Stroll for Your Supper

Or, the Futility of Cooking Alone in Taiwan

Today, I start with a truly hideous statement: I’m entering the final few weeks of my research grant period.

To be clear, I’ll still be in Taiwan for several more months, but this gift of time purely devoted to research, meeting friends, making connections, and attending talks, screenings, and special events, is rapidly drawing to a close. As such, I find myself getting a bit sentimental, and wanting to talk a bit more about my life here in Taiwan, rather than my research. (And besides, I’ve already blabbed about research for the past seven-ish months.)

Luckily, my current sentimentality is largely simpatico with the biggest request I get from folks back in the US: “Tell me about the food you’re eating!” That’s a big ask, because Taiwan is a huge foodie destination, and I have been known to eat meals since coming here.

Foods bought in my neighborhood night market. Clockwise from top L: Cuttlefish geng, a thickened soup with cuttlefish, bamboo shoots, bean sprouts, and rice noodles; scallion pancake; xiaolongbao with ginger and soy sauce; “oil rice” 油飯, aptly named dish of sticky rice steamed with pork, served with a savory sauce; “oil cake,” 油粿, a bewilderingly named dish of steamed rice dough filled with taro root, served with a savory sauce; and fish ball and daikon in clear broth.

As such, today I’m just going to address one source of food, albeit a big one for me: night markets. And for anyone sighing at my decision to pick such a stereotypical food destination, please read on. Hopefully this post will redeem itself yet.

Taiwan’s Gardens of Eatin’

If there’s one food venue that most tourists to Taiwan have heard of, it’s probably night markets. While night markets play host to everything from clothes vendors and phone repair outlets to darts stands and pachinko, these iconic spaces are perhaps most universally utilized as a source of quick, delicious, and varied food. A trip to most any night market will instantly reveal a shocking density of small-scale purveyors of a wide variety of classic Taiwanese dishes. These food professionals sling dishes at waiting customers with an almost unfeasible combination of speed, quality, and consistency. And unlike the hawkers’ centers of Singapore, seating in most of these spaces is relatively sparse, meaning that supper becomes a grazing stroll, rather than a single, seated effort.

Just an average night (or so I assume) at Tainan’s Garden 花園 night market. Hundreds of food stalls are patronized by thousands of wandering customers, all of whom can conveniently go refresh their wardrobe or try their luck at pachinko in between courses, should the mood take them.

Something I learned quickly upon getting to Taiwan is that not all night markets are created equal. There’s the market tucked into the narrow alleys that wind around Taipei’s Longshan Temple 龍山寺, famed for serving snake. There’s the love-it-or-hate-it touristic behemoth at Shilin 士林, where people queue for the better part of a block to judge between two different sellers of chicken that is fried, then grilled, then basted and seasoned. There are the Michelin “bib gourmand” stalls of the Raohe 饒河街, Ningxia 寧夏, or Tonghua 通化 night markets. In the neighborhood around National Taiwan Normal University 國立台灣師範大學—commonly abridged to “Shida” 師大—lies the student wonderland of the eponymous Shida 師大 night market. Each has its own character and specialties, and each is worth exploring.

Although I’m most familiar with Taipei’s night markets, this phenomenon is not limited to the capital city. Venture outside of Taipei and you’ll find institutions like Hualien’s massive, purpose-built Dongdamen 東大門. This breezy coastal facility is so large that it is literally divided into “neighborhoods,” with the Hualien city government maintaining a directory of vendors. Further south, “The Garden” 花園 night market in Tainan boasts around 400 stalls—approximately the same number as Hualien’s Dadongmen, but packed into just a fraction of the space—with proprietors vying for attention via flashy signage, megaphones, and even small TVs with running loops of news appearances, vlogger interviews, and other media coverage.

Sunset at the massive gate to Hualian’s Dadongmen night market. This facility was custom built along the waterfront as a tourist attraction, and although plenty of people say it lacks the character of the market’s old location, it still draws crowds every night of the week.

But here’s the thing: I don’t really go to these spots. I mean, sure, I’ve been to a lot of them. But night markets are more than big tourist attractions. They also serve the necessary social function of providing fast, nutritious, affordable food after people return home from a long day at work. In the main, Taiwanese night market culture isn’t about partaking of exotic delicacies or an entertaining dining experience outside the home (or at least, not just that). Rather, much like Singapore’s culture of hawker’s centers, it’s about fulfilling a physical and social need at a cost that within the average person’s budget and a speed that meets the needs of families who still may have to walk dogs, help kids with homework, clean the house, or simply sit on the couch and stare into the void for a while before bed.

Thus, all of this has been a long introduction to say, I’m not going to talk about any of the glamorous, famous night markets that might be on your travel itinerary. Rather, I’m going to talk about the homey, compact night market right beside my apartment where in the average week I eat multiple times. In the process, I’ll share some of my favorites from my local vendors. All in all, just a mini love letter to the neighborhood I love.

For Love of Shuangcheng Street 雙城街

When I tell people where I live, I’m often greeted with a tittle, or a knowing, “Ohhh.” My neighborhood’s reputation as Taipei’s erstwhile epicenter for hostess clubs (which I’ve talked about before) continues to color people’s opinion of the area.

My daily reality is quite far removed from my neighborhood’s reputation as party central. Out back from my apartment is a playground with a brightly colored jungle gym set on a broad swath of fake grass atop the kind of rubberized, shock-absorbent base layer that can cushion tiny bodies who haven’t quite yet mastered the art of locomotion. Despite the fact that I live more than ten floors off the ground, the popularity of this playground with the neighborhood’s children is evident from the laughs and shrieks that rise up through my windows every evening.

The playground is also home to some cat shelters that local volunteer teams keep stocked with food (frequently raided by pigeons). The whole area is ringed by large, leafy trees that provide shelter to raucous mobs of magpies and the surprisingly bold Malayan night herons that can be seen alternating between grub hunting and calmly trotting away from excited children trying to say hello.

A Malay night heron on the prowl in the green area surrounding the playground by my apartment. In the background, under the purple tarp, is one of the network of neighborhood cat shelters that seem to serve more pigeons than their intended feline customer base. To the right, under the green tarp, is a parked cart that didn’t open on the evening this photo was taken.

Immediately on the other side of the playground is the entrance to Shuangcheng Street, a short pedestrian block that serves as a space for dozens of vendors to sell their products to any and all passersby. For even the most casual eater of Chinese food, you’ll find lots of classics here: scallion pancakes (strongly recommended with an added egg and a pile of fresh Thai basil) and xiaolongbao (served up with Taiwan’s distinctively thick soy sauce and a generous helping of shredded ginger) are two of my go-tos. The latter will set you back about US$3.00, while the former (with all the fixins) costs about US$1.50.

The young owner of the xialongbao and jiaozi shop at Shuangcheng Street takes an order, while his employees continue to fold dumplings to add to the industrial-strength steamer.

Elsewhere, dishes may not be quite as familiar to diners familiar with the mainstream American repertoire of Sinophone foods. For example, one of my staples in this night market is cuttlefish geng 花枝焿. Geng (pronounced “gung”) is a bit difficult to describe, but if I were to try, I’d say that it’s a thickened soup with a texture akin to Western stews. However, my guess is that it is thickened with corn or potato starch, rather than the roux-based stews I’m used to in the West, so even that is only a loose analogy. Either way, it’s an intensely flavorful, warming dish of seafood, veggies, noodles, and broth that’s perfect on those Taiwanese winter nights aren’t exactly cold, but are thoroughly damp.

My favorite stop for cuttlefish geng is right in the center of the market, permanently located in a coveted corner position that allows the owners to set up several metal tables for customers to sit at. If you don’t want cuttlefish, you can also get squid, oysters and tripe, or just broth, noodles, and bamboo shoots. You can also round out your meal with seasoned tofu skins stuffed with sushi rice. Despite the fact that this outfit, which has been around for decades, has a small shopfront (seen in the background), their meals are still sold out of the stainless steel cart that is favored by food vendors in Taiwan’s night markets.

Does none of this sound appealing? Worry not! You can get skewers of grilled chicken, beef, or bacon-wrapped veggies. If you’re in the mood for more variety of texture, you can get spicy pork liver soup, various preparations of intestine and tripe, or grilled pig trotters. Looking for something lighter? You can get fruit—fresh, pre-cut, or juiced—from one of several vendors. Do you want different starch options? You can choose from multiple vendors to get vermicelli, ramen, rice noodles, fried rice, steamed rice, or the local classic lu rou fan 滷肉飯, steamed rice with a flavorful pork sauce.

What about if you want to sit down? Well, ringing the market is a host of small restaurants. Some, like the local ramen bar or the goose restaurant, can seat a couple dozen people. Others, like the spectacular Navy Curry 海軍咖哩—named after the Japanese navy’s longstanding (and competitive) tradition of serving curry at sea—are essentially an indoor counter with a few barstools. Is Navy Curry out of seats? Not to worry, this area also happens to be the curry capital of Taipei. At least, I assume it’s the curry capital of Taipei, as there are no fewer than seven curry restaurants within a 150-meter radius of my apartment.

Navy Curry 海軍咖哩 serves Japanese-style curry out of a narrow storefront. The four high-top seats out front effectively double the restaurant’s seating capacity. In the likely event that they don’t have seats, you’re within a stone’s throw of six other curry shops in the neighborhood.

And what about drinks? Well, besides the juice available at several stands throughout the market, there is, of course, the ubiquitous presence of tea and milk tea. In a one-block span, you can can find at least five tea shops, including Kungfu Tea 功夫茶, known primarily for their milk and bubble tea; Hechalou 鶴茶樓, who will play you old hits by Zhou Xuan 周璇 (I’ve talked about her as well) while you wait for your oolong tea; or my personal favorite, Kebuke 可不可, which specializes in black teas, and which has teamed up for limited-time corporate partnerships with companies running the gamut from electrical vehicle giant Gogoro to Snoopy and the Peanuts.

In short, in many of Taiwan’s night markets, the world is your culinary oyster. (Truly, the oyster pancakes are great.) These institutions, and the incredibly hard-working small business owners who keep them ticking, have been one of the great gifts of my time here in Taiwan.

Food for Thought

In the States, eating out is often projected morally as a luxury, even though we know that in actuality there are plenty of people who don’t have the hours in the day to go home and cook a full meal for themselves and their families. Forget Ina Garten’s “store-bought is fine,” by the time you’ve preheated the oven, put your purple Peruvian garlic in a blender with your Kroger-brand unicorn-tear salt and the probably-still-edible wilted remains of the bunch of basil you bought back in 2022, you’ve already committed to more work like cleanup and dishes. Heck, even that box of pasta with biohazard-orange powdered dairy product distributed by a monolithic food conglomerate (to be clear, I love this product, particularly with the addition of frozen peas), you’re still committing to some simple cleanup.

“It’s a pot,” you might say. That sounds minor, and it usually is. But there are days when even that one pot is a lot to face, especially when it’s piled on top of all the other work of getting through day. And especially when we all know that, in many families, the very real labor of care falls disproportionately on women, regardless of their professional obligations, attainments, and stressors outside of the house. This is something we all recognize.

Despite all this, the recourse to budget-friendly, fast, convenient meals in America is treated as something of a moral failure. Traveling under the golden arches, or to the realm of the beef patty monarch, or any of their competitors offers some of the few reliably inexpensive options for people who are run off their feet and can’t face that one extra chore for the day. And while the health concerns associated with those institutions are real and legitimate, they are also often the only option for people who don’t want (or can’t afford) to inflate their dinner budget 15-fold for the privilege of eating a grilled chicken and brown rice bowl from your fast-casual chain of choice.

What’s been eye opening here in Taipei is that, although there are plenty of unhealthy options in your average night market—fried chicken tastes better than raw, unseasoned kale for a reason—there are also plenty of ways to eat healthily and inexpensively at a night market.

Dinner on the night of writing, complete with Snoopy-branded cup of tea from Kebuke. One of these food items would usually make dinner, but I made sacrifices for this blog post.

It seems like some version of this should also be possible in America. And to be sure, there are places where some limited version of this exists—New York’s bagel carts and halal carts, or LA’s taco carts spring to mind, or the few remaining food trucks selling sandwiches for less than $15.

But making quick, budget-friendly, healthy food a widespread reality in America would be a long process. It would require a concerted effort by policy-makers at all levels to incentivize local culinary innovation, business models that are centered on accessibility, and ways of offering fresh food at prices that are competitive with those offered by fast food giants.

It would also require consumers to move away from the celebrity chef-fueled, dinner-as-entertainment industry that currently holds sway in America. (To be clear, I have nothing against the dinner-as-entertainment ethos of many restaurants today, but it’s a qualitatively different phenomenon than what I’m talking about here.) Most importantly, it would require recognition of the fact that eating out for dinner, whether alone, with friends, or with family, is not a moral failing, but is a pragmatic solution to the exhausting reality of over-burdened, over-scheduled, and over-stressed modern living.

Do I have much hope that this will happen anytime soon in the US? Well … no. But maybe if enough people keep reminding themselves and others that cost and nutrition, budget and variety, or price and convenience are not necessarily natural antagonists, we can keep chipping away at this problem. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy my scallion pancakes while they last.