This sweet, sticky delicacy played a pivotal role in helping China’s Manchu Army defeat the Ming Dynasty.

At the crack of dawn, Poon Sun Hay rises, eager to head back to Singapore’s Chinatown Complex Hawker Centre and continue the work he began the night before.

The 65-year-old makes his way to stall #02-078, better known as Pan Ji Cooked Food. There, he settles into the modest kitchen space and begins warming up a syrupy blend of sugar and maltose, a less sugary malt-based sweetener, to coat the crispy dough ribbons he had deep-fried the night before.

Once generously coated, Poon arranges the sticky ribbons in a shallow tray. He then flips the tray onto the countertop, where he expertly slices the now-stiff mass into bite-sized pieces.

A craft Poon has perfected over nearly four decades, this meticulous process is one he has honed to perfection over the past 38 years.

Sachima is a traditional Chinese pastry made from a batter of flour and eggs, deep-fried and coated in syrup. At Pan Ji, it's sliced and served in the same gooey, crispy style as Rice Krispie treats, though sachima has a centuries-old history unlike the modern snack.

The sweet treat hails from northeast China and is believed to have served as an energy boost for the horsemen of the Manchu Army, supplying them with the endurance needed to conquer the Ming Dynasty in the 1600s.

A Cantonese-style sachima with a distinct Singaporean twist.

Sachima has become a beloved snack across China, particularly during Lunar New Year festivities. Regional variations exist, such as the Cantonese version, often garnished with sesame seeds or raisins.

However, it’s increasingly rare to find sachima in Singapore, where Poon operates one of the last stalls on the island still making this traditional treat by hand.

“I don’t remember the first time I had sachima,” Poon reflects. “That’s because I’ve been eating it since I was a child.”

Poon was born in Singapore in 1956 and entered the sachima trade by pure chance. His parents had moved to the island from Guangdong Province in China, opening a Canton tea house in the heart of Chinatown, where sachima was a popular item on the menu.

At just 12 years old, Poon began working at his parents’ tea house. Born without fingers on his left hand, his father encouraged him to develop a skill that would not only be achievable but also provide a steady income. And so, Poon took up the art of making sachima.

Pan Ji Cooked Food has been an integral part of the Chinatown Complex Hawker Centre since 1983, when the Singaporean government consolidated street vendors from nearby Trengganu, Sago, and Banda Streets under one roof.

Today, it remains one of the 226 cooked food stalls at the complex, each offering its own specialty, such as braised duck, steamed fish heads with hot sauce, and Chinese-style pork satay.

Poon is one of the few remaining original vendors at the complex, known for crafting his signature bars of Cantonese-style sachima – a slightly sweeter, more savory variation of the traditional Manchu recipe, but without the sesame seeds or raisins typically found in this style.

Even though Singapore’s hawker culture was recently added to UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage, particularly for its role as ‘community dining rooms,’ Poon and his Pan Ji Cooked Food stall still face significant challenges brought on by change.

Over the years, the number of artisan sachima makers in Singapore has significantly declined, with Poon’s stall being one of the very few – if not the last – to still handcraft sachima on the island.

Nowadays, nearly all sachima in Singapore is mass-produced, with much of it imported from Malaysia.

“Many people today have only experienced factory-made sachima,” Poon explains. “But I believe you have to try handmade sachima to truly appreciate its authentic flavor and texture.” Without this experience, he says, it’s impossible to understand what’s missing.

The Chinatown Complex Hawker Centre has also been severely impacted by the Covid-19 pandemic.

When the first cases of the virus appeared in February 2020, the founders of Singapore’s hawker culture app, Eat Shop Play (which organizes tours for visitors), noted that many hawkers saw their business drop by as much as 80%.

As Chinatown is a major tourist hub, attracting visitors with its Keong Saik Road cafes, art galleries, and the renowned Buddha Tooth Relic Temple, the hawker center experienced an even steeper decline in foot traffic than other similar centers. With fewer customers, many stall owners turned to delivery services to survive. Unfortunately, without a digital presence, Pan Ji Cooked Food was at a distinct disadvantage.

However, in the year that followed, the Chinatown Complex Hawkers’ Association began working with vendors, including Pan Ji Cooked Food, to help them establish an online presence and boost their business.

Poon credits his loyal regulars for helping keep Pan Ji Cooked Food going strong, despite the challenges.

“They’ve continued to support my stall, and now with the rise of domestic tourism in Singapore, we’re seeing even more local customers,” he says.

“Pan Ji Cooked Food is the perfect stop for an experimental tour,” he adds, referring to the tours organized by the Eat Shop Play app. “Tourists can actually watch me making the sachima right before their eyes.”

‘Everything has to be done with precision’

In the open kitchen of his stall, Poon carefully crafts each batch of sachima with unwavering attention to detail.

“It’s one of the things that people really enjoy,” Poon says. “The chance to witness the entire process, from beginning to end.”

Though most visitors lack either the time or the interest to stay for the entire process. After all, a single batch of sachima takes around three to five hours to complete. This involves slicing dough into thin noodle-like ribbons, deep-frying them, and letting them cool overnight.

The following morning, Poon mixes the syrup with the fried ribbons, a task that’s both physically demanding and exhausting. But once the final steps are finished, the result is a delightfully crispy exterior and chewy interior, a sugary treat that’s both filling and deeply satisfying.

On the days when he’s making sachima, Poon works alone, immersed in his craft and uninterrupted in his open kitchen.

“The entire process – from timing to temperature, cutting, and slicing – it all has to be exact,” Poon says. On other days, he greets customers at the front of the stall, despite his limited English.

With domestic tourism picking up again and Singapore’s relatively low COVID-19 case numbers, Pan Ji Cooked Food continues to survive the storm, for now.

However, without a family to pass on his craft, Poon worries that his retirement may signal the end of handmade sachima in Singapore, along with a significant piece of Chinese culinary tradition.

Although many young people have shown interest in learning the craft of sachima-making, Poon says most can’t endure more than a day or two of the labor-intensive work and long hours involved.

Poon has a proposal: “If any Americans are interested in coming here to learn the craft of sachima-making from me and taking it back to their country, I say ‘welcome!’”