Eat Bitter: A Story About Guts, and Food

by Lydia Pang

One of the Must-Read Books To Have On Your Radar in 2026—Service95

From a dazzling new writer, a stirring memoir rooted in Hakka culture about the lesson to accept both bitterness and sweetness in life
Eat bitter is a Chinese proverb meaning ‘endure hardship to taste sweetness.' For Lydia Pang, it embodies the struggles of her Hakka ancestors, a Chinese ethnic group subjected to forced migrations whose ingenuity produced a distinct food culture based on fermenting and foraging. Pang reimagines eating bitter as a philosophy to confront her own burning out, testing her marriage, navigating fertility struggles and caring for a parent. Through eight recipes, she shares food as memory and the silly egg noodles her father cooked when her sister was ill, the bone broth she boiled in New York while homesick and courgettes grown in rural Wales as a gesture of reconnection.
Comprising the satire and darkness of Netflix's Beef, the tender insight of Crying in H Mart, and the distinct magic of Ella Risbridger's Midnight Chicken, Eat Bitter is a very special book from a brilliant new voice and creative talent.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Food, Aapi, Adult, Biography Memoir, Biography

288 pages, Kindle Edition

Published May 19, 2026

Reviews

[Sadie E · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lydia Pang writes about food, but also not really about food. This is as much about food as it is inheritance and burnout and fertility and ambition and bodies and family and culture and all the weird ugly feelings people usually try to package neatly before sharing. She kind of dumps everything onto the table (grief, resentment, tenderness, shame, desire) and somehow makes the chaos work.

The title comes from the Hakka idea of “eating bitter,” enduring hardship as a fact of life, and this book FEELS bitter. Not unpleasant, but sharp.

There were passages I absolutely loved and highlighted immediately, and other sections where I felt slightly untethered and wondered where exactly we were going, but I think that wandering quality is part of the point.

The food writing's incredible. Every description made me so hungry. The book understands that food's never just food; it’s guilt, memory, obligation, love language, identity crisis, and occasionally a weapon.

I appreciated that the author doesn’t try to force a clean inspirational narrative out of difficult experiences. There’s no neat “and this made me stronger” energy here. Sometimes things just hurt! Sometimes your body betrays you! Sometimes family history sits inside you like indigestion! But she writes all of that with humour and tenderness and a level of self-awareness that kept me completely engaged.

Not every essay landed for me. Some sections felt repetitive or a little too self-conscious in their introspection, but even when the book meandered, I was interested in the mind behind it.

Thank you to the publisher for the ARC.

[Mai H.]

Memoir March TBR

Non-fiction November TBR

📱 Thank you to NetGalley and HarperOne

[emily]

‘Despite not speaking Hakka, I speak this language of food and care fluently. Gunggung and Pawpaw taught me that food is the backbone of our social interactions and gatherings, and ultimately what binds us together through hardships and celebrations as a family. It's how we explain ourselves to each other. And making wontons with Dad actually brokered conversations we would have never had. It forced me into a state of introspection I'd been violently avoiding. I chose to keep the fact that we were moving back to the UK a secret from everyone. For my family, I packaged it as a wonderful, festive surprise, a TikTok reveal moment.’

This was not for me, unfortunately (had to skim the second half, unfortunately), but I can imagine someone who's completely unfamiliar with Chinese/Hakka culture appreciating it more. Parts of it felt 'Googled' to me, and parts of it felt overly romanticised (I mean, I don't know, but like, 'Hakka' people were literally massacred in the past (the way they were written about (or rather not written about enough?) in this book just didn't sit right with me, but it might work for a different reader, I'm just not the right one for it), and also I didn't like the tone as well. To put very simply (even though perhaps oversimplified) it was far 'too white' (in my personal opinion, of course). I came for the 'Hakka' bits, but I felt 'scammed', like it was just a marketing thing/tool or something (even though obviously that's not the case, I just didn't find what I was looking for, this felt too 'on the surface' for me, and also lacking substance/context, etc.). But to reiterate, if you're not familiar with Chinese/Hakka culture, you might really enjoy this. I think I just wanted more from this, 'expected too much' from it so to speak. In any case, this is after all a kind of 'memoir', so I'll leave this unrated. Hope it falls into more suitable/better hands. I'm sure I'm just an outlier, I can imagine other readers appreciating/liking it for more than I did.

Personally (instead of this), I'd recommend Shape of a Life: One Mathematician's Search for the Universe's Hidden Geometry & Delicious Hunger instead (even though the latter isn't written by someone with a Hakka background (I don't think)). And I would even go as far as to recommend The South and/or anything by Tash Aw in general (even though probably not 'Hakka' related as well, I just find his writing far more interesting (again, just my personal opinion). Or even Mourning a Breast by Xi Xi . And one last recommendation/book that I sort of wish I had re-read instead of reading this would be : Chang Yu-Ko's Whisper (while it's not got anything to do with 'Hakka' culture/people, it's just a far more interesting text to me personally).

[Violet · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lydia Pang is so impressive- her studies, her career, and if you look her up and find pictures, she simply looks like the coolest person who ever lived. And she wrote a very good food memoir... one of my favourite types.of memoirs. Drawing on her Hakka heritage, she writes lovingly about her family, her eccentric parents, her grandparents recipes and growing up in Wales. Because she is also a millennial, there's a lot I recognised myself in, and I found the whole collection of essays very touching and well-written. The recipes (there's one at the start of each chapter) sound very appealing and I loved the writing, despite finding at times that it started to read a bit too much like self-help.

Free ARC sent by Netgalley.

[Ina · Rating 3 out of 5]

A strong but uneven debut. I liked it most when it felt raw and personal – when Lydia Pang writes about herself, her family, inheritance, girlhood, hunger, and the roles we learn to perform.

I struggled with the chosen wrapper. The repeated language of eat bitter, guts, sinew, insides, etc. started to feel overworked, and at times the book slipped into creative-director manifesto / self-help-adjacent territory. I sometimes felt like I was being sold something.

Still, I don’t think the problem is lack of talent or lack of story. I see it more as a personal art project that maybe needed to simmer longer before becoming a better stock.

I finished this book for a younger version of myself. I recognised the MySpace / punk / emo emotional architecture, the big-sister role, and some familiar life stories which made me more forgiving.

[Jess]

Unrated as it's a nonfic.

"‘eat bitter’, which means to endure hardship before tasting sweetness."

This was a surprisingly good read for me! As much as I appreciate a nonfic, this was different to the usual types I'd usually sway towards so I didn't have my expectations too high but I really did enjoy this.

This is definitely one for foodies & those who might want a different take on a self help book. I found this to be deeply insightful & reflective; I think each chapter will resonate with different readers respectively, there's something for everyone & anyone to take from this which I think is great. I especially loved all the food metaphors dotted among each chapter as well as learning more about the Hakka & Chinese culture. Self help books are not my go to at all & though this felt like one, especially toward the end, the way this is written helped me enjoy it & I came away feeling inspired & unexpectedly moved whilst also wanting to read more of Pang's writing.

Admittedly, I only requested this for the cover (I'd also assumed it was a fiction somehow), but I'm glad to have enjoyed this way more than I'd anticipated & it's definitely a book I'd recommend to any nonfic reader.

Thank you Vintage & Netgalley for my free eARC!

[Bookwormbadger · Rating 2 out of 5]

Unfortunately I did not love this book. I usually love reading memoir, but this one didn't really work for me. I couldn't find much empathy with her, and as a vegetarian, I couldn't even enjoy the majority of the meat-fest recipes.
Disappointing.

[Kirsten Fulton · Rating 4 out of 5]

ARC received through NetGalley. This definitely isn’t my usual type of book, but I actually found it really fascinating. I loved Lydia Pang’s complete don’t-give-a-fuck attitude throughout the book and how unapologetically herself she was. The parts about finishing her dissertation and not really caring what people thought of her were weirdly inspiring 🤣

I also really liked how the recipes were mixed into the storytelling rather than feeling separate from it. It’s sharp, honest and quite intense at times, but in a good way. Definitely different to what I’d normally read, but I’m glad I did!

[Jane Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

I actually didn’t realise that this was non-fiction when it was offered to me as an ARC. I took awhile to read it because I was dipping in and out of it but it was quite appropriate for that. It felt like returning to one of those long read articles in the Guardian - you’re still interested in the topic but you don’t need to be completely locked into a narrative flow.

I did like the concept of eating bitter, though I am definitely guilty of the opposite - it’s quite eye-opening when you realise that we are all conditioned to eat conveniently and cook with a minimum of attention, using air fryers, microwaves and crockpots to do the work for us so we don’t have to engage until we eat.

This isn’t food porn but it will make you hungry for food and connection.

[Nina S · Rating 3 out of 5]

I liked it, but felt like the 'eat bitter' sentiment got a bit repetitive over the book. Some of it also read very sales-y.

Read quite quickly

[Pudsey Recommends · Rating 5 out of 5]

There are books you admire, and books that get inside you. Eat Bitter by Lydia Pang does both, and does them with such unapologetic confidence that you barely notice it happening until you’re already somewhere deep in its guts.

This is a food and life memoir structured around eight recipes, each one an entry point into a formative or “bitter” experience in Pang’s life. Hakka heritage, burnout, New York ambition, marriage, grief, fertility, caregiving. The concept sounds neat, maybe even gimmicky, until you’re actually in it and realise that Pang has no interest in neat. What she has is precision. “Psychotic exactitude”, actually, which is the phrase I kept coming back to. She’s an extraordinary stylist: funny, brutal, wildly assured, and unafraid to be genuinely uncomfortable. If only I could have an ounce of her wit.

The book opens by introducing the Hakka concept of “eating bitter,” an idiom for enduring hardship with humour before you get to taste sweetness. As Pang puts it:

“Eating bitter is a pause for us to pick truth from our teeth. It’s a belly full of contemplation. Here there are no rules, no judgement, no skills required. Anyone hungry for surrender can sit around this table.”

The idiom becomes Pang’s methodology for the whole book, and it earns it. She’s not offering a self-help formula. She’s not tidying her life into digestible lessons. She’s arguing for a more confrontational relationship with food, with memory, and with yourself:

“Not all familial recipes taste of ease and holiday memories, some of them taste like struggle or generational trauma or even pain. In those shared cooking moments, you’re opening up space for that pain to be held by someone else for a precious slice of time.”

Her writing on her grandfather’s char siu pork is some of the best in the book. The way she describes him cooking it, the days of preparation, the silent eye contact, the pork “swinging from the hooks like a horror movie prop, unapologetically claiming its place as the star of the scene”; it’s a love letter to heritage that never once goes soft. And the chapter where she cooks wishbone tuna for her mother during chemotherapy? It moved me to bits. She didn’t Google the recipe. She didn’t plan it. She just chose ingredients that “felt special” and that she knew had “healing properties,” that would hold her mother inside her safe space. Her mother recalls it as one of the most significant meals of her life. She walked in with a heavy tray and a smile, and her mother smiled back. Four sentences that wreck you.

There’s a brilliant thread running through the book around what Pang calls “deepening your weird.” Rooted in her Hakka identity (the Hakka being a historically displaced, migrant people, known for making a living from difficult land), she traces her own journey from smoothing out her edges to owning them. The chapter about her emo phase and the friend who saw her chewy bits, backed her weird clothes, and told anyone who laughed at her to leave, it’s joyful and specific and quietly devastating in the way that only the most precise personal writing can be.

She is also, crucially, furious. There’s a current of real rage running beneath the memoir’s warmth, directed squarely at capitalism, at productivity culture, at the systems that want us “sedated, sedentary and singular.” The prose gets almost incantatory in these moments:

“We confuse being busy with being significant, and action with progress. This capitalist, colonialist, patriarchal-coded addiction is why we’re both the most ‘connected’ humans in history, and yet the most profoundly lonely.”

It could tip into polemic, but Pang anchors it constantly in the personal and the bodily. The burnout chapter, told through bone broth, is particularly good. The New York section, all Illamasqua black lipstick and cortisol and “all lipstick, no broth,” is enormously fun and rings painfully true.

My favourite conceptual move in the book is Pang’s distinction between surrender and settling. Eating bitter, she argues, is not about accepting defeat. It’s about active, gritty engagement with what is hard:

“Don’t confuse surrender with settling, or acquiescence. Settling implies stagnation, like sediments at the bottom of a teacup, without purpose or direction. Surrender, however, is wholly active. It requires grit and motion, a true deepening, because you’re surrendering violently under the knowledge that you’re moving through something.”

Eat Bitter is irreverent and deeply felt, a memoir that treats food as serious emotional and political material without ever losing its sense of humour or its hunger. It made me want to call my people, cook something difficult, and stop smoothing out my own edges quite so efficiently.
“Sik fan.” Go read it. #pudseyrecommends

Thanks to Lydia Pang, Random House UK, Vintage | Chatto & Windus, and NetGalley for the e-arc

[AJ✨ · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thank you to NetGalley and the author for sending me an ARC in exchange for my honest review!

I both deeply admire and adamantly dislike this collections of short memoir essays.

The more I read, the more I asked myself the questions Lydia Pang was shoving down my throat. While this does border on "self-help" and sways a bit far from the edges of "foodoir" for my taste...by the end, I think I really understood.

Deep in my own belly, I understood what she was told her whole life. "Eat bitter" is akin to my own mother's mantra "Life sucks - deal with it." Pang expounds on that saying dealing with it is not learning from it. "Stew", "ferment" - all the words she uses to give herself and us permission to sit in the sad, uncomfortable and painful. I get it, Lydia - a meal is better (dare we say LIFE is better?) when it hits all the taste buds and all the sensory cells are firing. Who wants a flat, one note, overly sweet cake (life?) anyway?

What I didn't like? The air of arrogance that permeates the whole text. Even by the end when I feel the most connected to her. She opens up about her struggle with fertility and at my age, it's something that I am unendingly empathetic toward. I also wanted more food! There's a lot of food descriptive words used ("smelly", "chewy", "sinewy", "sugary") but I wanted a little bit more of the actual recipe in her work. She was overly repetitive at times - not in the melodic, artistic way. In that arrogant way - like she just wanted to hear herself keep talking, keep on sounding profound. Like she was trying a bit hard. I think there's room to cut sentences and paragraphs from this work without any loss of structure, beauty and detail.

Major dislike? She forced me to look at myself and reflect in a way that was really fucking hard and I wasn't fully ready for. It's the same reason I came to admire this work. Fuck you Lydia Pang, for making me cry. Thank you Lydia Pang, for encouraging me to "simmer" and "congeal". I felt better in the morning.

[Claire Robinson · Rating 4 out of 5]

The second I heard about Eat Bitter, it went straight to the top of my TBR. 吃苦 𝐜𝐡ī 𝐤ǔ, or ‘eat bitter’ is a phrase I grew up hearing because I grew up in Taiwan, spending lots of time with Chinese and Cantonese speakers.

吃苦 chī kǔ is a Chinese proverb that means to ‘endure hardship to taste sweetness.’ But it’s not just a proverb. It’s almost like a way of life. Something that Chinese people grow up with and fully understand, even if they can’t always explain it. Endure tough times without complaining, and eventually you’ll reap the rewards.

Eat Bitter is a story about Lydia’s life. Each chapter starts with a recipe, one that you can follow and try out for yourself (unless you’re vegan - lol), and we follow her story from a child in rural Wales to an adult who moves around the world in search of ‘her place’. Chasing dreams, money and security.

She talks about how her Hakka ancestors struggled through multiple forced migrations and how her grandparents settled in Hong Kong before moving to rural Wales without speaking a word of English. All of these experiences have stayed with Lydia and is part of who she is. But she’s also her own self. She talks about her teenage years, the emo stage (LOVE!), the refusal to conform (yay!) and other things.

As an adult, she faces burn-out, fertility struggles and more. Many of these things are relateable, so no matter what you’re going through or have been through, I’m sure parts of the book will resonate.

Despite having a strong interest in Chinese culture, what really kept me reading was Lydia’s brilliant, witty sense of humour that is drizzled throughout. She’s hilarious. Even when times are difficult.
Honestly, add this to your TBR. You won’t regret it.

𝐐: 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬? 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐨𝐧𝐠?

[Patricia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Author LYDIA PANG is a creative influencer who has worked at advertising and fashion agencies, eventually establishing her own business. This memoir boldly and bravely tells the story of her journey. She says "Guts are the only true ingredient for creativity." Having read "EAT BITTER," I'd say she is entitled to make that claim.

Her heritage comes from Hakka Chinese who moved to Wales, where she grew up. Later, her life, education, and work took her to New York City, Portland, Oregon, London, and back to Wales. Therefore, she contended with being seen as different, which often required some adjustments . And she did indeed adjust, making the most of it. Her appearance and fashion sense were stunningly GOTH. She said, "I simply wasn't built to carry any embarrassment about our differences; instead, I believed that being different was significantly cooler than being the same as everyone else." Furthermore, she said, "Embracing the contradictions of your own identity rather than seeking to flatten them will strengthen you when you have to stand up for yourself, to evolve or create."
I include these comments of hers because I think they can significantly inspire her readers and they can learn from her.

The title is explained along with Hakka philosophy regarding life's ups and downs; eating the bitter and then reaping the ensuing sweetness that comes along to counter act it. Chapters are preceded by a recipe to set the theme, but it's not a cookbook.

I would like to thank the publisher, HARPER ONE, for the uncorrected proof. The book will be available in May. I think it would be a good choice for a book group.

[mood_reading_maya · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to Harper Audio for the ALC.

A memoir told through recipes, but also so much more. Intensely poignant. Deeply insightful. Raw. Lyrical. Cutting. Reflective.

As a person who has a not inconsequential amount of reverence and admiration for Anthony Bourdain—and especially his writing, I do not make this next comparison lightly. Eat Bitter is the first book in a very long time that has reminded me very keenly of Bourdain’s unique voice, though it has less of his ascerbic bite.

Eat Bitter is structured through recipes with each chapter opening with Pang walking you through how to prepare a dish; in culinary terms, this is the mise en place. From there, memories are simmered with Pang’s wry humor and cheeky wit, seasoned with Hakka cultural reflections, and plated with healthy doses of emotional resonance and lyrical flourishes. Pang may not be a chef, but they have that same intrinsic understanding of food as care and a meal as a loving and communal act. In this way they are able to seamlessly weave in their memories of food with their lived experiences and the wisdom gleaned from them.

With chapters ranging from sibling relationship dynamics, familial complexities, marriage, career burnout and unchecked ambition, and the power of food to heal and connect us. The writing and reflections are vulnerable. Pang often begins with how she has glamoured herself into an idealized image before peeling back those layers through lived experience to their truer, more authentic self. As the kind of person who also does not like to be too still, Pang’s messages spoke straight to the heart of me.

[Andrea · Rating 2 out of 5]

Eat Bitter: A Story About Guts, and Food by Lydia Pang is a memoir in which Lydia Pang chronicles her burnout while navigating the difficulties of life.

I wasn't familiar with the author before picking up this book. I was mainly drawn in by the title. I expected a novel with a darker, almost gory tone. Unfortunately, I was sorely disappointed and wasn't a fan of the memoir.

The book is divided into eight chapters, with each one beginning with a recipe. However, I struggled to understand what the overall purpose of the book was. At times, it seemed like it was trying to offer self-help advice, but those moments felt buried beneath everything else and were rarely presented clearly or straightforwardly. Instead, I felt like there was a lot of anger and bitterness throughout the memoir, while the sweeter, more hopeful moments never really materialized.

The memoir is also filled with graphic and unpleasant descriptions that I felt were overused. For a book centered around food, some of the recipes seemed incomplete, and several had unnecessarily unappetizing names. Ironically, nothing in this book made me want to eat less than the descriptions and language used throughout it.

Overall, the memoir felt very surface-level. The author touched on several interesting topics but never explored them in much depth. For example, the book mentions the history of Hakka culture, but aside from a few brief references, I didn't feel like I learned much about it or about the author's personal connection to her heritage. In the end, I felt like the book was trying too hard to be profound, but it ultimately fell flat for me.

[lisa · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book wants desperately to be Crying
In H Mart. It comes close, especially with the emotion close to the surface that doesn’t quite go much deeper. However, there’s not much more than some brief mentions of things the author has gone through in life that were hard, kinda. I wanted to hear more about her sister and her mother (other than they were smart and badass) and her grandparents (other than they were good cooks and showed their love through food). I loved the little mentions of Hakka history. I wish there was more.

Also, unlike Crying in H Mart, this book was very preachy. Much of it read like a self help book. I kept skipping over the paragraphs that lectured on bonds of family and ways to get through the hard times because it became annoying. I truly do not care what the author’s opinions are for ways to have a successful divorce. It seemed to get a little better as the book went on, but it never lost that self help edge.

Mostly I was frustrated by the vignettes that Lydia Pang seemed to think were so deep and sad, so raw and visceral. She never, ever went deep enough to give that feeling although I’m sure they felt that way to her. It seemed like she was trying too hard to find a lesson for the things that happened to her, that she was desperate to learn something from the pain she endured. But I didn’t feel that there was anything to “learn” about her hard experiences. It would have been enough to just read about them if she had written well enough. I didn’t need the lesson.
Honestly read Tastes Like War or even Crying in H Mart. Leave this one for later.

[Maddisen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jethro gibbs has a set of rules, Dominic Toretto lives his life one quarter mile at a time and Lydia Pang eats bitter. The most compelling people in life have a motto to live by; something that rears its head in the best and worst moments.
'Eat Bitter' challenges you not just to find your own way of life but to look behind you and sit with your past choices, actions, indecision, failures and successes. Your asked not just to define those events but who helped define them, how did you end up there, what still lives trapped in your back molars or requires a toothpick to extract from between your canines. When have you bit too much to chew but were to prideful to spit it out? When was last time you cooked for joy instead of counting macros? How often have you needed a sweet treat but only ended up with a bleeding lip?
It is not enough to acknowledge your past and look towards the future. You must sit with every choice you've made; not every event is a learning moment and not very thing must be looked at with a fine tooth comb but you have to learn to sit with it. To exist in silence and not move. Untill you can look back not just with a critical eye but with understanding and compassion for who you were and then look forward at who you can be or will be or want to be, you will never learn to eat bitter. Start working on it when your ready, nothing so fundamental as this can be rushed.

Finished 8:48am

[Amanda W · Rating 4 out of 5]

There are so many feel-good food memoirs, so the idea of recipes that recount the painful or difficult times in your life, rather than the standard happy memories, is intriguing. I also feel that certain statements Pang made about her own search for identity were, in many cases, like holding up a mirror. I was nodding my head furiously more than once. The chapter on her struggles with infertility was definitely the standout, very powerful and raw.

However, I have to say I am getting tired of reading books where a well-off person discusses their travels and their relationship to food based on their childhood. Maybe it’s just me, but there are so many of these books at this point. In addition, I spent a lot of time wondering if Pang actually enjoys much of anything in her life. Her relentless focus on her career, as well as her inability to deal with things she can’t control, seemed interesting at first, but just got a bit stereotypical and boring. She really wants the reader to think she is cool, but seems unwilling to really let go and show her real self. For a personal memoir, there was an impersonal tone to so much of it. 3.75 stars.

Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC of this book in exchange for my honest review!

[Helbs · Rating 4 out of 5]

Much nodding went on during the reading of this book!
I had never heard of Lydia Pang before I read this book but her memoir resonated with me in so many ways. As someone whose love language is food, lives in a 'foreign' country and has raised children bi-culturally with a big focus on cooking and sharing meals I was hoping it would be just my bag - and it was!
What really worked for me was the way Pang writes about food as something far bigger than nourishment. It becomes memory, comfort, care, grief and love all tangled together. The idea of “eating your emotions” is nearly always treated as something negative, but Pang reframes it as a way of surviving, connecting and caring for people when words aren’t enough.
We learn about the author and her family, but more specifically the Hakka culture and the concept of “eating bitter” — enduring hardship before sweetness arrives. The language throughout is bold and inventive, full of memorable food metaphors that somehow never feel overcooked.
Some of the parts focussing on her professional life dragged slightly for me and felt a little repetitive in places, but those moments never lasted long before another brilliant observation or description pulled me back in.
Thank you for entreating us to get rid of our 'good-girl giblets' and avoid ‘performing a microwaved life’, We should allow ourselves to be vulnerable and honest, and let food and family help us survive the more unpalatable moments of life.

[charlotterider · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5★ I deeply admire Lydia and have been a longtime follower of her career and creative agency. I was super excited when this book was announced—I loved the premise of a memoir told through the lens of Hakka cuisine and the punk / guts / nasty girl angle that was promised was incredibly enticing. Though by the end, this did feel a tad repetitive and dare I say perhaps even a little too sweet and girlbossy—i.e. tied in a nice bow in the final chapter, self-help style. Even though she explains that’s exactly how she didn’t want to end it… So just fell a little flat compared to my higher expectations of (emotional) blood, guts, and gore.

BUT! This was a very tender and raw memoir chronicling an interesting upbringing within a culture I wasn’t familiar with. As someone who also works in fashion / trend forecasting, her references all landed and painted a perfectly timely picture of the industry. The audiobook felt more like FaceTiming with a friend than listening to a book. Lydia’s love for food and her “clan” is palpable, and I enjoyed the chance to spend time in her world for a little bit. Made me miss my own Lola and Lolo. 🖤🥩

Thank you to the publisher for the ARC!

[Catalina · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's been a while since I've finished this, but for some reason I am really struggling to write a review. Reading Eat Bitter is a bit like eating bitter. Or at least it was for me. I really loved the idea of being you, relishing in the feeling of being different. Being different is cool. Fitting in is not! This has been my motto since my teens, and with that has come power and at times peace. It can be a very lonely experience but loving who you are is more important. She also opened my eyes to what it means to be the older sister and all the baggage that comes with that. I am the older sister and I have not stop to think about that and how it impacted my life.

But all the rest has been very far removed from me. Which is fine, I have taken everything at face value and tried to understand her experience. And I must admit I've googled Lydia and I love her aesthetic. It is not something I would ever adopt, but she is seriously cool!

Eat Bitter has felt repetitive at times, and even a bit preaching, but I would recommend it to any teen and not only, cause we all need a good dose of eating bitter to help us shape ourselves!

*Memoir from NetGalley with many thanks to the publisher for the opportunity.

[Em Barton · Rating 4 out of 5]

📚 ARC 📚

✨ 4.75

“We're feeling, fucking creatures of temper and tragedy. And food can help us find the corners of ourselves”

To ‘eat bitter’ means to endure hardship and pain before you can taste sweetness. That by experiencing the bad, it can make the good infinitely more potent. And Lydia Pang delivers this truth with such a gut-punch of a book that I know I’ll be eating bitter for years to come.

Using poignant meals from her own life and delving into various hard times she’s experienced, Pang manages to balance the memoir aspects with the (almost) therapeutic nature of eating bitter.

It was a tough read at times, handling some very dark and difficult themes, but I feel I’ve come away with a better appreciation for my own bitter tastes and the meals I’ve found comfort in during those times.

Thank you so much to Penguin Random House for the advanced copy, and thanks to the wonderful author for such a hard-hitting and inspiring book.
This comes out May 14th, and I don’t think I can recommend it highly enough!

Now, if you don’t mind, I have some recipes to try out.

[Lucy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bitter by Lydia Pang explores the Chinese concept of “eating bitter” and what that means in the context of food, memory, and ancestry. It looks at the importance of food,  food gestures, and how these shape who we are.

This book explores Hakka Chinese and their history, which I was pleased about, as I’ve read many books about China and food over the years, and this added to my knowledge.   I enjoyed  reading about the creative, distinct ways of cooking that are embedded in Hakka ancestry, not just as recipes but in highlighting the healing power of food. It encouraged me to think about my own nostalgic dishes and how I eat as well as what I return to and why.

Pang's writing is self-aware and emotionally attuned. Intelligent, measured, and considerate. Elegantly written and thoughtfully structured, with eight recipes at the start of each chapter, which I appreciated.

A reflective book about endurance, rituals, and the quiet power of food, which I wholeheartedly recommend.  I received a free advance review copy from NetGalley, and this is my honest review.

[amber ⊹₊˚₊⊹ · Rating 4 out of 5]

thank you to netgalley and the publisher for this ALC!

this memoir is the author going through her life with the reflective lense of eating bitter. eating bitter is a Chinese proverb meaning “endure hardship to taste sweetness”. Lydia Pang details a significant recipe to her with each chapter, most relating to her Hakka ancestry, and weaves it to a point in her life where she was forced to Eat Bitter. we follow the author from childhood in Whales, early adulthood in London, career aspirations in New York City, and Portland, and even trips to Hong Kong.
the aspect of eating bitter forces us to ask ourselves are we okay, which the author does a great job at communicating her own feelings and hesitations of those moments in her life. we look at her relationship with family, friends, food, and fertility with such fixation and ferocity.
I loved learning about the author, a new (to me) culture, the concept of eating bitter, and traditional Hakka recipes

[Catherine · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is an eviscerating, visceral, pungent read - all adjectives that I’m sure Pang would approve of! I gulped this down in 2 sittings: it was too good to savour slowly, so good that I’ll be doing a re-read. So much resonated with me and inspired me, not least the bravery of the author in recognising that their philosophy for life - the titular ‘eat bitter’ - required fine-tuning. The reflections on Welsh culture and dual heritage reminded me of Angela Hui’s Takeaway: Stories from a Childhood Behind the Counter (which I also enjoyed), but Pang moves beyond Wales in her expansive odyssey across continents and life stages. I wish I could taste the recipes described here, even though (or because) they are so unique to the author’s family table. Best read with a comforting congee set to warm in the rice cooker.

[Josephine · Rating 5 out of 5]

This might be my favourite book of the year so far. The author examines the Chinese proverb “eat bitter” meaning “ensure hardship to taste sweetness.” Using her own experiences growing up and living with her mixed Chinese/Welsh family, and, crucially, detailing 8 recipes, she explores food and the act of cooking as medicine. This might make it sound like any self help book but it is not. The author is wonderful at weaving in her own personal stories while looking at how they can be applied to the philosophy. It is brutally honest, extremely relatable and hopeful without providing all the answers. And I would love to try some of the recipes! Overall, I found it incredibly moving and will be both recommending it to and buying it for friends.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the opportunity to read this book.

[Cindy · Rating 4 out of 5]

In Hakka culture, “eating bitter” means to endure pain alongside sweetness, in both food and life. It's very much like the "Hillel sandwich" in the Passover Seder, where participants combine bitter herbs (like parsley or horseradish) and sweet charoset (typically a mix of apples, nuts, and sweet wine). The contrast is what makes it interesting; the sweetness makes the bitter more palatable.
In Lydia Pang's memoir, we learn about her Hakka culture, her Welsh upbringing, and her self-described "oddball" family. There are a few core recipes included, one or two that seem eminently doable to the weekend chef, and the rest I can't imagine myself ever attempting. At times, it's a confessional: how food saved her from burning out in her career, saved her marriage (eventually), and helped ease her infertility issues. It's all out on the page, admirably so. 3.8 rounded up. Well narrated by the author.
My thanks to @LydiaPang, @HarperAudio, and #NetGalley for early access to the audiobook of #EatBitter for review purposes. Publication date: 19 May 2026.

[Katy Wheatley · Rating 4 out of 5]

Eat Bitter is the Hakka Chinese principle of enduring hardship in order to celebrate sweetness when it comes. Lydia Pang uses this as a way to look at key events and relationships in her life and attempt to piece together understanding, acceptance and some kind of roadmap for the future. Each chapter starts with a recipe that encapsulates a time or experience for her and she then unpacks and meditates on how she worked through the bitter, difficult elements in that chapter of her life and came to understand them and use them going forward. She embraces and expounds on the knotty, unpalatable complexities of life and is at times unnervingly frank about her experiences which give this book a darkly edgy feel which is entirely in keeping with the themes and central idea of it.

[Linda Foster · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lydia Pang’s heritage is in the Hakka culture, a persecuted Han Chinese sub-ethnic group, with a rich culinary tradition. The Hakka food culture is robust, savoury and aromatic, rooted in the resourcefulness and resilient nature of the Hakka people. Lydia embodies her culture and cuisine whole-heartedly in this memoir with her eight food choices. There’s a recipe at the start of each chapter which is integral to the story Lydia recounts. She highlights the food as she deals with sadness, trauma and all the difficulties and complexities of life. Her grandparents, her relationship with them, and the food that they cooked was immensely important to her.
“Eating bitter” means enduring hardship to appreciate future sweetness. A thought-provoking memoir.