Boneless roast Thai chicken (珍口味)

With my brain hardwired to go ape shit when I see things like beef noodle soup and shaved ice, I have a tendency to forget that Taiwan is also home to plenty of fantastic South East Asian restaurants. Given their culinary prowess and close proximity to Vietnam, Thailand, Singapore, etc. it would make sense that there's a fair number of these places around. Ignoring everything my brain was telling me to do, the last place I ate at in Taiwan (no, the Burger King in the airport doesn't count) was actually a restaurant specializing in boneless roast Thai chicken... and you know what? I don't think I regret that decision at all.

Where from you ask? The shop, called 珍口味 (zhen kou wei), was located in 師大夜市 (Shida Night Market). Nestled in a small nook the size of a studio apartment on the side of the main street, I'm not entirely sure what possessed me to stumble inside. It might've been the giant oven/fire pit they had roasting numerous boneless chicken legs at once, or it might've been the cheap ass prices they had listed on their menu outside (everything was like 65 NT! ~$2), whatever it was, all I can say is... this place is fuggin' awesome.

The roast chicken is entirely scintillating. A juicy slice of meat (which they claim to be entirely chicken leg) is flattened and roasted, skin on, inside a giant box of flames. Seared to perfection, the amount of charring is balanced delicately by the areas of skin that remain ever so soft. Glazed with a sweet soy garlic sauce, the crust is as tantalizing as anything I've ever eaten. The meat is succulent and tender, coated in a thin layer of oil from the skin itself. Absolutely terrific would be the only appropriate description. The sides are nondescript, but who the fuck cares when you can make chicken taste like that? Not me, and neither should you.



Don't be deceived by the aesthetics here, since let's be honest, it looks pretty awful (and I'm probably partially to blame for that). It's Thai coconut curry chicken, and it was decently tasty. Not "holy shit, I'd punt a baby kitten if I could have this" good, but I wouldn't turn down a bowl right now. The chicken was just as tender as the ones in the roast variant, but this time it was immersed in an oily sauce of super pungent curry, which had a slight hint of ginger. Drizzled over a bowl of white rice, it's a simple (and guilty) pleasure. Now, is this gonna make me a Thai food addict? I don't know if I'd go that far (it's like betraying beef noodles or something), but shit, I'd be lying if I said that chicken wasn't something else.

For all of you who hate my postings about Taiwan since you can't actually ever eat at any of those places, rejoice. To everyone else, it's okay to cry... I won't judge.
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基隆廟口's best of the rest...

I know what you're thinking... "is he still talking about that stupid seaport? God I wish he'd shut up already." Sorry. Wait, no I'm not. I guess I could've written about 基隆廟口 in a singular long post, but I feel like that would be an insult to each and every incredible shop located there. They're all tremendously unique, and they all deserve their spot in the limelight (even one as weak as my blog). Combine that with the fact that I have the attention span of a goldfish and you'd have a recipe for disaster. Basically you'd get more rambling and made up words than anyone should have to put up with. Anyway, here's a condensed 'best of the rest' post for things I put in my mouth at Keelung.

Stall #55... home of 螃蟹羹, otherwise known as crab 'geng.' Without rehashing a full explanation of what 'geng' is (read here), this stall serves up a crab meat variant. Like Goldilocks said about the stupid porridge, theirs is neither too thick, nor too thin, existing at equilibrium at just the right consistency for slurping with minimal effort. The mushrooms were forgettable, but everything else was spot on. The bamboo shoots were remarkably tender, the cilantro and garlic were playfully complementary in flavor, and the crab meat with fish paste was absolutely sublime. I won't ruin the description by making up fake words to describe how delicious this was, but all I know is for 55 NT ($1.75), you can buy soup that'd put your grandmother's secret recipe to shame. No offense to your grandmothers.



Still from stall #55, is a single serving of 油飯 or oily rice. They're not really famous for this, but it was 25 NT (75 cents). It just seemed like a good value. Besides, you know how Chinese people are... we fucking love rice. Obviously, if I bought soup, I was going to get rice in some capacity. Theirs was pretty average. Nothing really out of the ordinary, just short grain rice cooked with plenty of oil, mushrooms, pork, and shrimp. Nope, what made me decide to mention this was their accompanying orange sauce. I'm not really sure how to explain what it is (you'll see later that it shows up pretty often), but basically it's a thick, citrus flavored sauce (miso based maybe?), that you can slather on just about anything. For reals, I drowned my bowl of rice in this sauce, and oh it delivered.



Hell yeah son, return of sauce! Stall #60 serves up something called 油蔥粿 for 35 NT (just over $1), which is really just taro cake. Another instance of things being lost in translation, this isn't the kind that fat kids like, but rather a savory 糕 kind of cake, like turnip cake. They serve this two ways, either fried or straight from the steamer. Clearly I didn't make the ordering decisions here, as the version I got was steamed, but in the end it doesn't really matter. Having the consistency of a fresh and jiggly rice cake, you have a soft and tender block of... stuff, with the slightest hint of taro flavor. That probably doesn't sound overly appetizing on its own, but the redeeming factor, again, is the sauce. It's like liquid crack that you can pour on everything. Slightly tangy with a long lasting sweetness, this is the stuff of legend. When combined with the steamed block of taro, you get both components of supreme texture and flavor i.e. pure and unadulterated win.

As far as 基隆廟口 goes, I'm sure I only scratched the surface (I wish I were a cow, since then I'd have 3 stomachs), but if a preliminary sampling of random food all turned out this well, I get kind of scared thinking about the potential in the other 50 some odd stalls.
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天婦羅 tian fu luo (基隆廟口)

I might've already written about the 'Nutritious Sandwich,' but there's so much more to 基隆廟口 than just that (I just got really excited to share the doughnut mayonnaise sandwich with the world, so I posted that individually). Anyway, Keelung's Temple Street is basically a commercialized night market that operates during the day. Each shop has a numbered stall for easy navigation, and you're basically confronted by a 200 meter street that's just stall after stall after stall of some of the most mind blowing Taiwanese food you'll ever find. It's like a food festival... that exists permanently.

If there's one thing that this place is renowned for though, it's their 天婦羅 (tian fu luo), which is basically an over-sized chunk of tempura, that gets sliced into strips, and drizzled with sweet miso soy sauce (see here for another example).



Giant ball of dough! No, in actuality, that's a giant hunk of fish paste. It has the consistency of a super wet dough, sans the stickiness. I know this because I poked my finger in it. I was immediately yelled at for doing this, at which point I pretended to not speak Chinese. Situation diffused. Anyway, the next step in delivering heavenly tempura to my mouth is to take chunks of fish paste and...



Deep fry it. Of course that's the natural progression of things. Everything tastes better fried, so why would fish paste be any different. I have to give serious props to the guy cooking the 天婦羅, since there were a fair number of customers, and more chunks of fish paste frying simultaneously than I'd care to deal with. Anyway, somehow he manages to keep track of frying order (and time!), removing them all with the same characteristic golden hue of perfection.



That's some serious shit right there. So good it should be illegal. Fried to just the right consistency, the outer shell is, at the same time, crisp, yet soft. As if there were miniature pockets of texture interlaced on top of a smooth macro structure. Like a fractal (oh noes... math!). The center carries with it a resilient bounciness, a stretch factor that's firm enough to provide a distinct feel, but not a rubbery sensation. In terms of taste? Absolutely phenomenal. The light flavoring, similar to any whitefish, is complemented by the indescribable taste of tempura oil. Add to that equation a thin sweet soy, which had a slight citrus accent, and you have a dish that's absolutely marvelous, and something you honestly can't find anywhere else... even in Taiwan. Oh yeah... the best part? That dish is 30 NT... that's less than $1. Damn.
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Nutritious Sandwich (基隆廟口)

You'd be hard pressed to find a sandwich that gets me more excited than the creation found at the 58th stall in 基隆廟口 (Keelung Temple Street), and let's be honest... I've eaten a lot of sandwiches. Some people might consider it an abomination, a culinary sin of sorts, but not me. This is the ultimate culmination of flavors, the evolution of everything Asian people love, and a legitimate slap in the face to your cardiologist, all in an easy to carry form factor. It is the 營養三明治, better known in English as... the 'Nutritious Sandwich.'



For just 55 NT ($1.60), you get a small piece of culinary perfection. Each of the components are chosen carefully... starting with the bun, you get a deep fried doughnut base, just like those you'd find with curry pan, deliciously light and airy, with a subtle hint of sweetness in the ever so chewy dough. In the vacancy of the bread, a thick layer of Kewpie mayo is spread. I don't think I need to explain why this is awesome to the nth degree, it just is. Next came the toppings, a fried and sliced hotdog fluorescent pink in color, half a soy sauce egg, and a few slivers of cucumber and tomatoes (see? It is nutritious).

The flavors blend together in a truly sublime fashion. The sweetness of the doughnut bun is amplified by the slight tartness of the Kewpie mayo. The soy sauce egg and hotdog add the savory component to the equation, with the cucumber and tomatoes being refreshers, in what would otherwise be way too overwhelming for your mouth to handle. Texturally, it's magnificent in every way. The breading on the doughnut is crisp and light, the mayo is smooth beyond belief, with a secondary crunch from the vegetables. Honestly, at this point, there's little more that I can say that would actually do this sandwich justice. So I'll stop here, and leave you either desperately wanting... or thoroughly disgusted.
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More pork buns (許記生煎包)

Look! A crowd. Always a welcome sight when it comes to food in Asia. Yes I'm sure this post feels kinda like deva ju since it seems I just wrote about these baby pan-fried pork buns last month, but this cart is different (ha, I feel like I write that all the time). Nope, in the case of the Shilin Night Market shop, their buns were moderately thick skinned, juicy pockets of pure pork. A meat bun at its finest. This cart 許記 (Xu Ji), found nestled in 師大夜市 (Shida Night Market), has a slight twist on the interpretation of 生煎包. They use a skin only marginally thicker than that of a soup dumpling and fill it with a blend of pork and cabbage, half and half, resulting in what can basically be considered a juicier, fatter potsticker. Interested yet?



Everything is handled outside and done on hand on the small counter that's formed by their cart (I'm pretty sure it's not really clean). Also, no one's wearing gloves, but it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that they can churn out hundreds, if not thousands, of these pockets of pork and cabbage deliciousness per hour, just to keep up with the demand. I can only imagine how quickly this place would get shutdown by the department of health if it were in NYC...



Know how much the box of 12 cost? All of 72 NT ($2.25). If you think about this on a per bun basis, that's 6 NT for a bun/dumpling hybrid that could put most places in the US to shame. That's less than 20 cents per bite of sunshine, happiness, and everything that's good in the world. It's less than a quarter for 20 seconds of pure bliss. It's like a gateway drug of sorts, except instead of getting arrested, you just get fat.



A closer look, just so you can appreciate the subtle charring that's present across every single one of these puppies, uniform too. The glistening of the skins should give an indication of just how moist/oil-laden these fried buns are, and I think the juice content should be somewhat obvious given the shape as well. If anyone's wondering which place is better for 生煎包... there's no comparison, these two aren't replacements for each other, they're both spectacular in their own way.

Side note... I've become a champion of ambidextrous chopstick usage since I need my right hand for pictures. Thanks food writing, useless skill attained!
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Tofu pudding and more tofu pudding (豆花莊)

There's something about tofu pudding that never gets old. It might be the fact that the tofu portion is so freakin' jiggly and smooth and is fun to play with, or it might be the fact that you can top it with whatever the fuck you want, but it's most likely the fact that you basically get to drink a bowl of straight syrup, which is just awesome. Yes, I'm the kid that got yelled at as a kid for drinking syrup from the bottle, so of course I'd love it. Naturally, I justify this by telling myself that some of the toppings are good for you, and that I'm essentially eating tofu... which in itself is wonderfully healthy. Basically I lie to myself, but I don't really care. If I see a 豆花 place, it's basically like the attraction of a flame to moth... I just can't help it.

This is another thing that 遼寧夜市 (Liao Ning Night Market) is crazy sick at, by the way. Anyway, the most legitimate of 豆花 places in the night market is an establishment that goes by the name of 豆花莊 or 'Dou Hua Pavilion,' and yes... all they serve is tofu pudding. They take their pudding seriously. The bowl above is the traditional peanut laden tofu pudding, which is the standard for me. Super soft peanut stewed in sugar syrup is spread across slivers of tofu pudding and served in a pool of simple syrup (no ginger flavoring here). Their version is pretty remarkable, although, I say that about almost every tofu pudding place... so that that with a grain of salt. The tofu was about as smooth as I've ever had, with a strong soy flavor still present, the peanuts were soft to the point of being creamy, and the syrup... well, come on, it's syrup for crying out loud, of course it was good. Served chilled for 30 NT (LESS THAN $1), I don't think anyone would find reason to complain.



And... their 3 color tofu pudding. In an instance where there's actually even less nutritional content to speak of, they spread 蒟蒻, basically multicolored jelly things, on top of the tofu pudding. These are flavored with fruits, taro, or sweet potato depending on the color, and are basically just like firmer pieces of jello. They don't really taste like what they should, but they add a nice textural contrast to the otherwise smooth and creamy tofu, and of course because it looks ballin'. Again... served with shaved ice in a bath of syrup, and still 30 NT. Honestly, there's not much to complain about here.
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Pork scallion pancake rolls (鴻記)

I think we've already established that you can wrap pretty much anything in scallion pancakes. Now, I might seem like an idiot for pimping scallion pancake rolls so hard, but these are different, I swear... so just bear with me. In the other case, the scallion pancakes are pan fried to a perfectly delicious combination of greasy and crisp, but here... you have scallion pancakes that are light, airy, and soft (still greasy though), a complete contrast in both flavor and texture, but that's not the only difference. In the traditional sense, you would always wrap roast meats inside, be it pork or beef, but here... they use Japanese style teppanyaki meats. Basically, you get the best of both worlds... sizzling juicy meats, pan-fried vegetables, and sauce, with a wrapper that can soak up all the flavor. Un... freakin... believable.

For 50 NT (+5 NT for an egg fried onto your scallion pancake, and honestly it'd be kind of silly not to...) you can get plate of pure deliciousness for less than $2. Think about that. You can't even buy a hot dog at 7-11 in America for $2. Seems really unfair right? Anyway, the wrap gets sliced into 6 pieces, and you're given a plate of sushi like bits, and a bottle of panda sauce. Slather it on thick, and you're good to go. It's definitely a unique flavor, with a spongy, yet flavorful wrapper containing an explosion of meats and juices. The teppanyaki is pretty damn good for coming from a cart, it's heavy on the pepper, but still exceptionally well balanced in the flavor department. The combination of the two makes for a union of tastes suitable for a fairytale. Not gonna lie, this is the stuff of legends...



Now I know what you're thinking... "holy shit bro, where can I get this culinary orgasm if I might happen to fly halfway around the world and end up in Taipei, Taiwan by sheer coincidence?" Yet again, it's a stall from 寧夏夜市 (Ning Xia Night Market), which is quickly becoming my favorite btw, called 鴻記蔥餅捲 (Hong Ji Scallion Pancake Wraps). That's right, it's a cart specializing in wrapping meats with scallion pancakes... what more could a guy want in life? Absolutely nothing.
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Oyster omelettes (圓環邊蚵仔煎)

Normally I joke around about food (because food should make you happy of course), but when it comes to 蚵仔煎(oyster omelettes), it's serious business. I never really explained this very well, but here goes. If a truck full of fresh oysters ran into another truck carrying chicken eggs, and that collision caused another truck full of potato starch to crash, and some random passerby sprinkles perfectly cut spring scallions and cabbage on the mix, and the giant mixture of random ingredients cooked on a super hot section of a road, well then you'd end up with oyster pancakes. Or something like that...? In all honesty, I have no clue how it's made, and I don't really care. I just know that this shit is bananas, and that my knees go weak when I see it.



Of course, if you want a truly sublime experience, go where the locals do. Sure I could've taken the easy way out and just gone to 西門町 or 士林夜市 and gotten any of a number of generic renditions, but what's the point? Yeah they're all good, but this dish has the ability to be magical. Instead, I went to 寧夏夜市 (Ning Xia Night Market)... to a shop called 圓環邊蚵仔煎, which translates to 'Yuan Huan Side Oyster Omelettes.' I mean come on... they've been cranking out oyster omelettes for 45 years already, I'm pretty sure they know more than that 25 year old college kid working part-time in 士林.



Damn. Look at him. He's so OLD! This is the OG-san that made my omelettes. Just look at his face. That's the face of a man that just don't give a fuck. All he wants to do is flip his omelettes. I will admit I was kind of worried that his sweat was dripping onto the plate, but I guess that comes with the experience. I mean, I honestly don't care so long as it tastes good. Oh, and good it was. Perfectly cooked, the pancake was slightly unsettled, with the potato starch reaching a chewy gelatin-mochi like consistency. The oysters were all still jiggly, for lack of a better word, and the flavor was just spot on. Normally, I'd lather this in the slightly sweet soy miso sauce, but this one didn't need it. For 60 NT ($2), it was probably the best oyster omelette I've had in Taiwan... ever. How's that for an endorsement?



I also ordered a serving of 排骨湯 (pork chop soup) for 50 NT (~$1.60), in which you take a fried pork chop, dice it up into smaller pieces with the bone still attached, and put it in pork broth with daikon radishes. While that sounds awesome if I just list the ingredients... it wasn't. The pork broth was stewed using 中藥, which translates to Chinese medicine. If you know what that is, I'm sorry, since you were probably forced to drink it as a kid. If you don't, it's medicinal bags of herbs that parents put into soup that has a uniquely awful aftertaste. Well yeah, this place did that to the pork chop soup. Thanks. You ruined something that probably would've been splendid.
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Deep-fried cheese potato (起司馬鈴薯)

Mashed potatoes aren't really a staple in the everyday diet of Taiwanese people. Actually, most stereotypical American foods aren't (except for corn... they freakin' love corn), but if you fry any food item you can think of, Asians will probably eat it. I promise you that. In yet another stroke of genius, mashed potato is molded back into ellipsoid shape of a whole potato (so meta), dipped and battered in panko breadcrumbs, and fried until you get a giant nugget of soft potato wrapped in a crispy shell. If making a giant sized french fry weren't bad enough, it gets dissected, stuffed, and covered with pretty much whatever the hell you want on top of it. Cheese? Of course. Pineapple? Sure! Hot dogs, octopus, and broccoli? I was just about to curl up and die in excitement.

I chose to get the one that's basically their sampler. You get less of every topping (and none of the nifty ones like octopus), but you get a bit of most of the basic ones. As advertised, they pull a freshly re-fried potato from a vat of oil, cut a cross in it, and begin piling shit in like no one's business. Bacon bits, ham, turkey, corn (can't not have corn), pineapple, broccoli, mayonnaise, and a hard boiled egg get mercilessly piled on before cheese potato guy scoops two spoonfuls of hot cheese (American of course!) over the entire creation. It's beautiful (in the sense that you can't really look away from roadkill)! It's like you'd expect, a bit too much for your mouth to comprehend simultaneously, but at the same time, with flavors ranging from sweet to tart to savory, it's as confusing as it is delicious. Texturally, it's like eating mashed potato... but with the occasional crunch of a french fry crust. I don't know anyone who hates french fries... so there ya go.



You can find this in 士林夜市 (Shilin Night Market), where there exists a duo of carts serving the same thing. Both had massively long lines, and to be honest I couldn't tell if there was any difference between the two beside their names, and the fact that one used guys to advertise, and one used girls. Uh, good move girl cart. Anyway, for 55 NT ($1.75) you can get a fried potato, slathered in cheese, and piled to the sky with crap that you might, or might not, think belongs on a fried potato... slathered in cheese.
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Pan-fried pork buns (原上海生煎包)

It seems incredulous that I've never ever written about 生煎包 (sheng jian bao) before. While it seems that every combination of pork wrapped in carbs has been played out, I assure you this is not the case. This stuff is the shit dreams are made of. Some kids dream about clouds of cotton candy and lollipop trees... well, I dream of pork buns. Anyway... in what's the cross between gyoza pot stickers and steamed pork buns, you end up with a piece of culinary genius. A juicy ball of fatty minced pork, dotted with spring scallions, is stuffed inside a moderately thick layer of dough, which ultimately gets stuffed in a what's basically a giant wok filled with a thin layer of oil and water. After covering and waiting for the water to ultimately boil off, you're left with a pan filled with beautiful dumpling like buns.



Holy crap, you're lying so hard if you claim you don't want a part of that perfection right now. Fact you might not know: my hand was burning for that picture. It was straight from a new batch, and the oil was spilling out. The things I do for this blog... sigh. What can I say about this that the picture hasn't already explained? It has the juice content of a decent soup dumpling, the top layer skin isn't unlike a perfectly fluffy mantou glazed in pork oil, and the bottom is pan-fried to a perfect goldenrod, like that found on pot stickers. It's like the best combination of dough and pork I can think of.



These came from a shop called 原上海生煎包 (Yuan Shanghai Pan-fried Buns) located in 士林夜市 (Shilin Night Market). Their reputation for making kick ass pork buns is the stuff of legends (even non-tourist Asians are willing to line up for it!). Think about it, of all the places in Taipei that make these kinds of fried pork buns, these must be pretty remarkable if everyone likes them. The best part though, I saved for last. Get this, each of these sensual pockets of pork only costs 10 NT (30 cents). Let's think about this for a second. For any given meal in NYC, it's not unusual for someone to spend $15 minimum. This is the equivalent of 500 NT. You could buy 50 fried pork buns for that! You know how many people you could feed with 50 pork buns? I'm not sure either, but it's definitely greater than one. Seriously... why it's taken me so long to write about this stuff, I don't even know.
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Shrimp octopus pancakes (蝦錦章)

In yet another stroke of brilliance, a couple of bros opened a stall in 淡水 (Dan Shui) which serves shrimp and octopus pancakes... er waffles? Now, you're probably thinking of something like seafood pajeon, but this is way different. By using minced shrimp, octopus, and pork, they fill little circular waffle tins with oil and batter, and fry the shit out of them. The end result is the thick circular puck of golden red crispy goodness you see above. If anything, it's like if you took a supercharged okonomiyaki, and combined it with the idea of takoyaki... except not in ball form, all for 35 NT (slightly more than $1). Think about it. For $20 you could walk away with like 19 of these hotcakes, awesome beyond belief.



See? Waffle mold frying action going on. Also, take note of the broseph in the back. He's got a ponytail. Know what that means? Hmm, I'm not sure either, but whatever. If you're making me shrimp octopus waffle pancake thingers for a dollar... well, I couldn't care less if you had 3 eyes and 2 noses.



Goddamn that was tasty. In a whirlwind of pork, cabbage, shrimp, and octopus, there are too many flavors to process. At first you can't really taste anything because of the temperature. Burning isn't really a flavor I don't think. After the temperature drops though, you're put through a dizzying experience of savory pork, followed by an ever present seafood flavor, then by the mellowness of the batter and cabbage. Truly unique to say the least. The praise doesn't end with the taste though, it's a standout texturally speaking as well. A crisp outer shell yields to soft batter, all of which is followed by the occasional, and distinctively different, crunches of octopus tentacle and cabbage. SEE WHY YOUR POOR MOUTH WOULD BE CONFUSED NOW? In what was probably one of the best investments of $1 I've ever made, the only regret I had was not going back before getting on the MRT. Damn.
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Fried durian w/Chinese yam

As weird as it sounds... I like fried durian. A lot. Not unlike stinky tofu, raw durian has a characteristic stink that, like Wu-Tang said best, "ain't nothin' to fuck with." A lot of people can't stomach the smell for more than a few second, and while I can accept it, I certainly wouldn't enjoy standing amongst a sea of splitting raw durians. There's something about frying though, that truly makes everything taste better instantaneously. Durian is no exception. What once smelled like putrid gym shorts becomes... mildly unpleasant gym shorts? With the flavor greatly mellowed through the process of frying, it's actually possible to actually appreciate the other flavors that are present, but usually masked by the stench of rotten onions.

From the same stall that I visited last year, I got the last remaining variation of fried durian that I hadn't tried yet. Made with the combination of 山藥, otherwise known as 'Chinese yam,' and durian, it looks like a Twinkie that's grown some insane strain of purple mold. As lovely a description as that is, the flavor is actually pretty okay. Just like the plain fried durian, this can be described as mildly sweet, with the fragrance of spring scallions ever present. For some reason, the Chinese yam amplified the flavor of the durian, so it's a bit more 'in your face' than the plain one, but the combination of flavors still worked. In summary? Raw durian, still gross to me. Fried durian, still incredible.
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Pineapple shrimp balls (鳳梨蝦球)

In the marriage between Kewpie mayo and fried shrimp, you end up with the glorious union you see above. If you've been to a lot of dim sum places, you've probably seen the fried shrimp balls served with pineapple sauce. These things are usually bright orange in color, crispy and juicy at the same time... they taste freakin' fantastic. This is exactly the same, except instead of the syrup like sauce that ends up everywhere, you have Kewpie mayo in various flavors, which makes this that much better... instantaneously. Gawd I love Kewpie mayo.

The shrimp isn't freshly fried (which is reasonable considering it comes from a cart), but it's still pretty damn good for being fried twice. Mmm, maybe that actually enhances the crust. While the shrimp is nothing to brag about, the sauce is out of this world. Available in flavors (pineapple, mango, mustard, pepper, wasabi, and others!), it's simply Kewpie mayo, which is terrific by itself, and make it into a sweet sauce. The duo of sauce and shrimp is quite a combination, with the savory shrimp complemented perfectly by the tart yet sweet sauce. With the fruit flavored mayo mixes, the taste can only be described as 'delightfully tropical.' You also get a small side of cabbage salad, for the sake of appearing healthy, but no one really cares about that. Or at least I don't.



And the cart where I got it (it's in the middle of 臨江夜市). Note all the newspaper clippings... THEY ARE FAMOUS, I think? It's 50 NT ($1.50) for a small order, but I somehow ended up with a large order, and samples of the pineapple, mango, and passion fruit sauces (they all kind of taste the same methinks). I think it's because I looked confused and spoke English, or possibly because I kept shoving my camera in the owner's face. Either way, when you're in Taiwan, speak as much English as possible, and take pictures of all your food. You'll get bigger servings... maybe (or maybe you'll piss someone off... I'm not sure). Either way, even if I didn't get extra food, I'd still consider those 50 NT a worthy investment.
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99 NT steak (Hot Doufu)

A friend of mine in college once told me I had to get steak from a night market. I don't really think my friend ever gave a satisfactory answer as to why... he just kept saying, "it's not the same as steakhouse steak... it's not better, it's just... different." As dumb as it seems, I sort of understood what he meant. Night markets have a lot to offer, but there's something special about the smell of beef on a metal that can stop me in my tracks. When you offer it for 99 NT ($3)... well, then I can't really say no, right?

Yes. It doesseems questionable that you can serve steak dinners for $3 and still turn a profit. That's probably true in America, where you know... there's standards for what constitutes a 'cow,' and what's considered 'beef.' In Taiwan though, these places are all over the place. With several shops in a row with people touting their budget 100 NT steaks. Naturally, I went to the first place I saw in 臨江夜市 called 'Hot Doufu.' Yes, I'm the idiot that goes into a place specializing in tofu to buy steak.

Anyway, it's 99 NT for a steak. No lie. For $3, you get a hot metal plate filled with a piece of beef, some noodles stir fried in beef fat, and an egg fried in beef fat. The liberal use of beef fat has to be commended. The steak is... meh. Made with a cheap cut of beef, it's chock full of tendons, and they kind of ignore your order (or maybe my Chinese is worse than I thought, since when I said medium, they apparently heard rare), but it's not all bad. They mix the juices from the meat with pepper, soy sauce, and suger, and it magically becomes the perfect steak sauce. It is phenomenal. When combined with a satisfactory, if unremarkable, piece of beef, it acts as the saving grace... making the overall meal pretty damn pleasant. At the end of the day, I guess I should put this in perspective. I spent $3. I got what could pass as decent steak. That should count as a win... I think.
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Fried squid w/seafood fried rice (烏賊燒)

Fried squid is a pretty common affair when it comes to night markets. Chinese people love that stuff. Fried rice too. I'd probably die if I went too long without having fried rice. So of course it's a Taiwanese guy who decided to combine the two into a travel friendly package. That's what you get with 烏賊燒 (wu zei shao), whose shop is located in Taipei's 饒河夜市. It's basically a burrito. Except instead of a flour or corn tortilla, you have a thin shell of fried squid... and instead of beans, rice, and cheese, you have salmon fried rice. Magical right?

Indeed. It tastes as phenomenal as you'd expect. Think about it, fried squid that's well prepared is like chicken nuggets with a more interesting texture (and a very subtle hint of seafood flavor), and let's be honest... pretty much no one can screw up fried rice. What can go wrong? Absolutely nothing. Offered in 5 different flavors (of which I can only recall honey mustard and wasabi), the combination rice/squid roll gets drizzled, very generously, with your sauce of choice. I only tried their honey mustard, but it's pretty freakin' good, so I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they're all that good.



And the innards. The fried rice would be pretty good on its own. They actually use short grain rice, so it stays stuck together instead of falling apart into a giant mess of rice. It's flavorful, although the salmon part is overstated. It doesn't really have any fish flavor at all. In fact, it kind of tasted cheesy. No problems there. I like cheese too. The squid is nicely fried, crisp, and texturally perfect. Just elastic enough to make you work for each bite, but not annoyingly so. Like I said, each of these things would be fine on their own, but it's the synergy of the flavors that makes this interesting. For 65 NT ($2), I have absolutely 0 complaints.

Although... because they just opened their first store in Taipei(I think the original is in 逢甲夜市), their popularity is currently through the roof. You pull a number to order, and at any given time, there's about a 15 to 20 order queue. I'm pretty sure I waited close to 20 minutes. I'm pretty sure I didn't care.
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胡椒餅 pepper buns (饒河夜市)

I honestly have no recollection if I've written about these before. Nor does it really matter, since they deserve repeated mention. Anyhoo, the basic premise is this... if you take dough, stuff it full of peppered pork and scallions, then stuff it into a giant metal trashcan of fire you end up with Fuzhou style pepper buns, known in Chinese as 胡椒餅 (hu jiao bing). Okay, maybe it's not that simple, but whatever. When it comes to these fist sized buns of meat, there's no place more famous than the stall at the end of 饒河夜市. See? There's Chinese people in a line... so it's sure to be good.



And oh the line is epically long. No, not as long as the Shake Shack line, but I'm pretty sure that's because they've implemented the dumbest, least effective ordering system in the world. Still, in an area as cramped as a night market, it's kind of impressive when a line stretches for 30 people, and meanders around a bunch of barriers. What's nice though is you get to see them making the buns. With the fury of underpaid factory workers, they stuff large balls of dough with heaps of marinated pork and scallions. Then some guy shoves his arm into a pit of fire and puts them on shelves inside the pit. No joke, that guy is masculine as hell. I bet he fights bears or shits nails or something awesome like that.



PIKCHUR! I had to wait home before I took it, so it's soggier from the steam than it should be (I have the dexterity of an elephant, so taking pictures, eating, and walking simultaneously wasn't going to happen). It looks plain on the outside. Kind of just like a sesame studded piece of dough... that's slightly oily, and what appears to be burnt on the bottom. Don't be deceived by the exterior though, because in actuality, the outer bun isn't bad either... it's slightly sweet (as almost all doughs used in Chinese cuisine are), dense, and chewy.



Inside hides the greatest treasure this side of the Pacific. Not really. There's peppered pork and scallions though. Lots of it. In a perfect union of carbs and protein, you find cheap fatty pork marinated in peppered soy sauce baked to a medium texture inside a subtle sweet layer of thin, but dense, bread. The kiln like baking pit yields a temperature suitable for exactly this. The bun cooks rapidly, forming a thin crust like bottom, while the meat releases it's juices without overcooking. End result is this... one of my favorite things in the world. Think about it this way, you're paying 45 NT (~$1.25) for culinary crack. In bun form. If you ever have the opportunity, definitely try it.

PS - if you buy 10, you get 1 free.
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Taiwanese 豬血糕 (Pig's blood cake)

豬血糕, loosely translated as pig's blood cake, isn't really a food that many in Taiwan actually think that much of. It's a throwback to yesteryear (as proof of that, my parents talk about it as a food they loved to eat in their childhood... and they're old as sin). As such, because it doesn't really get much love amongst Asian kids, and because a lot of foreigners find it 'strange,' less and less vendors are selling it, even at night markets. This makes me really sad. Before I go on a tirade about how everyone should rally to their local 豬血糕 stand and support the vendor, I should at least explain what's so special about the Taiwanese variant, and why it's worth trying.



The owner of the cart insisted I photograph the inside of the wooden steamer as well. I didn't really want to, but he gave me a death stare that I found hard to refuse.

So what is this black crap on a stick, and why should you care? Taiwanese blood pudding is different from that served in Europe, fundamentally it's closer to what the Koreans call soondae. Pig's blood is boiled with sticky rice (short grain please), until it forms a matrix with the consistency of an eraser. You know which ones I'm talking about, the flexy ones that would break if you kept bending them too much. Anyway, once a giant block of it has been cooked, it's then sliced into ice cream bar sized chunks and stabbed with wooden skewers. They remain housed in a giant steamer box until some one comes and buys one, see above.



The final preparation step (and the reason why these are supremely sublime) ends with the condiments that finish the order. The pudding pop is pulled from the box and dipped inside a sauce that is the lovechild between tonkatsu sauce and pork soy broth, then rolled around in a bath of peanut flour, and finally topped with a sprinkling of cilantro, and a dabble of hot sauce (should you choose). End result is a flavor combination foreign to most Western mouths, that is probably similar to ecstasy (or so I imagine). The rice provides a textural interface that is consistent throughout, it's chewy, but it also maintains individual grains at the same time. The sauce is savory, and the feeling of pork fat from the broth is guilt inducing. The peanut flour renders a sweet complexity that only amplifies the taste of the broth, whilst the cilantro allows the mouth to take a flavor break with every bite.

I also realize that they put this stuff in soups, hot pot, and also fry it... but, the traditional kind truly is a hidden gem. I could go on about this, I really could, but I think I'll end this here. Is this gourmet dining? HA, of course not. It is something that I feel is worthy of mention though. So yeah, go support your local 豬血糕 vendor!
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Imagawayaki time! (光華紅豆餅)

Hello hovering golden puck of joy (let us pretend my fat hand is not present in the picture)! That floating disk of golden sunshine is what is generally known as imagawayaki (or obanyaki depending on where you're from in Japan). What is essentially pancake batter is poured into an over-sized waffle pan of short cup shaped holes. The batter is then brushed along the edges until the it gets spread evenly throughout the cup. As the batter cooks, the baker deftly squeezes the desired filling into the centers of half the shells, then takes the other half and caps them over top of the filling. What results is the Asian equivalent to a jelly doughnut, known in Taiwan as the 紅豆餅 (red bean cakes).



As described above, filling is plopped into the middles of these batter filled cups. For 10 NT per (that's like 30 cents folks), you have the choice of 紅豆 (red bean), 奶油 (cream), 花生 (peanut), 高麗菜 (cabbage), 菜圃 (Asian turnips) as a filling... I know, the thought of a a savory obanyaki is weird, but it works, I swear. The reason why I love this cart in particular, is because the owner goes ape shit when he fills said cups. I don't know if the picture does it justice, but the height the filling reaches is like 2x the actual thickness of the obanyaki. Think about how much compression that goes under when he caps it... THINK ABOUT IT!!!



I'm have a personal preference for the cream filled ones, as they tend to be the most buttery, but the red bean is probably the classic, and the peanut has its charms as well. The cabbage and turnip ones are good if you're hungry, and don't feel like going sweet (which I think is moronic), but they're worth trying, since my tastes probably don't gel with most peoples'. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't like them at all *whistles*.

Anyway, if you're in the area of 光華 (Guang Hua), do yourself a favor and snake over to the old electronics market area, and find the cart that has the really long line (it always does). Also, if this post seems like something I've written about before, it's because I did. I feel like it deserves rehashing though, and plus... this particular cart merits specific mention.
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Two Peck (Fried Chicken)

There's this chain store in Taiwan that is beyond incredible. It's called... Two Peck (hit the link if you want your mind blown in Chinese). The concept is simple. They have a full menu of food that food carts in Taiwan normally serve (french fries, sweet potato fries, taro fries, octopus legs, squid balls, onion rings, pigs blood) and they fry the crap out of it. If that doesn't sound awesome to you, well then... I bet you probably care about your health. For 40 NT (~$1.25) I got an order of 豬血糕 (fried pigs blood cake), which is really just pigs blood + sticky rice + batter meets fryer, and also an order of 花枝丸 (fried octopus balls).

The octopus balls I've had before on numerous occasions. They're basically paste made from octopus tentacles (occasionally with chunks of tentacle!) that gets mixed with fish paste and gets fried to a delicious golden hue. I know, the use of the word paste gets me going too. Anyway, these were as expected, crispy outer, surprisingly 'bouncy' inner, with a mild amount of seafood flavor to boot. Accompanied by a light drizzling of chili powder, the amount of flavor and heat inside your mouth is pretty indescribable.



As for the other thing I ordered. Fried pigs blood cake is a revelation upon an old time classic. Traditionally served in hot pot, these Lego sized bricks of black sticky rice would be cooked to an al dente texture, just a bit rubbery when bitten into, the frying gives for that same experience plus a crunchy outer layer. Not better or worse, but different. Good different. As far as the taste, it doesn't really taste like anything, so they put some sort of chili powder or plum powder on it for flavoring. It's something you mostly eat for the texture. Obviously I can't convince people that pigs blood cake isn't revolting, but I like it (and I know for a fact Koreans have something similar in soondae).

Oh, almost forgot... they serve fried chicken too... not the type the Colonel makes though, it's a single giant cutlet that they pound into a giant disk of chicken goodness.
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Oysters... now in noodles (阿宗麵線)

First off, I'd like to say... I'm switching my photos to a larger size. Mostly because I got some complaints about the thumbnail size ones that I've been posting (but really, if you clicked on them they'd blow up to full size). Oh well, everyone wins this way I guess. Anyway, back to the food. I go to 西門町 (Xi Men Ding) all the time. Mostly when I'm bored, and mostly for the food (let's be honest, with my default dress being a rowing shirt and jeans, I'm not there for the latest fashions). The selection there is pretty decent, a mix of street vendors, Japanese, Korean, and fast food litter the small grid that comprises maybe 5 city blocks. There was always 1 place that I really wanted to visit, but never did in the past because of my aversion to seafood. That place is 阿宗麵線 (Ah Zong Noodles). It might sound stupid that I'd want to visit a place that specializes in oyster noodles, but this was for good reason. They're really famous, and there's always a super long line. This past Summer, I finally got my chance to have a bowl.



For all of 50 NT (which is $1.50 if I remembered the price correctly), you get a large serving of oyster soup with thin noodles, known as 蚵仔麵線. The thick oyster soup is made with a base that tastes strongly of miso, combined with pork broth, garlic, oysters, and then thickened by corn starch. Use of thin rice noodles is preferred for both the character of the strands as well as the increased surface area for coating. End result is a bowl of noodles unmatched in flavor when compared with traditional noodle soups, and what I'm sure is incredibly satisfying in cold weather (not that I'd ever know in Taipei's Summer season). Definitely worth checking out even if you're not close, but be prepared to stand while eating. There are no tables, and nowhere to sit either. That hasn't stopped a ridiculous number of customers from visiting everyday, and should be considered a testament to how good it really is.
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