Tantalizing Taipei

An otherwise ordinary open-air market during the day becomes a madly energetic feeding frenzy after dark when tourists and locals descend upon the night markets. As the cab stopped, I saw throngs of people near the entrance of the market. I climbed out of the cab and nearly doubled back. After taking a few breaths, I regained my orientation just in time to see a gap in the crowd wide enough for me to wedge my foot in. The usual Saturday night crowd was marching in military fashion so that I could not break the ranks. Being enticed forward, I failed to realize I had stepped on a kid’s foot. His face was contorted and drawn back like a rubber band ready to unfurl its fury. I walked faster and dashed through the crowd before drawing attention from the kid’s mother, who was too busy looking at purses.

My body became impermeable to reason, my mouth salivating at the thought of salt-crusted codfish, sealed with moisture awaiting me at the end of this maddening path of slow-moving people. As I zigzagged between grandmothers and their clan, my eyes feasted on the fire dancing erotically with rotating char-grilled skewered octopus smothered in Malaysian chili sauce. The scent of cilantro and freshly roasted garlic engulfed me. More delays came as a mother and daughter marched in such perfect sync that even General Patton himself would have beaded sweat. Only if there were sounds of bugles instead of loud pop music that a guy with darting eyes was blaring in the middle of the pathway, peddling CDs out of a large briefcase set on a portable stand.

I caught the aroma of grilled sausages boasting 100 possible condiment combinations, including black pepper and garlic, cilantro and lemon, fresh chilies and Singaporean satay sauce. Then my eyes met its neighbor, a large urn akin to an Indian oven, roasting orange yams. The vendor sliced slivers of yam from its roasted skin and brushed it with honey and ginger before soaking it in a bath of warm molasses to produce a chewy consistency. The Taiwanese yam is as delicious as it is robust with flavor.

There was also another one of my favorite items at the night market. The heavenly foul-smelling stinky tofu, fried to crispness with pickled vegetables. A vendor once told me the story of how this tofu was processed, but I must have blocked it out. Some things are best left to ignorance and are best forgotten. The blocks of tofu are purposely over-fried to remove excess moisture. It is then re-saturated with a light sauce, bursting of sweetness and a slight tanginess from freshly pickled cabbage. All this is then garnished with sprigs of fresh cilantro to round off the “stench.”

Finally, I reached the teppanyaki griddle where a chef rapidly threw around cut meat and vegetables. Without hesitation, I ordered the usual codfish and vegetables. I started with a bowl of chicken broth with shiitake mushrooms and bamboo shoots to cleanse my palate while the chef prepared the rest of my dinner before me. The timing was just right. As I finished my soup, the vegetable fried rice was being prepared. Broccoli, diced carrots and peas cooked on hot metal while the aroma seasoned the air. The steaming fried rice was placed in front of me still sizzling. As I ate the rice, the chef’s hands became a blur as he cooked more rice and laid it on a plate. There was still more to come as the chef prepared a dish with seasonally and locally grown vegetables. After extruding the flavors of garlic and spicy chilies in hot oil, baby corn, cabbage and fresh water chestnuts were thrown in and cooked in Asian flavors of soy, a dash of black vinegar, sesame oil and rice wine. The different textures exemplify one of the quintessential appreciations of most Asian cuisines. Travelers to Taiwan will find some food to be rather bland at times and miss the underlying values placed on subtle flavors and textures.

As I dug into the vegetables, I asked that the codfish be cooked with salt and pepper with chili. The other choices were a spicy Szechwan sauce, a fermented black bean sauce, or a ginger and scallions sauce. The cod was lightly dusted with rice flour to seal in the flavors and moisture of the fish and laid down on the griddle to cook in the hot peanut oil. As the filet was cooked to completion and flaked ever so slightly, the chef browned coarsely grounded salt and Szechwan peppercorn onto the hotplate before mixing it into the codfish. The results were a delicately sweetened codfish cooked in its natural juices with roasted garlic, pepper and cilantro.

I paid for my first course while savoring the remaining garlic still on my palate. It was time for a steaming cup of hot sugar cane juice with ginger zest to invigorate me while I browsed through DVDs and CDs, “Adidos” shoes, “Jonsport” bags and other night market specials. After the sugar cane juice, it was time for dessert at the shaved ice stand. A large plate was filled with ingredients, including squishy tapioca pearls, balls resembling tadpoles, pink and white sticky rice balls, multicolored jelly, passion fruit syrup, sweetened azuki beans, lotus seeds and chunks of taro roots harvested from the jungles of Taiwan. The plate was placed underneath a vice with a huge block of ice wedged in. The ice spun rapidly against a sharp blade to make a slushy ice mountain. Soaking in the flavors from the assortment underneath, the shaved ice was a perfect way to end another eating orgy at the night market.

I left my favorite playground with the comfort of knowing that it will be there when I have another craving for teppanyaki cod. The aromas of the night market stayed in my hair, my hands and my clothes as I dreamed of the next visit that night