Bringing Raisins to China.(Brief Article)

Something very strange was cooking in the kitchen of Shanghai's swank Shangri-la Hotel. The row of six industrial-size woks normally used to conjure up customer favorites sat idle in the corner. Instead of whipping up batches of twice-cooked pork, 20 Chinese chefs armed with large knives took turns dipping their fingers into a pot for a taste of... bubbling chipotle tequila barbecue sauce. Their soy sauce came in handy, though the bottle didn't need opening: one chef used it to crush honey-roasted pecans to add to a turkey-chutney filling for buttermilk biscuits. And instead of steaming rice, they baked bread pudding.

Blame it on the CIA. No, not that CIA; the Culinary Institute of America, which has a decidedly different mission than the U.S. intelligence agency. It is trying to enlist professional recruits to the cause of American cuisine and stir up a culinary revolution by teaching Chinese how to cook "American." These days, that means preparing foods with distinctly Asian and Latino accents, like Vietnamese fiery grilled beef and jicama-orange salads. So far, the CIA, partnering with the Western U.S. Agricultural Trade Association, has educated about 100 top chefs and 2,000 food-service personnel in everything from making puff pastry to pairing salmon with a Sonoma Chardonnay.

The CIA's motive is hardly selfless. China will enter the World Trade Organization and lower its tariffs in 2005--and everyone from peanut farmers to raisin growers is eying the huge, potentially lucrative market. Some estimate that China will be capable of gobbling up more than $3 billion worth of U.S. agricultural products by then. No wonder the U.S. government has funded the CIA's project with $300,000 a year. And CIA instructors come equipped with free samples from a number of companies pushing alien products like cranberries, instant mashed potatoes and California reds. Their goal is to get a country accustomed to hot and sour soup and tea-smoked duck to develop an appetite for chilled avocado soup, cinnamon-smoked turkey, figs atop focaccia, and agnolotti stuffed with lima-bean mash. "Everything is brand-new," says Andy Chen, the executive chef at Zhao An Hotel, enthusiastically hacking away at a side of salmon with his Chinese meat cleaver.

Changing the way Chinese consumers think about American food is no ...