“Once you’ve tried the Chinese food in Taiwan, you’ll never want to eat at another American Chinese restaurant again,” a 46 year-old Mr. Lin told me the other night over a fragrant pot of three-cup chicken (三杯雞, sān bēi jī) the other day. The dish is named for the sesame oil, rice wine, and soy sauce that, along with a liberal amount of garlic and basil, give the dish its distinctive flavor. And Mr. Lin is right. Although with a little legwork excellent Chinese restaurants can be found in most larger western cities, the vast majority of Bamboo Gardens, Golden Dragons and Rickshaw Cafés can’t hold a joss stick to the real McChoy.
Most western Chinese restaurant menus are based on a tamed down version of Cantonese cooking. In the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century Chinese emigrants were mostly Cantonese. In the U.S. especially, a great majority were from the four Cantonese counties of Taishan, Enping, Kaiping, and Xinhui. Since 1965 the number of Taiwanese and non-Cantonese Chinese emigrants have greatly increased, but overseas Chinese restaurant menus are still largely based on older models. This explains why some westerners new to Taiwan may be surprised that “Chinese” dishes like lemon chicken, beef and green peppers, or chop suey are not on the average Taiwanese menu. And thank goodness for that. Though Cantonese is famed for its variety--Cantonese say that excepting tables and chairs, they’ll eat anything with four legs--after being westernized the average dishes taste subtle to the point of blandness.
A few dishes in Taiwan are almost the same as their western versions. The hot and sour soup (酸辣湯, suān là tāng) served in Taiwan differs very little what you’ll find at mom and pop Chinese restaurants in the U.S., perhaps with the exception of strips of congealed pig’s blood mixed in with the usual tofu, shitake and straw mushrooms, bamboo shoots, pork strips and jew’s ear fungus. Dim sum--pronounced diǎn xīn (點心) in Mandarin, literally means order-heart, or “order to the heart’s content.” Dim sum restaurants in Taiwan, called yum cha, or yǐn chá in Mandarin (飲茶--“drink tea”), are often open 24 hours and are chock-full of western favorites like dumplings, sweetened meat dishes, and rice rolls.
Those interested in trying more authentic versions of popular western Chinese dishes don’t have to look very far. Kung pao chicken (宮保雞丁, gōng bǎo jī dīng) is on most menus. Traditionally a Szechwan (四川, sì chuān) dish, the gōng bǎo jī dīng usually served in Taiwan is almost as tasteless as its westernized half-cousin, but specifically Szechwan restaurants should serve a more stimulating interpretation. The name gōng bǎo jī dīng, or “palace guard” diced chicken, is generally credited to one Ding Baozhen, governor of Szechuan during the Qing Dynasty. Stories vary, but one tells of a group of unexpected dignitaries arriving at a time the imperial kitchen is understocked. Ding Baozhen’s cook saves the day by frying up this simple dish of chicken breast, red chilies and peanuts.
Sweet and sour pork is táng cù pái gǔ (糖醋排骨) if you don’t mind the bones, or táng cù lǐ jī (糖醋里肌) without. General Tso’s chicken (左宗棠雞, zuǒ zōng táng jī), another typically overseas Chinese dish, can be found at many Taiwan restaurants. General Tso Tsungtang (左宗棠, Zuǒ Zōng Táng) served for the Qing Dynasty in the nineteenth century and is famed for his ruthlessness in quashing the Taiping rebellion. Why the dish is named after him is a source of conjecture. Some speculate his being Hunanese--their love for the chili is rivaled only by the Szechwanese--and his well-known swordsmanship inspired cooks to name this spicy diced chicken dish after him.
Chop suey is said to be a bastardization of the Cantonese tsap sui, or odds and ends. In Taiwan these types of dishes are often called shí jǐn (什錦), but beware “odds and ends” in Taiwan may include parts of animals that most westerners aren’t accustomed to eating unless they’re ground beyond recognition and served as a hot dog. Chow mein is pronounced similarly in Mandarin: chǎo miàn (炒麵)--fried noodles.
Then there’s the famous pu pu platter, a sampler of appetizers found in most American Chinese restaurants. A source of endless amusement to children at family dinners, the name comes from the Cantonese pronunciation of bǎo bǎo pán (寶寶盤), or “platter of treasures.” It’s said to have been invented during the mid-twentieth century Polynesian lounge craze in California. You’re unlikely to find it on menus outside of North America.
Another thing you won’t find outside of western Chinese restaurants is the fortune cookie. Though its history is disputed, the modern fortune cookie is said to have been invented in the first or second decade of the twentieth century at the Japanese Tea Garden Restaurant in San Francisco. Fortune cookies have since found their way to Chinese restaurants everywhere. Everywhere but China and Taiwan, that is. If you’re served fortune cookies after a meal in Taiwan, odds are you’re at a large western-style hotel and have just finished a meal about as Chinese as Mickey Rooney’s character in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
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