Book Review: Takeaway - Stories Of A Childhood Behind The Counter By Angela Hui
In my last review I mentioned blind spots and how we all have them. At the time I was referring to my difficulty naming African countries, but I’ve noticed another. I’ve been writing these reviews, learning and doing my best to fill in my knowledge gaps, and gain a greater understanding and appreciation for other people’s experiences for a few years now. Going back through my old reviews I’ve read history books, memoirs, collections of essays, and anthologies. All books about, and written by, people doing their best to navigate life in a country whose institutions have racism and discrimination in their bones, but none of them focus on experiences of East Asian people specifically in the UK. Given that these reviews are meant to point towards books that expand the mind and give a better understanding of racism in all its forms, that is quite an oversight. It is an oversight I want to try to do something about. I know one book won’t balance the scales, but we all have to start somewhere, and my start here was to pick up a copy of Takeaway: Stories From A Childhood Behind The Counter by Angela Hui. Takeaway is a memoir about Hui’s childhood living and working in a Chinese takeaway in a small town in Wales. It is an account of a life between two cultures and the pressures that come with being a child of immigrants born and raised in Britain.
Hui strikes a light and conversational tone with her writing throughout the book, even when she delves into deeply personal and at times difficult issues like identity, community, racism, and the toll it can all take on a person’s mental health over time. The result was an engaging read which I tore through, devouring all 277 pages the way one might devour some of the delicious sounding recipes Hui includes at the end of every chapter. I have no intention of trying to cook any of them as I would never be able to do them justice, but I appreciate their inclusion nonetheless. At times while reading I even made a game of trying to guess which of the dishes she writes about in each chapter would get that chapter’s recipe spotlight at the end. I have seen some other reviews comment that the book can be repetitive, or that not much happens. I however, see that as to its benefit. Hui really drives home the constant, grinding work, and the hard graft that goes into keeping a small family business running. The takeaway seems at times to be this all-consuming shadow that looms over the lives of Hui and her family. Every waking moment seems to be devoted to the Sisyphean task of making enough money to keep the lights on. This can particularly be seen in an early chapter where Hui takes the reader into a night of service. The pace of the chapter is fast and Hui shows the chaotic, relentless nature of the takeaway that customers don’t normally see. The orders keep coming with no end in sight, the work keeps going, more cooking, more dishes, and more deliveries. At times it felt like reading an episode of The Bear with how exhausting and stressful keeping ahead of the orders can be. Even the instances of explicit racism that Hui writes about like threatening customers, bricks through the window, and racist youths breaking into their garden can’t be dwelled on for too long because the phone is still ringing and five more orders have just come in.
One of the book’s main themes is about the messiness of dual identity and the difficulty of negotiating it. Hui’s parents arrived from Hong Kong and China in 1985 to build a new life with the takeaway being their vehicle to achieve that. As a result, Hui’s childhood is a balancing act of existing in two worlds while never feeling entirely at home in either. She is Welsh and Chinese, insider and outsider, fluent in English and went to a Welsh school while also being taught Cantonese at Chinese school on the weekends. That split between two cultures, between two worlds happening in her most formative years made some very stormy waters even more difficult to navigate. She writes openly and at times painfully about how hard it was to deal with it all. The memoir is told in first person and is written mostly in the present tense removing the distance that comes with memory and putting the reader directly in her shoes. The result is that she’s not recollecting the harassment and intimidation of racist teenagers, she’s experiencing the harassment, fear, and pain in the moment and the reader experiences it through her. There were times while reading when I felt spikes of anxiety myself, especially during scenes where her parents, their nerves frayed from the stress of working the kitchen, are arguing and the shouting and fighting keeps escalating further and further, especially when a meat cleaver is within arms reach. As a White guy growing up, my life was nothing like hers, but I think we’ve all been a child in the middle of parents while they’re arguing with no way to make them stop at one time or another. A few times I felt my heartbeat faster as the grip of anxiety took hold. I can only imagine how much more impactful this book could be on readers whose lives and childhoods were similar to hers.
Reading Hui’s memoir made me reflect on whose stories have become more visible, particularly in recent years. British discussions of race have frequently prioritised the relations of Black and White British people which is understandable given Britain's history, present inequalities, and more recent events like the ongoing Black Lives Matter movement, and my choices of books to review have reflected that. East Asian, and given Hui’s heritage, Chinese communities specifically, have contributed enormously to British society for generations, but they can get lost in the shuffle with mainstream discussions of race and migration. As Hui points out this is partially because Chinese families would often intentionally set up takeaways in different cities and towns to avoid directly competing with each other, and as a result the East Asian, and Chinese population has been more scattered across the UK and less concentrated than other global majority groups. Hui’s story is her own first and foremost, but she also writes of experiences shared across many migrant families whose businesses have become part of the backbone of towns and cities across the country while their lives remain poorly understood. They have been largely held as evidence of successful integration or hailed with the "model minority" moniker. In Hui’s own words: “Being Chinese, I’m technically a minority that’s privileged, but excluded. East and Southeast Asians are considered so white-adjacent that they are no longer identified as a person of colour but still experience systemic racism.” Recognition matters because invisibility frequently leads policymakers, educators and institutions to overlook specific needs. Hui shows the emotional costs of this invisibility and how being perceived as economically functional but culturally peripheral creates its own forms of exclusion.
To bring this review to a conclusion, while this is the first book I’ve read for these reviews that focuses exclusively on the East Asian, more specifically Chinese experience in the UK, it will not be the only one and I will be more mindful going forward. This book shows that while equality is gained by combating and dismantling racism on an institutional level, it is also gained by expanding whose stories are considered part of the national narrative. It is gained by recognising the experiences of all global majority groups, and acknowledging the invisible labour that has shaped modern Britain, and that invisible labour includes the never-ending work that goes into keeping Britain’s takeaways running. This is absolutely a book I would recommend be read by as many people as possible. Any readers interested in stories of migration, identity, or the importance of food in cultures will find a lot to be gained here especially.
To buy this book for yourself, please click here: https://tinyurl.com/ys98xxhr














