Food is never just food in an Ang Lee movie. If you’ve seen the opening five minutes of Eat Drink Man Woman, you know exactly what I mean. We see Mr. Chu, a master chef in Taipei, meticulously preparing a Sunday feast. He’s scaling fish, slicing ginger, and stuffing a duck with a precision that feels almost surgical. It’s beautiful. It’s also incredibly lonely.
Released in 1994, this film wasn't just a hit; it was a cultural moment that bridged the gap between Eastern domestic drama and Western arthouse sensibilities. It completed Lee’s "Father Knows Best" trilogy, following Pushing Hands and The Wedding Banquet. But while those films were great, this one? This one is the masterpiece. It’s a story about a family that has forgotten how to talk to each other, so they use elaborate, multi-course meals as a proxy for emotion.
People often categorize this as a "food movie." That’s a mistake. Honestly, it’s a movie about the frustration of transition—how a city like Taipei was sprinting toward modernity while its soul was still rooted in ancient traditions. It’s about three daughters trying to find their own space in a world their father built with a cleaver and a wok.
The Ritual of the Sunday Dinner
In the world of Eat Drink Man Woman, the Sunday dinner is a battlefield. Mr. Chu, played with a heartbreaking stoicism by Sihung Lung, cooks these massive, professional-grade banquets for his three daughters: Jia-Jen, Jia-Chien, and Jia-Ning. The irony is thick. They sit around a table overflowing with delicacies, yet they can barely stomach the tension.
The food is a burden. It’s a requirement.
You’ve probably been there. That family gathering where everyone is performing a role they outgrew ten years ago. For the Chu daughters, the dinner table is where they drop "bombs"—announcements of moving out, pregnancies, or career shifts—that threaten the fragile status quo. Ang Lee uses the sensory overload of the kitchen to contrast with the emotional malnutrition of the dining room.
The cinematography by Jong Lin makes the steam and the sizzling oil feel tactile. You can almost smell the star anise. But look at the daughters' faces. Jia-Chien, the middle daughter and a high-flying airline executive, is the one who actually inherited her father's culinary genius. Yet, she’s forbidden from the kitchen. It’s a classic patriarchal snub that fuels her resentment and her ambition.
Taipei as a Character
Taipei in the early 90s was a whirlwind. The film captures this perfectly through the contrast of Mr. Chu’s traditional house—a sprawling, wood-heavy structure that feels like a relic—and the sleek, glass-and-steel offices where Jia-Chien works.
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Ang Lee isn't just showing us a city; he's showing us a shift in the global psyche.
We see the youngest daughter, Jia-Ning, working at a fast-food joint. It’s the ultimate insult to her father’s craft. While he spends hours prepping a single dish, she’s bagging fries in seconds. This isn't just a "kids these days" trope. It’s a commentary on how the pace of life was rendering Mr. Chu’s lifelong skills obsolete. Even his palate is failing him. The master chef losing his sense of taste is a metaphor so on the nose it should be cheesy, but in Lee’s hands, it’s devastating. It’s the loss of identity in a world that no longer values the slow way of doing things.
The Complexity of the Chu Daughters
The three women aren't just archetypes. They’re messy.
Jia-Jen, the eldest, is a schoolteacher who has retreated into a shell of religious devotion and heartbreak. She’s convinced herself her life is over. Then there’s Jia-Chien, who is arguably the film’s real protagonist. She’s sharp, independent, and deeply hurt by her father’s refusal to let her cook. Finally, Jia-Ning, the youngest, who seems the most "modern" but ends up following a path that is surprisingly traditional.
Their relationships aren't solved by a hug. They’re negotiated.
One of the most nuanced aspects of Eat Drink Man Woman is how it handles the "Big Reveal" at the end. Without spoiling it for the three people who haven't seen it, the resolution involves a romantic twist that feels both shocking and perfectly logical. It upends the "sacrificial father" trope. It reminds us that parents are people with desires that exist outside of their children’s needs.
Why the "Food Porn" Label is Wrong
I hate the term food porn when applied to this movie.
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"Food porn" implies something superficial and indulgent. The cooking in Eat Drink Man Woman is disciplined. It’s work. It’s a language. When Mr. Chu helps his neighbor’s young daughter with her lunchbox, he isn't just making a meal; he’s performing an act of care that he doesn't know how to express to his own grown children.
The food is a wall.
It’s a way to avoid saying "I love you" or "I’m proud of you." In Chinese culture, and many others, "Have you eaten yet?" is the functional equivalent of "How are you?" Ang Lee leans into this. He shows that while the dinners are spectacular, they are also silent. The clinking of chopsticks is the only soundtrack to their shared isolation.
Ang Lee’s Directorial Evolution
Before he was winning Oscars for Brokeback Mountain or Life of Pi, Ang Lee was the poet of the domestic. He had this incredible ability to make the mundane feel epic.
In this film, he uses a technique that’s become a bit of a lost art: the "ensemble breathe." He allows scenes to linger just a second longer than comfortable. You see the hesitation before a character speaks. You see the way Jia-Chien looks at her father’s knives with a mixture of reverence and spite.
It’s also worth noting the script, co-written by James Schamus and Hui-Ling Wang. The dialogue is snappy but feels grounded in specific cultural nuances. There’s a scene where Mr. Chu’s old friend, Uncle Wen, talks about the "flavor of life." It sounds like a cliché, but in the context of two aging men seeing their era end, it carries a heavy weight.
The Legacy of the Film
You can see the DNA of this movie in everything from The Bear to Minari. It set the standard for how to film food as a narrative device.
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But more than that, it proved that "foreign" stories were universal. You don't need to know anything about Taiwanese history to understand the pain of a daughter wanting her father’s approval. You don't need to know how to prep a sea bass to feel the loneliness of a man whose children are outgrowing him.
Actionable Insights for Viewers and Creatives
If you’re revisiting the film or watching it for the first time, look past the plates.
- Observe the Kitchen Hierarchy: Notice how the kitchen is Mr. Chu’s kingdom, but also his prison. He is a master, but he is alone.
- Track the Sensory Loss: Follow the subplot of Mr. Chu losing his taste. It maps directly onto his emotional disconnection from his daughters.
- Analyze the Architecture: The physical space of the house matters. The way characters move through the narrow hallways and shared spaces reflects their lack of privacy and their forced intimacy.
- Study the Ending: The final scene in the old house, with just two characters, is a masterclass in subverting expectations. It’s not about the big family; it’s about the passing of the torch.
The brilliance of Eat Drink Man Woman is that it doesn't offer easy answers. It doesn't suggest that a good meal fixes a broken family. Instead, it suggests that the effort of making the meal—the ritual of showing up—is sometimes the only thing holding us together.
It’s a film that demands you slow down. It’s a film that makes you want to call your parents, or maybe just go into the kitchen and chop something with purpose.
Thirty years later, the steam is still rising. The flavors are still sharp. And Ang Lee’s exploration of the human heart remains as nourishing as it was in 1994.
To fully appreciate the film's impact today, consider watching it alongside Ang Lee's earlier work in the trilogy. Seeing the progression from the immigrant struggles in Pushing Hands to the sophisticated interplay of Eat Drink Man Woman reveals a director perfecting his voice. Pay close attention to the sound design; the rhythmic thud of the cleaver is as much a part of the score as the music itself. Finally, look for the small moments of rebellion in each daughter's arc—they aren't fighting against their father, but against the expectations he represents.