A sweet, fruity-fragrant aroma bursts out of an ovoid body: an open mango. Buttery blossoming buds unfurl from the saccharine flesh at a glacial pace, spiralling outwards, angular and geometric. The leathery blush-green gum retracts, making way for silky yellow flora to squeeze through, smiling. Tien also grins, displaying the components of his sculptural universe.

A cornucopia of fruit and vegetables slowly extends before my eyes. Thin plastic bags billow open, revealing sturdy carving tools, acidic citruses and greens. The deep ruby tones of beetroots, radishes, and red onions rest in the soft, dull glow of bell peppers, cabbages, and carrots. A lonely pineapple peers out, while a blood-red chilli pepper curls onto the table. Tien swiftly sets up a mottled cutting board, a small, sparkling knife (his favourite), and a stumpy short bladed knife (his ‘Norwegian knife’, not for working on details). In surgical fashion, he dons supple turquoise rubber gloves and begins to dissect.

The green bell pepper is bouncy and unctuous, creaking as Tien cuts a zigzag pattern across its circumference. Cracking it in two releases a crisp vegetal scent, and suddenly transforms the object into two distinct seeded flowers. Tien explains that stems or multiple details can be added later. If I am interested, one day he can show me how he makes a swan with apples. He repeats the slicing process for the golden and red peppers, gathering them into a modest bouquet.

Drawing out a lacy leaf of white cabbage from a thin bag, Tien claims delicacy is only achieved through practice. ‘Only a sharp knife should be used! Remember to wash everything.’ This craft is elegant, demanding precision and respect.

The white cabbage is a fibrous feather, sliced into an airy, toothed-leaf silhouette, with hollow cutouts along the edge. He uses the tip of the knife, dragging inwards from the edge towards the centre. Upon completing the white cabbage feather, Tien pulls out a compact head of red cabbage, rips off another leaf and presses it down onto the cutting board. Purple juice oozes out of the vegetable while Tien extracts the inner section. He explains that you should always follow the direction of the stem to create realistic foliage. He asks if there is a large bowl here. Hypnotised, I stand up and fill a large white bowl with cool water, placing it in the centre of the round table.

As if releasing a precious fish into a pond, Tien sends the red cabbage feather into the clear depths of the receptacle. The crisp tips float poetically above the loose water membrane. The air is fresh and clear.

‘Fantasy sets the boundaries,’ Tien laughs, deftly dividing more leaves. The pond is populated with floating feathers. Tien breathes out while he slices.

‘When you invite guests for dinner you can place these sculptures on the table, talk about them together. They are something to pay attention to together.’ Summer is for watermelon and fruit combinations; water or ice is for keeping crispness. Sculptural displays are always for sharing. ‘Just don’t make the pieces too tall! You need to be able to see each other over them,’ he laughs.

Chopping the base off a huge ceraceous orange, Tien cements the centrepiece. This will secure the sculptural structure. He turns it upside down onto a gold-rimmed porcelain plate, the syrupy citrus juice making it slide on the surface. Picking out individual toothpicks from a box with his thumb and forefinger, he slips them into the stems of the cabbage feathers and pierces them onto the perimeter of the orange. The citrus solar system is now encircled by a cabbage crown.

Above the crown there will be a bouquet of buds. Tien lifts out a large bag of radishes, unleashing an earthy, peppery scent. Removing one round globe with his thumb and middle finger, he explains that he will demonstrate different carving techniques.

The first requires a neon orange gouging tool in a c-shape cross-section. The gouging tool is thin, perhaps one centimetre wide, no longer than an index finger. First, you shave a thin slice, perpendicular to the curve. As the red flake falls, white juicy flesh pokes out. Behind this scar, you must gouge another groove. Tilting upwards as he removes the tool, petals are revealed one by one, spinning around the radish’s celestial body. In a matter of seconds, the radish flower is complete, released into the white pond.

The next method is to gouge individual petals in beetroot. Using a v-cut tool, Tien slices sharp lines into the vegetable, then pushes the “petals” outwards. The quick jewels drop and bob in the water, filling the pond. Once again, toothpicks secure the blushing buds to the cabbage crown. The air is damp and piquant.

Beetroot roses begin to blossom, staining Tien’s turquoise palms. The meaty, full-bodied bulb is held at an angle, twisting on its axis as thin, angular sections are slid out diagonally. The size of the beetroot determines the size of the petals. ‘You should always aim for three, five, or seven petals, with the new one starting from the middle of the last.’ Tien points with his right index finger, indicating where the new petal should begin. Mathematically removing the intermediary slices and adjusting the layer height, Tien twists the beetroot as he spirals on, carving new petals and layers. Blood-red roses adorn the crown, completing the composition.

Over the next hour, Tien continues to pull out examples of intricate blooms, proceeding to masterly demonstrate methods of carving. I learn that in a matter of minutes, onions can become lotus flowers with cucumber stems, detailed dahlias, or pompom rosettes.

Constantly slicing, gouging, or dissecting, Tien removes tubes and wedges, peels and stems. He tells me about his children, when they were young, joining him on his trips to the grocer’s. They would marvel at the flora and fauna flourishing in their kitchen. He continues to prepare culinary gifts for them, though they are grown.

The sweet acrid spray of alliums fills the space. ‘Are you crying?’ ‘A little.’
We laugh, transfixed by the bizarre beauty of an onion.

Cabbages become chrysanthemums, the sun starts to sink, and Tien ends with a carrot bird.

Like the orange before it, a pineapple will bear the burden. Whittling the carrot vessel like a piece of wood, Tien deftly determines a head and neck, with a long sloping body. The grittiness of the carrot shavings resists the sharp knife. Tien rigorously chops off two side chunks. He then separates them into wings, using controlled cuts. The angle is important, as is the spread of the feather length/wingspan. Tien reattaches these wings with longer toothpick spears — around 20 centimetres in length before snapping — and fashions tail feathers of extreme finesse in the blink of an eye. When it comes to the bird’s eyes, two rough black peppercorns nestle in carved sockets, with a crooked patent leather-like red chilli pepper as beak.

Tien uses the spears to secure the tangerine-hued avian to the panoplied pineapple. Spreading its wings over the lush green leafage, the bird is suspended over tropical heights. Beyond its wings lies Tien’s ornate, verdant paradise. Tien insists that I take it all home.