EatingAsia

A Taiwan Epiphany: Salty Soy Milk

 

Every journey brings a culinary epiphany or two.

On our last trip to Taiwan I discovered doujiang (soy milk). Wait -- that's not exactly accurate. I always knew about doujiang, of course. It's always been there -- as the lactose intolerant's best friend, or the dieter's substitute for milk in a latte, or something boxed that vegans drink.

But two years ago in Taiwan, which by the way -- I'm going to go out on a limb here -- is an equal to Japan in the ethereal-soy-bean-products-making department, I found that soy milk -- real fresh soy milk made in small batches by caring, careful soy milk makers -- is one of the world's most delicious, most refreshing and at the same time most healthy feeling beverages.

It's also one of the world's best breakfasts, especially when consumed with a just-fried, lightly salty you tiao (savory cruller). I reaffirmed soy milk's wonderfulness in Chengdu, and then again a couple of weeks ago in Taipei. After we arrived in Kaohsiung, in southern Taiwan, I pushed my soy bean obsession a bit further and began substituting it for cream in my coffee.

So yeah, doujiang is fabulous, and I'm hooked.

Then I found xian doujiang, which absolutely blew me away; it easily takes doujiang's greatness up several dozen notches. "Xian" means salty. And it's also used to indicate savoriness as opposed to sweetness, as when you ask a guobing vendor what's inside her oven-baked flatbreads and she answers "You xiande, you tiande." (There's savory ones and sweet ones.)

Actually I didn't find the salty soy milk. Dave did, when he was wandering around Kaohsiung one morning early in our stay as I was back at the hotel getting ready for a day of interviews. "I just had the most amazing breakfast!" he said as he burst into our room right before I left.

(That made me hate him for a minute. And then hate him more as he went into great detail about it.)

I forgave Dave the next day when he took me to Guo Mao Lai Lai [g-woah maow lie-lie] Doujiang, a corner shop in downtown Kaohsiung. And not just because of the doujiang, but also because in Guo Mao Lai Lai's open kitchen they craft what are without doubt among the best steamed dumplings I've ever eaten. Anywhere (I've spent some time in China, people), ever. These steamed dumplings boast wrappers both light and substantial, toothsome and fluffy, of the perfect thickness, and with so much wheat flavor. They're dumpling wrappers to die for.

But let's get back to that xian doujiang. It's simply fresh soy milk with a coagulant -- vinegar, I believe -- added to induce curdling. It's served hot, and ladled over your choice of condiments, which atGuo Mao Lai Lai include chopped pickled vegetable, teeny tiny translucent dried shrimp (southern Taiwan produces some lovely dried shrimp), browned shallots and chopped scallion.

If you get to the front of Guo Mao Lai Lai's doujiang queue, which moves frighteningly fast, and blurt out "Everything!!" -- because you don't think you can vocalize your choices quickly enough to keep the customers in line behind you from grumbling -- the doujiang server squirts some sesame oil into the bottom of a deep bowl, follows with the condiments one after the other, sluices on the doujiang from a nice height, and then tops it all with a pretty circle of lajiao you (red chili oil). 

The doujiang gets appetizingly foamy -- though spooned up I suppose it looks something like baby food, as the soy milk curdles all around the condiments.

Don't judge a book as they say, because the shrimp and pickle and caramel-y shallot and crunchy scallions wrestle with the blandly bean-flavored doujiang in a way that is best described as, well, revelatory.

And what about those dumplings? Guo Mao Lai Lai does baked stuff too, and jian bing (griddled dough rolled around eggs), but I couldn't get past those steamed and steam-fried pale mounds of deliciousness.

They'are palm-sized, heavy in your hand, and filled with pork and cabbage or just pork or stuffed with garlicky Chinese chives and eaten, if you like, with a dip (or sauce) of more Chinese chives and chopped dried chilies soaked in soy sauce.

Guo Mao Lai Lai isn't especially new. Seven years ago this man, whose brother owns another xian doujiang and dumplings shop on the outskirts of Kaohsiung, opened it with his wife and family. It was obviously a good decision. The shop is crazy busy --- with only three picnic tables on the pavement out front seats can be hard to come by before 830 or 9am. They also sell doujiang bing (iced doujiang) and mijiang (rice milk).

But frankly you'd have to be an idiot to stop in at Guo Mao Lai Lai and skip the xian doujiang.

Guo Mao Lai Lai, at the corner of Liuhe 2nd and Zichiang Roads, Kaohsiung Taiwan. Mornings, closed on Sunday.

 

 

 

In Southern Taiwan, the Sea in a Bowl

Fish noodles. That's noodles made of fish.

I (and you, hopefully) are already reaping rewards, of a sort, from EatingAsia's recently created Facebook page.

A comment, which I now seem unable to locate (there have been quite a few; we love that folks are joining the conversation -- thank you so much), included mention of Taiwanese fish noodles. Not noodles served with fish and fishballs in a piscene broth, but noodles that are actually made from fish.

It reminded me of one our tastiest finds last May-June on Taiwan, a dish we never got around to posting. We have soooo many of those --- stories from past trips that for some reason or other have never made it onto this blog. But it's never too late to publicize a find, don't you think?

 

We took a real liking to the southern Taiwanese city of Kaohsiung, not least for its many holes-in-the-wall and proper restaurants serving impeccably fresh and simply prepared seafood. Every meal we ate in and around Kaohsiung revolved around something fishy. There were a few excellent porky items thrown in for good measure, but for the better part of five days we ate seafood for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I'm not complaining.

One morning we took a boat out to tiny Cijin Island, a popular seafood-loving daytripper destination just 5-10 minutes by boat from the city. After feasting on grilled squid and raw tomatoes with powdered sugar (both specialties of the island -- a perhaps odd-sounding combination that works) we followed a coastal path to the island's northwestern tip and ascended a small hill, where we explored an old lighthouse and battery remains that date back to the Qing dynasty.

 

All that activity stoked our appetite, of course, so once back down at sea level we nosed around for a snack or three to carry us through the 10-minute boat ride back to the mainland. We noticed, on an otherwise sleepy side street, that every table at a stall advertising hujiao shougong yu mian tang (literally: pepper handmade fish noodle soup) was filled and further, signage advising that the place had been in business for thirty years.

Making the decision to stop and sample was a no-brainer.

We ordered the zonghe yu mian tang ('composite', ie 'mixed' fish noodle soup) and ended up with bowls of light scallion, Chinese celery, and white pepper-enhanced broth packed with a variety of fish balls (and one pork ball) and noodles, dumplings, ribbons of seaweed, and a few leaves of lettuce.

 

Imagine our surprise when the noodles turned out to be made of fish. They were absolutely exquisite (have a look at the opening photo, above), almost translucent, nubby, lightly fish flavored and boasting a fantastic chewy-snappy texture. The fish dumplings or yu jiao consisted of more piscene pasta filled with chopped pork generously seasoned with toasted sesame oil. The oil was so fresh and fragrant that when I bit a dumpling in half it released a plume of sesame-scented steam.

The fish balls were excellent as well, springy but not bouncing-rubber-ballish, and as intensely flavored as the noodles.

(Interestingly, we also found noodles made from fish in Kota Kinabalu, the capital of the eastern Malaysian state of Sabah. When we returned to Kuala Lumpur after that trip more than four years ago I spied the same sort of round, thick fish noodles in a grocery store/ They were disappointing -- more binder than fish, with little piscene flavor.)

The proprietor off this stall on Cijin Island told us that fish noodles and fish pasta-wrapped dumplings were fairly common there -- and perhaps elsewhere? -- until about ten years ago. "It's a lot of work to make these kind of noodles," she said. "So we're one of the last stalls around."

Long may she and her lovely fish noodle stall thrive!

Hand-made fish noodles and fish dumplings stall, 44 Tongshan Lu (near corner of Miaocan Lu), Cijin Island, Kaohsiung, Taiwan. (07) 571-1711