I took a gap year to embrace my Chinese roots. I never planned to stay for 13 years.

Thirteen years ago, Andrew Moo had never set foot in mainland China and didn't speak a word of Chinese. Today, he runs two restaurants in Shanghai.

• Andrew Moo, 33, is a fourth-generation Australian and grew up with no connection to his Chinese heritage.
• After graduating from college — and without speaking any Chinese — he decided to move to China.
• Over the past 13 years, he has co-founded a creative agency and opened two restaurants in Shanghai.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Andrew Moo, 33, co-founder of Taste Collective — a creative agency — and co-owner of two restaurants in Shanghai. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

I grew up in Perth as a fourth-generation Australian. Any connection to my Chinese heritage felt long gone.

My great-grandfather arrived on the northern coast by boat from Guangdong in 1889, chasing the classic immigrant dream. Fast-forward a few generations, and assimilation had done its job.

By the time my parents were raising me, we didn't speak Chinese, eat Cantonese food at home, or celebrate any cultural traditions.

Yet there was a nagging curiosity inside me. I looked around and noticed that so many of my friends, especially those from second-generation Asian backgrounds, were embracing their heritage.

One friend invited me to meet his extended family in Malaysia. Another flew back to Bangkok to study Thai, and a third returned to Singapore to complete his national service.

So, at 21, after graduating in 2012 with a degree in marketing, management, and entrepreneurship, I decided to pack my bags and move to China. The original plan had been for a gap year to probe my genealogy.

Rediscovering my roots

Arriving in Guangzhou 13 years ago felt like stepping onto another planet. Like my entire extended family over the last three generations, I'd never been to mainland China, nor did I speak a word of Chinese. I didn't even know where Guangzhou was on a map.

The unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells in the port city, about 75 miles northwest of Hong Kong, overwhelmed me, yet I remember thinking, "This is electric."

It was intoxicating, and I wanted in.

I lived in a company dorm and worked as an intern for a hotel management company. I experienced total culture shock, but I thrived in the chaos. I made friends and quickly learned how Chinese life works. Within six months, I found myself belting the lyrics to a Chinese love ballad at a company gala, just one of two foreigners in front of 2,000 colleagues.

Like the lyrics I sang, I fell head over heels for the energetic pace of life in China; despite its peaks and pitfalls, I was hooked.

I followed my appetite

After moving to Beijing the following year, where I continued living until 2017, I started hosting dinner parties and experimented with diasporic Chinese flavors. My passion for food began in my teens in Australia and continued to grow in China.

Outside my digital marketing job, I spent my free time volunteering at food festivals and even launched my own pop-up sandwich brand.

My turning point came in 2015, when a mutual friend sent me a job posting at a restaurant incubator. I went on to join as a marketing lead — a dream role that combined my academic background with my passion for food.

I spent two years helping international food brands enter the Chinese market, testing concepts and developing culinary ideas. That's also where I met Clara Davis, who would later become my co-founder at Taste Collective — a creative agency that has worked with brands like Impossible Foods, Carlsberg, and Starbucks.

But my entrepreneurial aspirations drove me toward one ultimate goal: opening my own restaurant.

Making a career out of a dream

My goal started taking shape during a 100-kilometer bike ride. I was with two friends — Dan Li and Mike Liu, who both had experience working in F&B. We talked about how rare it was to find good, affordable pasta in Shanghai. At the time, it was either super expensive or overcooked.

We spent six months hand-making pasta every day, and in 2020, the three of us launched Yaya's, a neighborhood pasta bar that blends regional Chinese flavors with traditional Italian dishes.

None of us are Italian — which was perfectly fine, as the plan was never to serve traditional Italian dishes. Our antipasti menu features items like smoked green olives with bamboo shoots, along with a roasted eggplant dip infused with Sichuan peppercorn oil.

We've gotten creative with the pasta as well. Our lamb ragu is prepared with Xinjiang spices and served over handmade pappardelle, and we make the spaghetti carbonara sauce with salted egg yolk.

Since then, I opened GOODMAN — a smash burger joint in Shanghai. Both ventures have been fulfilling and have confirmed that I chose the right path.

The financial side of opening a restaurant can be daunting. Rent in Shanghai is pricier than other cities in China. Li, Liu, and I invested our own money — we believed in our vision.

Our first step was to find local partners — including suppliers and third-party service providers — whom we trusted, knowing that relationships matter more than anything.

In China, everything runs on relationships, and the most valuable ones are with the people who keep your operation running day-to-day.

Feeling more Chinese

I've also spent my time in China reconnecting with my roots. I've traced my ancestry to a small village in Guangdong called Taishan, where my great-grandfather once lived. I hope to visit soon.

After spending over a decade in China, I feel like I've become more Chinese — or at least more connected to my Chinese heritage, while still embracing my Australian identity. I've built a career that blends my interests and offers me the opportunity to create something meaningful.

I want to inspire others to explore their roots, too. My younger brother has followed my lead, moving to Shanghai and forging his own path.

I never thought I'd be here this long, yet here I am.