in a stream in Jingdezhen, and after sterilization, it became a unique, art-like piece.

“In the Northeast, eating big soybean paste is like southerners using soy sauce—traditional households make it themselves. For the tomato sauce inside, I switched to wild grapes, giving it a sweet-and-sour flavor. Use local hazelnuts, roast and smoke them lightly, and they have a truffle-like aroma. The hazelnut flavor is a special Northeast taste, coinciding with truffle season. The wrapper is mulberry paper, an Anhui craft and part of China’s intangible cultural heritage—the Forbidden City also uses this paper. I wrap it into a little burger.”

Master Tiger says there’s an osmanthus tree in their backyard; they smell it every day, and that’s how this dessert came to be. “Everyone at Obscura puts their heart in; I’m truly grateful for such a great team.”

Even for desserts, DeAille explains in detail: “This is snow pea sweet paste. The red bean filling is made with tangerine peel and small green tangerine tea. The orange juice is a bit sour—if you like tartness, you can add it.”

This Muscadet sweet wine is currently very rare, a treasure. The sommelier behind it says in a warm baritone: “Italian amphora-aged, from France. The aromas are different from usual: apple, peach, and on the palate apricot, honey, floral notes—all very even and concentrated. I suggest sipping it slowly; the alcohol is as high as 15%. You don’t taste the alcohol when drinking, and it pairs even better with dessert.” I can taste the bright acidity balanced perfectly with the sweetness—truly comfortable.

Below is an excerpt from Master Tiger’s blog post on Tianya Club in 2006:

Every day I get up. I crouch on the stone steps, watching the clouds roll and unfurl in the sky, my mind empty. How should I live today, how tomorrow? The wood of this house is already 170 years old, gleaming with the luster of history. It’s witnessed every transient of this house: the former slave owners, the former slaves, He Long who once lived here, those who were assigned this house after the land reform, and now me, and tomorrow’s crowds.

In the sun-drenched courtyard, those stones have long been worn smooth. Sometimes I wonder if, facing these stones, I could reflect my past and present lives.

Tender green grass grows wildly in the courtyard, between the cracks of the stones.

After graduating from university, I came here, leaving the noisy big city behind. I didn’t look for a job, because squeezing onto buses and subways with everyone else wasn’t the life I dreamed of. Maybe I’m too idealistic—many have said so. But I still have no regrets about this choice. I can’t tell whether I abandoned the city or the city abandoned me. In any case, I left there and in the old town of Shangri-La found a house with nearly 200 years of history, realizing my dream. Looking back at my university years, I gained a lot and lost a lot. Everything I do now has nothing to do with what I learned in college. I left home, got into a so-called key university, sat through classes without understanding, and killed time in the dorm. Then, alone, I left school and ended up here. I came to this old house to run my dream. Throughout school, I was always resisting—I didn’t want to be turned into a screw, a part without personality, to be used wherever needed. So upon graduation, I dragged down the school’s employment rate. I just wanted to stick to my beliefs until everything fell apart.

The giant prayer wheel across the way is the landmark of the old town, and also the landmark of my little courtyard.

I often ride my bike, speeding along the road until I find a grassland. Not those scenic spots, just the most ordinary pastures.

I lie down, and even with my eyes closed, the sunlight still pierces through my eyelids, illuminating my vision. Yaks lazily chew grass; I face them and speak loudly, but they ignore me, minding their own business. So I keep telling them all sorts of things, because they are the most faithful listeners. So when you pass by the grasslands, you might always see a person crouching on the meadow, murmuring something to a cow... I talk about many things, like the hustle and bustle of the city and the solitude of Shangri-La, like the stories of friends far away. The yaks don’t understand; they just chew grass in front of me and amble slowly away.

About solitude, everyone has their own take. Sometimes I often think of Guangzhou, think of close friends scattered far and wide. Then I ask myself again and again, was this the right choice? Many have asked me, what did you come here for? I also ask myself repeatedly, is it simply to escape pressure. I admit there’s pressure in the city, but in truth, sometimes I need to shoulder more for my current decision. And these burdens, I can only share here, or with a yak.

What do you think of the dining craze?

“I savored the boundless pleasure before the flowers even bloomed.”

Food Bless You!

Consultant of China International Food Expo

Producer of "The Divine Table"