Entering from a darkened alleyway, True Bao Maker (有情出包所) hits us with a blast of neon-bright pop-art posters and manga-packed shelves; speakers pump kitschy J-pop while the TV replays anime classics; zingy decor bursting with the Japanese cool of a backstreet Osaka hideout.
Owner Eric Weng (翁竹熲) welcomes us in with a smile and seats us on plastic stools at the open-top-bar, where we get acquainted with him and his childhood friend Alex Huang (黃國勳), a tattoo artist who designed the space using some of Weng’s wacky personal collection. But these guys aren’t just passionate about Japan, they’re dedicated to elevating a Taiwanese classic to a new dimension.
Gua bao (割包). Hailed as Taiwan’s “most world-famous street-food snack” by the Michelin Guide and coined the “Taiwanese hamburger,” this night-market staple features a pillowy bao bun stuffed with fatty pork belly, cilantro, pickled mustard greens and that signature dusting of finely ground peanut.
Photo: Hollie Younger
This delicacy, delicious as it is, requires an affinity for cilantro and gelatinous hunks of pork fat — a tricky feat for many foreigners, myself included.
Perhaps the bao buns we’re more accustomed to are the hybrid burger variety sweeping the Western world, stuffed with fried chicken, shredded duck, any beloved east-Asian culinary caricature. This is where funky fusion venue True Bao Maker fills Taipei’s gap in the market.
BURGERS, BUNS AND BEERS
Photo: Hollie Younger
Tonight was my second foray. I came across it by happenstance on a hungry evening around Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall, but a 4.9-star rating on Google reviews is never to be ignored.
First things first, we grab a cool draft pint of locally-brewed Taihu lager — do we want a sake bomb dropped in? Why not — and Weng translates us through the menu, bun by bun.
The cartoon pop-art menu offers four savory and two sweet bao burgers, including vegetarian offerings, sides of fries or fried pumpkin bites and a beef rice bowl, all available in good-value combo sets (NT$180+).
Photo: Hollie Younger
My recommendation is the meatball bao special (NT$150), a true east meets west concoction. Three crispy Italian-style meatballs of hearty ground beef, lashings of rich red wine sauce, American cheese and lettuce — fused with Asian flavors of cilantro, ground peanut, scrambled egg and that perfectly fluffy bao bun to hold it all together. This shouldn’t work, but it’s a fusion masterpiece.
The signature here is the spicy beef bao burger (NT$129); slow-cooked, melt-in-the-mouth with an explosive crimson red, house-made chili sauce. Unless you order medium, this will blow your head off, which is exactly what I was after.
The closest to its gua bao prototype would be the fried pork bao burger with orange sauce (NT$120). Forget Panda Express Orange chicken — we’re talking fresh, punchy citrus glaze that zaps through glistening slices of fried pork — still a gloriously fatty belly cut but with a modern upgrade. Anyone underwhelmed by a night-market bao bun, try this.
Photo: Hollie Younger
Weng says that the venture began as a food truck, and after almost two years of success on the road, they set up here in 2022. On weekdays, head for a solo lunch date perusing his extensive manga collection, but on Fridays, he says this place transforms into an open-door house party for friends and patrons to meet, greet and chow down.
After a double ordering of burgers, we pay a reasonably-priced bill and roll out feeling rather like overstuffed bao buns ourselves. “See you Friday!” Weng calls out. He just might.
The unexpected collapse of the recall campaigns is being viewed through many lenses, most of them skewed and self-absorbed. The international media unsurprisingly focuses on what they perceive as the message that Taiwanese voters were sending in the failure of the mass recall, especially to China, the US and to friendly Western nations. This made some sense prior to early last month. One of the main arguments used by recall campaigners for recalling Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) lawmakers was that they were too pro-China, and by extension not to be trusted with defending the nation. Also by extension, that argument could be
Aug. 4 to Aug. 10 When Coca-Cola finally pushed its way into Taiwan’s market in 1968, it allegedly vowed to wipe out its major domestic rival Hey Song within five years. But Hey Song, which began as a manual operation in a family cow shed in 1925, had proven its resilience, surviving numerous setbacks — including the loss of autonomy and nearly all its assets due to the Japanese colonial government’s wartime economic policy. By the 1960s, Hey Song had risen to the top of Taiwan’s beverage industry. This success was driven not only by president Chang Wen-chi’s
Last week, on the heels of the recall election that turned out so badly for Taiwan, came the news that US President Donald Trump had blocked the transit of President William Lai (賴清德) through the US on his way to Latin America. A few days later the international media reported that in June a scheduled visit by Minister of National Defense Wellington Koo (顧立雄) for high level meetings was canceled by the US after China’s President Xi Jinping (習近平) asked Trump to curb US engagement with Taiwan during a June phone call. The cancellation of Lai’s transit was a gaudy
The centuries-old fiery Chinese spirit baijiu (白酒), long associated with business dinners, is being reshaped to appeal to younger generations as its makers adapt to changing times. Mostly distilled from sorghum, the clear but pungent liquor contains as much as 60 percent alcohol. It’s the usual choice for toasts of gan bei (乾杯), the Chinese expression for bottoms up, and raucous drinking games. “If you like to drink spirits and you’ve never had baijiu, it’s kind of like eating noodles but you’ve never had spaghetti,” said Jim Boyce, a Canadian writer and wine expert who founded World Baijiu Day a decade
RSS