After dinner last week, a few friends and I walked around Lake Merritt in Oakland to find a place to hang out. Within a block was an unassuming establishment with no signs on the outside. We descended a few steps and realized it was a bar filled with books on floor-to-ceiling shelves. The chronologically arranged collections included all genres. Even though Clio’s Bookstore and Bar had only opened for less than a month—the menu said “welcome to our 9th evening”—it had only one open table this Friday evening. “Perusing the store is like a history/culture lesson,” an online reviewer writes. “And some other surprises you have to find for yourself.”
The magic of this place stems from combining two previously unconnected ideas: a cozy boutique bookstore and a casual bar with fun drinks. “It’s like going out and staying home. I wish I could give it six stars,” another reviewer says. “This place is truly one of a kind.”
Mixing ideas to generate surprising results—that’s the theme I’m exploring this week.
Third Culture
For the most part, Southwest Berkeley isn’t a particularly noteworthy neighborhood. At the quiet intersection of 8th and Carleton Street, however, you will find a line of eagerly waiting customers during the day. In 2016, Indonesia-born chef Sam Butarbutar and Taiwan-born Wenter Shyu started Third Culture Bakery. Their signature offering is an invention called mochi muffin, a fusion of Japanese mochi and American muffins. The distinguishing characteristic of a mochi muffin is its texture: slightly crunchy on the outside from the caramelized butter and satisfyingly chewy on the inside thanks to a blend of sweet rice flour (mochiko) and a batter mix of coconut milk and pandan—a tropical plant often used in Indonesian desserts for its sweet taste and aroma. Sam and Wenter’s aptly named bakery aims to offer “pastries reflective of their childhood in Indonesia and Taiwan.” By integrating dessert ingredients from two cultures, Third Culture creates a delicious product the world has never seen.
Galinha à portuguesa
Thinking about food reminds me of my hometown. Two centuries of Portuguese colonization have left Macau with more than churches and cobblestone roads amid Buddhist temples and high-rises; Macau’s gastronomy has also become eclectic. If you walk into a local diner—called a “tea restaurant” in Cantonese—you will find curious dishes with a mix of Chinese and Portuguese influence. The most classic dish is “Portuguese Chicken (葡國雞),” which, ironically, you cannot find in Portugal. The chicken with rice underneath is submerged in a delicious, creamy, coconut-milk-based sauce. The dish’s olives, chorizo sausages, and bay leaves are Portuguese. Dried coconut flakes and coconut cream are likely a Malaysian influence. The egg-fried rice at the bottom and the baked crusty finish at the top are unmistakably Cantonese. We also have another chicken rice dish called “African Chicken (非洲雞 or 嚤囉雞),” likely inspired by piri piri chicken the Portuguese traders enjoyed in Africa and subsequently modified with a mix of Indian, Malay, and Chinese spices.
The Louvre Museum
When I first visited Hong Kong as a kid, its skyline of skyscrapers with shiny corporate logos impressed me. Someone pointed out that the tallest tower was the 70-story Bank of China building, designed by I.M. Pei, the architect who had also rebuilt the Louvre Museum. I’ve always wondered: why would the French government pick a Chinese guy for the job? I finally read about it a few months ago. The story was fascinating, and I enjoyed the drama around its controversy.
The most contentious aspect of the Louvre renovation was its design: a 21-meter-high pyramid constructed of metal and glass. When Pei unveiled the plan in 1984, the design shocked the French people. For two years, Pei had to explain his vision and convince various community groups, a challenging feat given he barely spoke any French. His design intended to emphasize the building’s historical and cultural significance while conveying its modernity. The pyramid shape is stable as its board base allows even weight distribution, while glass reflects the sky, blends with the surroundings, and provides natural light to the interior.
“The Egyptian precedent was about mass and impenetrability, but this pyramid was about lightness and transparency,” Pei explains. “It signifies a break with the architectural traditions of the past.”
The Louvre Museum remains controversial today: Some people love it, some hate it. But few can argue that mixing ancient Egyptian architecture with modern materials in the city center of Paris isn’t a head-turner.
AirMax
Speaking of hated French buildings, another architect came to mind for a different reason. After working as a corporate architect at Nike for four years, Tinker Hatfield participated in an internal company shoe design competition. When he won first place, Nike told Tinker to “forget about the architecture stuff” and made him a shoe designer. At the time, Nike explored a cushioning component by encapsulating gas inside an airbag. While working on his first design, Tinker thought of the George Pompidou Center in Paris, a controversial building he had visited years ago. Many Parisians hated the building’s aesthetics, especially the exposed skeleton of brightly colored tubes, pipes, and ducts placed on the exterior. Some pointed out that it looked like guts flipped inside out.
But the building gave Tinker an idea: Why not do the same to a shoe? How about cutting a hole on the side? The exposed airbag cushion would allow people to see what was inside the shoe for the first time. It would also be a powerful testament to Nike’s commitment to innovation. Against this backdrop, Nike introduced the Air Max 1 in 1987—an iconic moment in sneaker history. All it took was an architect to switch career paths yet still noodling on an “ugly” building.
Isomorphic Substitution
My friend Joe, an environmental engineering professor, once explained a fascinating chemical phenomenon called isomorphic substitution. I will probably butcher this, but my layman’s understanding is as follows: When minerals form, a chemical element can replace another similar-sized component without significantly changing the shape of the crystal—same (“iso”) shape (“morph”). Isomorphic substitution, which primarily occurs in nature, alters the physical and chemical properties of the crystals, including their color, hardness, and texture. Like humans create alloys by combining two metals—say, copper and zinc to make the tarnish-resistant metal brass—nature also constantly mixes elements to form new combinations, adding to the world’s colorful spectrum of materials.