Bing and Bao II - A Culinary Diary in Taipei
A typical Taiwanese vegetarian eatery
East Asia columnist Liam Elliott Brady explores how Taiwan has been shaped by its varied colonial past and unique geopolitical situation through food. Through continuous interaction with foreign powers, Taipei has developed a diverse culinary culture; this column aims to make sense of it, discussing the significance of one aspect of the Taipei food scene in each instalment.
Through the murky sea of beef noodle soup and the unrelenting avalanche of pig’s blood cakes, I often find it difficult to believe that Taiwan is heralded by food critics as a vegetarian paradise. Meat-free bites are hard to come by in Taiwan’s famed night markets. On the other hand, tofu – a staple of chichi cuisine in Britain – is either suffocated in a milky concoction of rotting meats prior to serving or drowning in a hearty, meat-based broth, making it far from ideal as a vegan alternative.
However, inches beneath Taiwan’s carnivorous exterior lies a thriving tradition of wholesome, unpretentious vegetarian food. In Taiwan’s night markets, stalls flogging meats and rustic vegetarian buffets exist cheek by jowl. While tiny fly repellent fans hum endlessly above stalls offering meat, the glow of yellow neon ‘vegetarian’ signs welcome disillusioned herbivores from far and wide in for some folksy comfort food. After weeks of limiting myself to meagre albeit pleasant veggie options at noodle bars and night markets, I was eager to spread my wings and insisted on dining at one of Taiwan’s famed vegetarian eateries.
Many of Taiwan’s vegetarian eateries feature large neon signs outside - this one simply says ‘vegetarian food’
Taiwan partially owes its rich vegetarian heritage to the island’s sizeable and diverse Buddhist population. The first Buddhist settlers came from the nearby Chinese provinces of Fujian and Guangdong in the early seventeenth century, but were met with continual and forcible suppression at the hands of the island’s Dutch colonial overlords. The latter half of the century, however, saw Buddhism flourish. In 1662, Koxinga, a provincial prince in the waning Ming Dynasty, drove out Dutch colonisers in a failed attempt to resist the rise of the Qing Dynasty. Under Chinese rule, the establishment of temples dedicated to the deity Guanyin, many of which, such as those in Tamshui and Taoyuan, which remain standing to this day, was actively encouraged. While temples deviating from state-prescribed orthodox Buddhism were placed under close censorship during the Japanese occupation, modern-day Taiwanese Buddhism is the most diverse and vibrant its ever been, with more outward-looking sects such as Humanistic Buddhism. Indeed, the most recent census found that up to 35% of Taiwan’s population identify as Buddhist.
As one would expect, this fundamental part of Taiwan’s religious identity is reflected in the island’s culinary customs: for example, the Mandarin term for ‘vegan’ (quansu) is widely interpreted as prohibiting the consumption of meat and dairy as well as garlic and onion (foods which, according to the Gautama Buddha, act as obstacles to mediation as members of the Allium family).
Buddhism’s enduring cultural influence is not only acknowledged, but celebrated in Taipei through its vegetarian buffets. The atmosphere in my local one is unassuming, peaceful, and intimate; regulars from the nearby university address the elderly staff member behind the till as ayi (auntie), and are greeted with beaming smiles, cheerful chat and warm embraces. Excerpts from Buddhist scriptures cover the walls, while shrines to Guanyin, the bodhisattva of compassion and mercy, radiate soothing energy across the dimly lit room. Customers - some students, some pensioners; some local, some foreign; some in couples, some alone - share a hunger for rustic, substantial meals in this convivial paradise.
This hunger is quickly satisfied by the copious quantities of plant-based foods on display. My eyes are immediately drawn to the colourful array of stir-fried vegetables, each slice coated in thick salty sauce. Beside these leafy fields lies a stretch of beige mountains: vegetable pakoras are piled high while tempuras and spring rolls filled generously with carrots and peanut sauce loom over rolls of dried tofu (dougan) seasoned to perfection with soy sauce and sugar. As for drinks, litre-bottles of soy milks are stacked behind the counter, their thick, creamy texture acting as a necessary antidote to the richness of the buffet food. All in all, for a generously stacked plate, a hefty bottle of soy milk, and limitless servings of rice, customers can expect to pay NT$200, roughly £5. Considering the criticism that Western vegetarianism (rightly) receives for problems with affordability, this comes as a welcome surprise.
Compared to the drab, uninspired, avocado-on-toast-based cuisine that has come to typify vegan food across Europe and the States, Taipei’s Buddhist eateries offer a far more soulful, personal dining experience. These buffets serve as an essential reminder of the principles upon which all good vegetarian food should be based: freshness, modesty, and flavour.