Why do some recipes call for pak choy and others for bok choy? I’ve often stared at a pack of one or the other in the vegetable section of a supermarket and wondered why they don’t just stick to one name, because they sure look the same, taste the same and even cook the same.

This column accompanies this recipe.

Turns out that’s because they are the same. Pak choy or bok choy? How can you tell the difference? But they’re merely two names for the same thing. It’s like the difference between a car’s bonnet or hood, boot or trunk, or a lift or elevator. The first is British, the other American.

There are instances of the product sometimes being labelled bok choy if it’s large and pak choy if it’s small, or “baby” choy. But that’s merely a marketing choice. If it must be differentiated, the difference is easy to see: the older leaves are darker green with off-white petioles; the younger leaves are paler, but the petioles a mild green too. Either way, it’s the same thing.

It’s loosely categorised as a Chinese cabbage and, to confuse matters further, it is sometimes called pok choi or siu bok choy (small white vegetable), is formally called Chinensis, and is also known as Chinese celery cabbage, white mustard cabbage, horse’s ear, Chinese chard, Chinese mustard and spoon cabbage. In the Philippines, meanwhile, it is called petsay or pichay. By way of something completely different, in parts of the Caribbean it is known as joy choy.

Like our cabbage, and like broccoli and cauliflower, collard greens, the overrated kale and the underrated Brussels sprout, pak choy is a brassica. But “Chinese cabbage” doesn’t truly fit as a name for it, I believe, because that suggests it might be something like a regular old cabbage in looks, texture and taste. And it neither looks nor tastes anything like cabbage as we know it. People like to say it looks like celery. Well, I don’t know what kind of celery they’ve been smoking but none I’ve ever seen looks anything like pak choy other than that they are both green and have stems and leaves.

Confounding things even further is that another variety of Chinese cabbage is sold in our supermarkets which is nothing like pak choy and in fact is more similar to our conventional Western cabbage. If you’re still not clear on this, what we know as Chinese cabbage is also called Beijing cabbage, whereas the pak choy I am referring to is also known as Shanghai cabbage. 

The nearest equivalent in Western cuisine, I think, is Swiss chard, as it looks a little like it and it also behaves similarly when cooked.

When all is said and done, let’s forget about unravelling all the lost-in-translation and just buy some pak choy and cook with it. In short, all you need do with pak choy is wilt it and toss it in seasonings of your choice. It cooks in a minute or two and is a perfect accompaniment to many Asian dishes. A splash of soy, ginger, garlic, or any of the commercial “Chinese sauces” such as oyster sauce, black bean sauce or hoisin, perhaps a hint of sesame oil. And it takes to chilli very well.

Inevitably, there’s the “what does it taste like” game. The worst description of its flavour profile I’ve found claims that it tastes “somewhere between mild cabbage and spinach”. In fact, it has a taste entirely of its own, but more than that is its very special texture. Once cooked, it has a silken quality that makes for very happy eating, and the flavour has a slight bitterness that is pleasant in the way that coffee is pleasant. This is not to suggest it tastes anything like coffee, only that, like a mug of java, it’s its very bitterness that is enticing. I would venture that the closest flavour to the white part of pak choy might be endive (also known as chicory), which is supremely bitter, offputtingly so, which is perhaps why it is used in the cheaper brands of coffee to bulk it out and bring down the price. Having said that, endive, if cooked with care and skilfully, is a most delicious vegetable.

The white part of pak choy is the petiole, some would say the core. With conventional spinach, or Swiss chard if you prefer, the white stems are pretty nasty and do nothing to improve any dish cooked with it. I always cut them off and throw them out, as they spoil cooked spinach simply by being there. Not so the petioles of pak choy, which play an important role in the vegetable’s beauty and flavour. 

Some chefs cut away the petioles and blanch them before cooking. If you like, separate them and chuck them into the wok for a minute, then add the greens. I like to slice the white parts into long strips and toss them in the wok first. But once the greens go in, you need little more than a minute of stir-frying with a quick toss in your chosen aromatics. Pak choy is also great steamed, then tossed in the aromatics for a few seconds.

The best thing about pak choy, for me, right now, is that I have never seen it in any of my local supermarkets before, but my local superstore suddenly had it in yesterday afternoon when I was looking for something else. I was going to write about oregano this week, but that will have to wait. Got to strike while the wok’s hot. DM/TGIFood

To enquire about Tony Jackman’s book, foodSTUFF (Human & Rousseau) please email him at [email protected]

SUBSCRIBE: There’s much more from Tony Jackman and his food writing colleagues in his weekly TGIFood newsletter, delivered to your inbox every Saturday. Subscribe here. Also visit the TGIFood platform, a repository of all of our food writing.