Interviews med E G Sain

I did not begin my career as a designer.

My background spans journalism, culture, and the food industry. I have served as a policy aide at Taiwan’s Ministry of Culture, worked as a program producer for Taiwan Public Television, and published more than ten books, including full-length mystery novels. I have worked in the cultural field for many years. These diverse experiences helped me realize that design is not simply about “making things beautiful.” It is a language that can carry culture, emotion, and social value.

What truly led me into design was taking over a pastry brand with more than half a century of history. I began to ask myself: beyond making delicious products, could we use design to bring Taiwan’s culture, history, literature, language, and stories of the land to different parts of the world?

So I did not start designing because I wanted to become a designer. I naturally entered the field of design while searching for cultural and brand value.

For me, design is not the destination. It is a way of communicating with the world.

I currently work for E G SAIN, a Taiwanese pastry brand founded in 1975, best known for its honey castella cake.

On one hand, we continue the craftsmanship of traditional pastry making. On the other hand, we hope to reinterpret Taiwanese culture through design. I believe food is never just food. It can also be a piece of culture, a fragment of history, and even a calling card for a country.

In recent years, I have explored innovation in the food field by treating gift boxes as curated cultural experiences. Through them, I tell stories of culture and history. My hope is that when people around the world open one of our pastry boxes, they will encounter not only Taiwanese sweets, but also culture itself, this beautiful land, and many other cultural stories worth sharing with the world.

To me, design is a form of curation.

It transforms abstract culture, emotions, and ideas into a rich experience that people can understand and feel.

Good design is not merely beautiful. It should solve problems, create value, and build an emotional connection between people and the work. It can create resonance among strangers, and it can give a brand its soul.

Therefore, I believe the essence of design is not simply to create objects, but to create better relationships between people and the world.

I most enjoy designing works that combine culture, storytelling, and commercial value.

Food packaging is one of the most creative fields for me. It is not only visual design; it also involves brand positioning, product strategy, consumer psychology, materials, craftsmanship, and user experience.

I enjoy condensing a cultural story into a gift within a limited space. When someone becomes interested in Taiwan because of a box of pastries, I feel that the design has fulfilled its mission.

If I had to choose one of my most representative works, I would choose the Taiwanese Language Gift Set, which won the A’ Design Award.

It is not simply a package with Taiwanese words printed on it. Through contemporary design, I wanted historical documents, land-based economies, maritime trade, language revitalization, and collective memory to be seen again.

To me, the most important purpose of design is not only to create something new, but to allow what is worth preserving to continue living in a new form.

My first design work was not a gift box, but food design.

I redesigned the “danhuangsu,” or salted egg yolk pastry, one of the most familiar pastries to Taiwanese consumers, with more than 100 million pieces consumed in Taiwan every year. Traditionally, the salted egg yolk is wrapped inside the pastry crust. I transformed it into a new form in which the egg yolk is exposed. I also used the “junihitoe,” the formal layered robe of Japan’s Heian period, as a metaphor for the many layers of pastry surrounding it.

Taiwanese people love eating salted egg yolk pastries during the Mid-Autumn Festival, when families gather to admire the moon. I compared the exposed egg yolk to the “Mid-Autumn moon,” so that eating the pastry becomes not only a pleasure of taste, but also like admiring the moon on the table. This work received the honor of “Taiwan Pastry of the Year” and was also patented by Taiwan’s Intellectual Property Office.

Looking back, my first design work was really an attempt to innovate Taiwanese dessert culture, and also to create new life for an old brand.

I like materials related to plants and objects made from them, such as wooden vessels, bamboo crafts, and paper. I also collect many books and am a serious book lover who buys books every week.

I am drawn to natural materials because they leave traces over time and allow a work to retain a sense of life.

Usually after work, when I return home, or right before going to sleep at night, new ideas suddenly appear.

In daily life, I read extensively, absorb new knowledge, spend time in nature, appreciate the beautiful creations of outstanding artists, travel whenever possible, and connect with people from different fields online. All of these deepen my thinking and keep me moving across disciplines.

Literature can become packaging. History can become a product. Architecture can construct an exhibition. Nature can become a source of color and composition.

Creativity does not appear out of nowhere. It comes from the meeting of different bodies of knowledge.

I usually think about four things at the same time.

First, whether it is meaningful and worth sharing.

Second, whether it has aesthetic value and is approachable.

Third, whether it is commercially viable.

Fourth, whether it has long-term value.

I believe aesthetics are important, but aesthetics are only the beginning.

Truly good design should be able to withstand the tests of culture, function, market, and time.

A rich sense of joy. The more I think, the happier I become.

But that joy still needs to be refined and disciplined. It must be transformed into an executable process. It must be made with available materials, supported by a recoverable cost structure, and eventually become something that can truly be produced. Creation is joyful, but implementation must be handled carefully, and in the end, the commercial cycle must be able to continue.

It is like putting together a large puzzle. When all the elements begin to echo one another, I know it is gradually approaching completion.

If a work can help people see culture again, or help the world understand Taiwan a little more, then I feel that all the effort is worthwhile.

When a design is truly made, and someone holds it in their hands, opens it, uses it, or even gives it to someone else, I feel deeply moved.

When a design is still on paper or on screen, it is only an idea. But when it enters people’s lives, it begins to have a life of its own.

This is especially true for food gift boxes. They are not only products. They often carry emotions between people. They become a flow of human connection, an exchange of feelings, and an expression of gratitude — a kind of gift economy.

When I know that a design can participate in these moments, I feel very grateful.

For me, a design is truly completed not when it is produced, but when it is understood, loved, and remembered.

I believe successful design must have three things: beauty, meaning, and the power to endure.

Beauty invites people to come closer. Meaning makes them want to stay. The power to endure allows the design to be used, purchased, shared, and even to move a brand forward.

If a work is only beautiful but cannot be understood or cannot truly enter the market, it is incomplete to me. Conversely, if a product sells well but has no cultural or emotional depth, I also feel that something is missing.

I hope my design can stand in the middle: accepted by the market, while still preserving cultural depth and beauty.

I first ask myself several questions.

First, does this design clearly tell the story it wants to tell?

Second, does it fit the temperament of the brand, rather than merely chasing trends?

Third, can consumers understand it and be attracted to it?

Fourth, can it actually be produced, displayed, and sold?

Design is not merely a beautiful image on a screen. It eventually enters factories, stores, distribution channels, logistics systems, and the hands of customers.

So when I evaluate a design, I consider aesthetics, culture, manufacturing, cost, distribution, and the actual context of use at the same time. This is also what makes my perspective as a business leader and design decision-maker different from that of a purely visual designer.

Designers carry great responsibility because design affects how people consume, how they understand the world, and how resources are used.

Environmentally, I do not believe design should simply create more beautiful but unnecessary things. Packaging design in particular must consider materials, size, waste, and whether it can extend the time for which a product is cherished.

Socially and culturally, designers also have a responsibility to make important things visible. Many cultures, languages, and memories may slowly disappear if they are not reinterpreted.

This is why I hope my design is not only about making products desirable, but also about helping people notice Taiwan’s languages, history, land, and human warmth again.

If design can make a product more beautiful while also preserving a culture more gently, then that is a mission I feel honored to carry.

I believe design is moving from “creating forms” toward “creating relationships” and “creating meaning.”

In the past, people often understood design as shape, visuals, or style. But in the future, design must respond to more complex questions: How is culture communicated? How does a brand build trust? How can products become more sustainable? How can objects create emotional connections between people? How can we discover cultural or social meaning? How can communities become more lasting, warmer, and more beautiful?

AI and new digital tools will lower the technical barriers of design. It will become easier and easier to generate images and concepts. But because of this, what will become truly important are human judgment, cultural understanding, and sensitivity toward the world.

The designer of the future will not simply be someone who can make images, but someone who can integrate stories, technology, business, and values.

My last exhibition was in July 2025 at Huashan 1914 Creative Park in Taiwan.

To me, every gift box that a consumer takes home is a small, mobile exhibition. It may appear on a dining table, in an office, in the home of overseas relatives or friends, or even become someone’s first entry point into understanding Taiwan.

If there is an opportunity in the future, I would love to hold an exhibition that combines pastries, language, literature, culture, and packaging design. I hope audiences can experience the layers of culture through food, words, and visuals.

My inspiration usually comes from culture and nature.

Taiwan’s languages, literature, history, folk traditions, mountains and seas, plants, seasonal rhythms, and everyday life are all important sources of inspiration for me. I also often gain new ideas from novels, museums, architecture, travel, and conversations with people from different fields.

I do not quite believe that inspiration simply falls from the sky. To me, inspiration appears one day after a long process of absorbing and accumulating.

For example, a piece of literature, a type of pastry, a packaging structure, and a seasonal festival may seem unrelated at first. But when they are placed together, they may form a new design direction. I enjoy this kind of interdisciplinary encounter.

If I had to describe my design style, I would call it “contemporary commercial design with cultural roots.”

I do not want design to be merely nostalgic, nor do I want it to pursue only the surface of internationalization. What I care about is how to transform local culture into a form that contemporary people are willing to approach and that international markets can also understand.

My works usually have storytelling and cultural qualities, and I pay attention to materials and details. But I do not want them to become too heavy. Food, after all, should feel joyful and approachable. It should make people want to take it home and share it.

My attitude toward design is this: respect tradition, but do not be limited by it; pursue beauty, but do not stop at beauty; face the market, but do not completely surrender to it.

I hope design can be a bridge — connecting the past and the present, and connecting Taiwan with the world.

I live in Taiwan.

Taiwan is a very special place. It blends different historical backgrounds, diverse cultures, and a rich natural environment. All of these deeply influence my design.

Since childhood, I have been exposed to classical works, traditional festivals, and local food culture. I also enjoy literature and art. These experiences are not materials I intentionally collected for design; they are part of daily life. So when I begin to design, they naturally become part of my work.

The greatest advantage of designing in Taiwan is that there are extremely rich cultural elements to explore. The greatest challenge is how to reinterpret them from an international perspective, so that the world is willing to understand them, rather than having only Taiwanese people know how beautiful they are.

Since I am also a business leader, my design work is almost always cross-departmental.

Good design is not only the work of the design department. It requires product development, manufacturing, purchasing, sales, marketing, and distribution channels to participate together.

I enjoy discussing ideas with people from different professions. Good ideas do not always come from designers. They may come from frontline salespeople, production team members, or even consumers.

Truly good design is the result of the whole team working together.

I believe companies should not simply ask designers to make products “look beautiful.”

A truly good collaboration allows designers to understand the real problems a brand wants to solve, and also allows designers to participate in brand strategy, rather than only being responsible for the final visual presentation.

At the same time, designers also need to understand the market, cost, production limitations, and consumer needs.

When both sides are willing to think from each other’s perspective, design is no longer just a service. It becomes a way of co-creating brand value.

My design usually does not begin with drawing. It begins with questions.

I first ask: Why does this product exist? What does it want to communicate? What kind of feeling does it hope to bring to consumers? Does it have a story worth remembering?

Then I read extensively, gather information, discuss with the team, and gradually organize the concept, visual direction, structure, materials, and product details.

To me, design is not a flash of inspiration. It is a process of constant revision and verification.

I am actually not someone who particularly collects design objects.

If I had to choose, I would choose books, product catalogs, plants, and miniature toys.

They accompany my daily life and remind me that truly good design is not necessarily the most glamorous. It is something that can stay with people for a long time.

I have always believed that life itself is the best teacher of design.

My work is very diverse.

In addition to business management, I am also involved in product development, brand strategy, design discussions, international collaboration, market research, and customer visits. Sometimes I am at the factory, sometimes in the stores, and often on the way to meetings, exhibitions, or partner visits.

Although work is busy, I still try to keep time for reading, travel, or being close to nature.

Many design ideas appear after I leave the work site.

Do not rush to establish your own style. Establish your own vision first.

Read more, travel more, observe different cultures, and understand how people truly live.

Design is not only about learning how to draw. It is about learning how to understand the world.

I would also advise young designers not to fear commerce. Commerce is not the enemy of design. If you can create value in the market while still preserving your own beliefs, that is a remarkable achievement.

The greatest advantage is being able to turn ideas into reality, and to let the world become a little different because of a work.

The greatest challenge is that design must face many limitations. The client’s attitude, budget, time, technology, cost, and market can all influence the final result.

However, I have always believed that real design is not about having no limitations. It is about finding the best answer within those limitations.

I do not have a fixed formula, but I always remind myself of one thing:

Do not design for the sake of design.

Every design decision should have a reason.

Every color, material, piece of text, and structure should support the same story, rather than compete with one another.

If a design can be understood naturally, instead of deliberately showing off technique, it often has more power.

I believe it is not drawing, but observation and thinking.

Observe people’s needs, cultural changes, social trends, and the details that others have not noticed.

Truly good design is often not about creating something entirely new, but about seeing a problem that others have not seen.

My tools are not only design software.

Books, museums, travel, literature, history, nature, and conversations with people from different fields are all part of my toolbox.

In recent years, I have also begun using AI as a partner for thinking and discussion. It helps me organize ideas, explore different directions, and improve creative efficiency.

But the final decision is still made by a human being.

I first decide what is most important, rather than what is most urgent.

Many people think design requires constant working, but I believe it is very important to preserve space for thinking.

Sometimes, a mature idea can save countless revisions later.

So I divide my time among thinking, discussion, and verification, rather than constantly producing without pause.

There is no fixed answer.

If we count the accumulation behind a work, all of my works have actually taken many years, or even decades, to form. What truly takes time is not drawing, but thinking.

I believe good design is the result of accumulated time.

Many people ask me, “Where does your inspiration come from?”

But I think what matters more than inspiration is curiosity.

If one remains curious about the world, there will always be new questions, new discoveries, and therefore new creative possibilities.

I am not too worried about having no inspiration. I am more worried about stopping my observation of the world.

I think it is taking over a brand with fifty years of history.

Fifty years is a turning point. A company can gradually take flight, or it can begin to sink. My work is to lead our company toward its hundredth year.

I am not only designing works. I am rethinking the future direction of the company.

How can we preserve tradition while innovating? How can we identify new market trends? How can we read consumers’ tastes and preferences? How can culture become part of the brand? How can design create real commercial value? How can we use design to communicate the culture and beauty we are proud of? These are questions I face every day.

Because of this, my design thinking is always connected to the real market, real people, and real land.

Our customers are very diverse.

They include consumers who walk into our stores every day, corporate clients, international partners, and travelers from different countries.

I enjoy design work with cultural connection and depth of meaning.

Not every culturally meaningful idea can become a commercially viable product; some remain concepts and cannot be fully realized. But whenever such an idea can truly be brought to life, I feel extremely excited.

I especially enjoy projects that require me to think about culture, aesthetics, business, market, and international communication at the same time.

I enjoy connecting things that seem unrelated: turning literature into food, transforming local culture into gift boxes, and making pastries into an entry point for the world to understand Taiwan.

These interdisciplinary works always fill me with passion.

I hope to continue introducing more Taiwanese culture to the world through design.

Beyond products and branding, I also hope to promote more cross-disciplinary collaborations, allowing food, literature, art, design, and the international community to exchange with one another.

I believe beautiful design should not stop at a single work. It should continue to create influence, allowing more people to understand Taiwan and come to love Taiwan through these works.

I believe in teamwork.

Every work brings together the efforts of partners from different professional fields.

I am responsible for proposing the direction, concept, and overall strategy, and then I work with designers, product developers, production teams, marketing teams, and many partners to complete the work.

I enjoy the sparks created by different disciplines interacting with one another.

Many of the best ideas are not the achievement of one person, but the result of collective creation.

I always have new projects in progress.

At the moment, I am continuing to explore how more Taiwanese cultural elements can be transformed into food and brand design with international market potential. For example, for Taiwan Travelogue, the literary work that won the International Booker Prize in 2026, we designed a new cake inspired by the novel.

I hope to continue creating more works that cross the boundaries between culture and industry, and I look forward to allowing more people to rediscover Taiwan through these designs.

People can contact us through our company’s official website or social media platforms.

I also look forward to exchanging ideas with designers, brands, and cultural workers from around the world.

I believe many good collaborations begin with a sincere conversation.

I have always believed that what design truly changes is not only the product, but the relationships between people.

If a work allows a foreign friend to begin learning about Taiwan because of a box of pastries; if a design helps young people rediscover their own culture; if a gift brings people closer to one another, then its value has already gone beyond the product itself.

I hope that one day, people will remember not only my works, but also the land behind them, and the heart that is willing to share culture.

Because I believe beautiful design can cross languages, and it can also cross borders.

(The following responses are provided by Yeh I Chun, Creative Director of E G Sain. Throughout this interview, "I" refers to Yeh I Chun.) Archival documents like the Sinkan Manuscripts are not widely known, even within Taiwan. However, as a native of Tainan, I have long been aware of their existence. They are not merely historical records of Tainan; they symbolize the early interactions between Indigenous peoples and Han settlers, representing a precious linguistic legacy where spoken language was first transformed into written script. For years, I have yearned to bring the lifestyle stories of our ancestors and the cultural memories of this land into a broader public awareness.When I resolved to create a Taiwanese-language (Taigi) cultural gift set, the Sinkan Manuscripts immediately came to mind. Upon deeper research, I discovered that this specific land deed from 1774 is extraordinarily rare. Among hundreds of surviving manuscripts, it is virtually the only one that simultaneously features Siraya Romanization, Han characters, and a hand-drawn map. It has been exhibited by prestigious institutions like the National Palace Museum and Academia Sinica. However, the true serendipity occurred when I searched for the current custodian of this document—only to discover it was held by my own granduncle. When I called him to request authorization, he asked for my maternal grandfather's name, laughed warmly, and granted me a free, perpetual license on the spot. The entire call took just ten minutes. This experience taught me that cultural inheritance is never just about archiving paper; it is a cross-generational relay race. Throughout the creative process, I felt a profound sense of responsibility toward my family and history—as if our ancestors wished, through our generation, to ensure Taiwan's culture and memory would be seen by the world. To honor this, we meticulously detailed the historical context on the back of the packaging. We want to deliver not just knowledge, but a deep sense of respect and sincerity.

Taigi is my mother tongue, yet in daily life, I find myself using Mandarin more frequently, and I have always felt a pang of regret that my own fluency is not where it should be. For the past eight years, I have actively dedicated myself to the revitalization of another endangered language—Hakka; however, my inability to invest equal effort into Taigi, which faces a similar crisis of survival, remained a persistent regret in my heart. Therefore, conceptualizing and creating Taiwan's very first Taigi-infused cultural food gift set carries a deeply personal significance for me. In the past, language preservation was heavily confined to academic research or governmental policy advocacy. We chose a different entry point—utilizing food, gifting, and shared memories to reintroduce the mother tongue into the natural rhythm of daily life. We firmly believe that language does not just live in dictionaries; it thrives around the dining table, inside gifts, and within the collective memories shared by families. Through this project, the mother tongue ceases to be dead text in a textbook; it becomes something that can be seen, tasted, gifted, and preserved in everyday life. Following the launch, we proactively reached out to the Association of Taiwanese Literature and language researchers, receiving profoundly moving feedback. Many users left emotional messages online—deliberately typing in written Taigi rather than Mandarin. This beautifully demonstrated that when a language is returned to a living context, people naturally yearn to speak it again. It reassures us that this design has struck the right chord.

As a food manufacturer with half a century of heritage, we have previously experimented with printing patterns or branding standard text onto our honey cakes, but we had never thought to place the Taigi script directly onto the food itself. Because the language is currently facing an existential threat of disappearance, this deliberate act took on a much deeper symbolic resonance for me. Language is traditionally preserved in books, dictionaries, and research papers. We wanted to pose a counter-question: Can language also be preserved in taste? When a language is consumed, it transcends mere written text and becomes a part of our somatic memory. By entering the body through food, it leaves its fragrance and memory lingering between the palate and the mind. Compared to the intellectual act of reading, the physical act of tasting allows individuals to experience the existence and preciousness of their mother tongue at the most intimate sensory level. This somatic experience serves as a powerful reminder that preserving, learning, and speaking our mother tongue is not just an archival duty—it is an ongoing act of building connections between ourselves, our land, and our ancestry.

The core ingredients of a classic honey cake—flour, sugar, and honey—are entirely gifts from nature. To this day, we retain the traditional Japanese method of baking in authentic pine wooden boxes. In an era where most modern Castella cakes have transitioned to industrial metal molds, this ancient craftsmanship has become exceptionally rare. For us, the pine box is not just a preservation of craft; it is the absolute key to achieving the cake's signature texture and flavor. Our transition to FSC-certified sustainable paper and vegetable-based inks stems from this identical reverence for nature. Materials, after serving their purpose, should flow seamlessly back into the natural cycle rather than imposing a burden on the environment. In the grand scale of nature, humanity is fundamentally humble. We believe that design should never solely pursue aesthetics; it must carry the responsibility of coexisting with the environment. Therefore, sustainable sourcing is never an afterthought or a moral footnote of production; it is an inseparable pillar of our cultural narrative. From the land and ingredients to the craftsmanship and packaging, every element speaks the same truth: how humanity can celebrate a beautiful life while simultaneously learning to respect the natural world.

The birth of this gift set was, in many ways, a high-stakes race between sudden inspiration and a ticking clock. Because the signatories and historical witnesses recorded in the Sinkan Manuscripts were women of the Siraya people—a traditionally matrilineal society—I made a definitive choice to have this project honor the strength of women and strategically launch it for Mother's Day. While this decision infused the work with a comprehensive and beautiful cultural meaning, it compressed our production timeline to an extreme degree. Fortunately, our team advanced at a literal sprinting pace, and my family offered unconditional support. The archival authorization, which could easily have taken months of institutional bureaucracy, was resolved within ten minutes through family ties. The primary obstacle was undeniably time. For example, the translucent overlay stickers almost faced cancellation due to severe manufacturing bottlenecks; fortunately, our suppliers went above and beyond in the final hour to help realize the design in its entirety. Looking back, the journey feels almost miraculous. Obstacles that seemed insurmountable found their solutions at the exact final moment, as if history itself possessed a will to ensure these stories were brought to light once more. The completion of this work relied not merely on design and technology, but on the collective heartbeat of many individuals protecting a shared culture.

Honey cake is our most iconic product, and it was recently honored with the prestigious 3-Star Superior Taste Award in Belgium. I have always believed that food manufacturing is not just about creating commercial commodities; it is a profound process of understanding history, land, and culture. Consequently, we deeply immerse ourselves in researching the origins, terroirs, crafts, and industrial chains of our products. To me, these narratives have always gleamed quietly like hidden jewels in the river of time. When I decided to create the Taigi cultural gift set, utilizing our family’s archival Sinkan Manuscript as the conceptual departure point and marrying it with years of accumulated historical research, a revelation struck me: these seemingly fragmented historical threads actually formed a flawless, unbroken chain of time. In 1774, the very land recorded in the deed was planted with sugarcane. The refined sugar was shipped via maritime trade routes to Nagasaki, Japan, eventually becoming the foundational ingredient for the historic Castella cake. Decades later, that very craftsmanship returned across the ocean to Taiwan, evolving into the honey cake we bake today. Now, this cake once again imprints the Taigi language, returning to this exact land and into the contemporary lives of its people. The journey of sugar mirror-imaged the journey of language. In that moment, I felt a deep realization that all things are inherently interconnected; it merely requires us to pause and discern the connections hidden in the depths of time. Every story is simply waiting to be discovered.

Our vision is to continuously champion the Taiwanese language through the medium of food. Beyond this initial Mother's Day edition, we plan to roll out distinct, themed Taigi cultural gift sets across Taiwan's major traditional festivals—including the Dragon Boat Festival, Mid-Autumn Festival, and Lunar New Year—allowing this product line to truly take root in the seasonal rhythm of daily life. We believe that if a language is isolated inside a museum, it inevitably drifts away from humanity; but if it returns to the dining table and festive celebrations, it possesses a genuine opportunity to re-intertwine with living culture. The concept of the translucent sticker was born precisely from this philosophy. It extends the language's physical presence from the "surface of the food" to the "surfaces of daily life." Long after the cake is consumed, the sticker remains. It can be transferred onto notebooks, water bottles, or personal belongings, ensuring that the mother tongue continues to accompany people in their ongoing routines. My guiding philosophy is to advance culture through food, treating every gift box as a curated exhibition space. Every box opened is a micro-exhibition of language, memory, and land.

The Siraya people, who called Tainan their home, were originally a matrilineal society. Being born and raised in Tainan, I have been aware of this historical fact since childhood. However, in contemporary social narratives—which are predominantly dominated by patrilineal perspectives—the vital historical significance of women is frequently overshadowed and rendered invisible, a reality I have always found deeply regrettable. When studying our family's Sinkan Manuscript, I discovered that the women recorded within were not passive bystanders; they were the absolute landowners, heirs, and prime historical witnesses of these covenants. They guarded the household, sustained the culture, and anchored the collective memory of the community. Therefore, in creating this piece, I explicitly desired to return these women to the absolute forefront of history. I extended this historical thread into modern domesticity, branding warm, colloquial Taigi phrases like "My wife is the most beautiful" and "My mother is the most capable" directly onto the cake. This allowed the female witnesses of a 1774 historical treaty to engage in a cross-century dialogue with the contemporary matriarchs of today’s families across 250 years. Through this design, I wish to express a profound gratitude to mothers, while giving voice to the deep love that many find difficult to express to their wives and families. When people hold this cake in their hands, it may be the first time they ever encounter historical names like Mugali . They are not merely witnesses to history; they deserve to be its main protagonists.

Synthesizing archival research, linguistic revival, agrarian economy, natural ecology, baking craftsmanship, maritime history, environmental sustainability, and everyday interactive design into one unified, cohesive piece is an immense creative challenge—especially under a compressed three-month timeline. Reflecting on this entire journey, I frequently feel that this project far transcended the boundaries of my individual capability. Its realization belongs to the alignment of my family, our team, historical researchers, manufacturing partners, and the profound cultural momentum accumulated over centuries. I want this work to declare to the global design community that packaging is never just a container; it can be an absolute cultural manifesto, a powerful emotional conduit, and a vital opportunity for endangered heritage to be touched, tasted, and remembered once again. Furthermore, for a legacy brand boasting a fifty-year history, we wanted to prove that heritage companies do not exist merely to echo the past. We are fully capable of discovering entirely fresh, deeply profound, and disruptive forms of expression in the contemporary era. Design can carry the absolute gravity of history, while maintaining a lightness that makes you yearn to open it.

Regarding the creation of this piece, I can only state that while inspiration often looks like a sudden stroke of lightning, that "epiphany" is actually the culmination of years of rigorous accumulation. If I am asked for a secret, my single answer is this: read deeply, research obsessively, unconditionally comprehend the context and broader meaning behind your product, and discover new possibilities within hidden connections. Design that possesses true, undeniable power rarely materializes out of thin air; it is born from years of gathered knowledge, sharp observation, and relentless curiosity. For designers navigating the intersection of cultural heritage and product design, I propose three core transferable principles: First, allow history to serve as the absolute structural skeleton of the design, never merely its surface decoration. Second, discover a tangible, visceral interface through which abstract cultural concepts become physically touchable—in our case, that interface is food. Third, design mechanisms ensuring the work continues to exist after consumption—whether physically through an interactive translucent sticker, or abstractly within the emotional architecture of memory. A sensory-driven approach—weaving fragrance, taste, texture, and vision—is always the initial step of human connection and the most moving portal into a design. The moment true emotional resonance occurs, the audience will naturally seek out the profound stories resting beneath the surface. I am confident that design starting from the senses and anchored in cultural truth is not exclusive to the culinary industry; it holds the immense potential to become a definitive direction for the future of global design.