With a top crust like a pineapple, a build like a polo ball, and a soft, supple, bao-like inside, pineapple buns, or bo lo baos (菠蘿包) are confusingly, though perhaps aptly, named. To many, it belongs in the upper echelons of the Asian pastry world. But to me, embarrass as it might be to admit, I’ve never been big on them.

People rave about its buttery aroma as it bakes up, that sweet smell that wafts out of bakeries and cha chaan tengs like Kam Wah and Tsui Wah in Hong Kong. But if I wanted buttery aroma, a brioche takes buttery to dizzying heights. Others love bo lo bao’s soft insides, its supple texture of bread that tears at the softest bite . If I wanted that, a classic Japanese milk bread roll, to me, is the pinnacle of pillowy suppleness. And the piece de resistance of a bo lo bao—its crusty, craggly top, is what strikes many as the most appealing factor of a bo lo bao. But if I wanted a nice, burnished, crispy crust, I’d go for a croissant, a cookie, a kouign amann perhaps, or maybe even nibble on the crusty top of a well-baked banana bread.

I know I sound like a hater. But point is, I never got the hype of bo lo baos.

But then, I made my own.

Through kneading and baking this classic Hong Kong pastry, I found a better appreciation of it. You might say it’s an awakening, an enlightening. It’s funny how making food with your own two hands can change your mind about dishes you never thought much of. And after making them, and sharing them with loved ones, it’s precisely those things I mentioned above, those aspects of bo lo bao that I never thought much of, all combined, that makes me love these buns.

Sure, brioches might give off a more buttery scent, but bo lo baos have a subtler, sweeter smell, like a mix of butter, milk and the freshness of a baby out of a bath (that sounds hella creepy but I promise you I’m not). And yes, Japanese milk bread might yield a softer, suppler interior, but why split hairs when you can incorporate that into bo lo baos. (And that’s what I did in the recipe below, heh.) And finally, that crumbly crust. I admit, croissant, kouign amanns, and babkas might have crags and valleys that turn it extra crispy post-baking, but the crumb of a bo lo bao is different. It crumbles like a cookie, tastes of butter and comfort,

In addition to all that, bo lo baos makes for a great vessel for any filling. Whether it’s a large slab of butter, a wedge of spam, ham, or scrambled eggs (as Hong Kongers do), just slice the bun in half, and it’ll can take on anything at all. Even a scoop of ice cream or a full on burger patty with the works, won’t be out of place.

In celebration of my newfound love for this Asian pastry, here’s a short poem dedicated to it (if you can call it that):

Bo Lo Bao

It’s crusty, it’s pillow-y,
it’s a versatile little pastry.

It’s misleading, its pseudonym,
Cuz there’s no pineapple within.

But this bread, is rad,
and probably loved by the triad.
(Don’t kill me.)