Tucked away on a quiet tree-lined alley near the corner of Xinsheng South (新生南) and Zhongxiao East (忠孝東) roads, Yun Zhi Tai (雲之泰) boasts a welcoming outdoor patio and reasonably priced Thai and Yunnan dishes.
Though the wooden deck is a relaxing spot for a beer, on colder days, the interior is equally relaxing. The plain but warmly lit decor is refreshingly down-to-earth in contrast to the dark, ultramodern lounge-bar look that seems to define every other Thai place these days.
Reservations are recommended at the weekend. On a recent Sunday lunchtime visit, our group of 11 was relegated to a small dining room.
But we soon forgot how crowded the backroom felt upon digging into jiaomaji (椒麻雞, NT$220), crispy fried chicken served with cilantro and chili on a bed of coleslaw. This popular tangy, spicy and savory Yunnan dish was polished off pronto. In hindsight, it would have been better to order the larger portion (NT$350).
One good sign early on in the meal was how well Yun Zhi Thai fared with a simple vegetable stir-fry. We ordered two versions of kongxincai (空心菜, NT$160, NT$250 for a larger portion), one with shrimp paste, the other a vegetarian version, as some in our group don’t eat shellfish. Both dishes disappeared quickly, and the vegetarian version actually seemed to be the more popular of the two.
Other joys were found in concoctions like the “hot saute” eggplant (辣炒茄子, NT$180), which is similar to the eggplant and basil stir-fry (炒茄子) found in Hakka cuisine.
This version did not have basil, but just about everything else, including mushrooms, green, red and yellow bell peppers and minced pork (we went without the chili peppers). What made this a winner, though, were the tender eggplant slices and a flavorsome garlic sauce.
Despite the slow service, the meal only got better. Each time we reminded the busy wait staff not to forget us, they would return with a soul-satisfying plate that made up for the lost time.
The green curry chicken (綠咖哩雞, NT$220) is another instance where we should have ordered the larger version (NT$350). The steamed fish with lemon (清蒸檸檬魚, NT$400), a house recommendation, was sweet and sour perfection, with citrus and garlic as the dominant flavors. At the end of the meal, there was hardly anything left of sea bass except the tailbone.
A few other Thai restaurant standards also did not disappoint. The fried shrimp cakes (NT$280, NT$450 for a larger portion) arrived crispy and hot. The spicy and sour calamari salad (涼拌花枝, NT$220, NT$320 for a larger portion) was a refreshing interlude for the meal.
The only dish that fell short was a rather bland pad Thai
(泰式辣炒河粉, NT$160), although several at our table liked it enough to clear the plate.
Another visit, however, will probably be made during a less busy time.
For dessert, Yun Zhi Tai has the standard tapioca and sweet bean desserts for NT$50. For something different, try one of the steamed buns (破酥包, NT$30 each) with sweet red bean or black sesame filling.
Yun Zhi Tai is a five-minute walk from Zhongxiao Xinsheng MRT Station (忠孝新生捷運站), exit No. 3.
May 6 to May 12 Those who follow the Chinese-language news may have noticed the usage of the term zhuge (豬哥, literally ‘pig brother,’ a male pig raised for breeding purposes) in reports concerning the ongoing #Metoo scandal in the entertainment industry. The term’s modern connotations can range from womanizer or lecher to sexual predator, but it once referred to an important rural trade. Until the 1970s, it was a common sight to see a breeder herding a single “zhuge” down a rustic path with a bamboo whip, often traveling large distances over rugged terrain to service local families. Not only
Moritz Mieg, 22, lay face down in the rubble, the ground shaking violently beneath him. Boulders crashed down around him, some stones hitting his back. “I just hoped that it would be one big hit and over, because I did not want to be hit nearly to death and then have to slowly die,” the student from Germany tells Taipei Times. MORNING WALK Early on April 3, Mieg set out on a scenic hike through Taroko Gorge in Hualien County (花蓮). It was a fine day for it. Little did he know that the complex intersection of tectonic plates Taiwan sits
The last time Mrs Hsieh came to Cihu Park in Taoyuan was almost 50 years ago, on a school trip to the grave of Taiwan’s recently deceased dictator. Busloads of children were brought in to pay their respects to Chiang Kai-shek (蔣中正), known as Generalissimo, who had died at 87, after decades ruling Taiwan under brutal martial law. “There were a lot of buses, and there was a long queue,” Hsieh recalled. “It was a school rule. We had to bow, and then we went home.” Chiang’s body is still there, under guard in a mausoleum at the end of a path
Last week the Directorate-General of Budget, Accounting and Statistics (DGBAS) released a set of very strange numbers on Taiwan’s wealth distribution. Duly quoted in the Taipei Times, the report said that “The Gini coefficient for Taiwanese households… was 0.606 at the end of 2021, lower than Australia’s 0.611, the UK’s 0.620, Japan’s 0.678, France’s 0.676 and Germany’s 0.727, the agency said in a report.” The Gini coefficient is a measure of relative inequality, usually of wealth or income, though it can be used to evaluate other forms of inequality. However, for most nations it is a number from .25 to .50