Yong Kang Street in Daan District (
Every weekend, long queues form outside the restaurant but few customers seem to mind. The fare is popular with Japanese visitors.
The restaurant's secret, according to owner Lu Wen-yung(
PHOTO COURTESY OF SITFUN SHIH TANG
Lu has been in the restaurant business for over 20 years. Every morning at 6am, he shops at a local market for the day's supplies. He likes to stock ingredients in his kitchen that are fresh and seasonal, which is why no menu is on offer, as the dishes often change. Moreover, Lu never uses imported vegetables or meat from China, so as to minimize the risk of using poor ingredients.
The restaurant, decorated with a Japanese colonial flavor, counts many big-name stars, singers, TV talk-show hosts, writers and politicians as its regular customers. Former premier Yu Shyi-kun has asked Lu to cater at the premier's nearby residence quite a few times.
A typical Taiwanese dish, steamed spare-ribs with taro(
Lu prefers his restaurant to stay quieter than other Taiwanese restaurants. So he rejects the idea of selling alcoholic beverages, except beer. Even so, he asks beer drinkers not to be too noisy. At a time when the streets of Taipei are flooded with Hong Kong-style dim-sum delicacies and Italian pasta restaurants, Lu feels very lucky that his restaurant can stand out among others and claim "a place in the sun" for Taiwanese cuisine.
In Taiwan’s rural lowlands, it’s a common sight at this time of year. Having cleared and plowed their fields, farmers intending to grow pineapples, strawberries or certain other crops, roll lengths of thin black plastic across the ground. To keep the film in place, soil is piled over the edges. Plastic sheeting — or plastic mulch, as it’s often called — makes farmers’ lives easier by suppressing unwanted foliage that might otherwise crowd out their crops. As an inexpensive labor-saving technique, its appeal is obvious. Taiwan’s farmers are getting old (in 2014, their mean age was 62 years), and finding
Foreign viewers at the Cannes premiere of Moneyboys (金錢男孩) may not have noticed the glaring incongruities that persist through the movie, but Taiwanese viewers certainly will. They’re apparent to the point that it’s difficult to enjoy the movie. First of all, the entire film is obviously shot in Taiwan, but the plot is set in fictional locales in southern China, with most secondary characters, passersby and television announcers speaking in Beijing-accented Mandarin. This melancholy tale revolves around gay sex workers in China and the unique challenges they face, especially regarding traditional expectations, including marriage, and the large-scale rural-to-urban migration of
In our neoliberal, corporate capitalist world, things fall into just two categories, the useful and the discarded. Useful things are exploited until used up, then moved to the other category and forgotten. In Taiwan, that includes children. Last week the Social Work Department with the Taiwan Fund for Children and Families (TFCF) sounded an alert: the nation’s young are being eaten alive. Suicide and suicidal thoughts among teenagers are spiking. According to a survey of over 600 young people by the charity, a fifth had thought of suicide. The charity pointed out that the number of reported suicides and suicide attempts
My goals were straightforward. I’d ride my motorcycle from my home in Tainan along back-country roads into Kaohsiung’s Tianliao (田寮) and Cishan (旗山) districts, then loop back through Yanchao (燕巢). I had a short list of places I wanted to visit along the way, and I was confident I’d stumble across a few more points of interest. Turning off Provincial Highway 19A (19甲), I veered northeast on Tainan Local Road 163 (南163) until I saw a sign for Daping (大坪). Like 163, this second (and apparently unnumbered) road turned out to be a gently undulating rural delight. I passed a few