A taste of Taiwan at Taipei 101
Thompson: Venue offers a host of unique dishes, ingredients.
Much in the way a new joke is often an old joke you’ve never heard before, a new restaurant could simply be new for you ,a proven venue you never knew existed, or perhaps a place you hadn’t yet gotten around to trying.
As such, periodically, I’ll be introducing readers to older eateries I enjoy in the interest of inspiring a little exploration, whether out of your culinary comfort zone, or simply outside your zip code.
If you’re not often in East Orlando, Taipei 101 will fit the bill for the latter. But what’s more important is that this small, unassuming strip-mall venue, perhaps a mile from UCF, almost certainly has a host of dishes, and even ingredients, you’ve likely never sampled.
I’ve been eating there since 2013 (and I take out more often than I dine in) but could still use a “101” class in Taiwanese food, which over time has evolved from various cooking styles around China, Japanese colonization and influences outside Asia.
The menu hasn’t changed much in its roughly six years in operation, but I might cry real tears if they stopped serving the Lu Dan (braised eggs; $2.50). As a Taiwanese staple, however, they’re likely pretty safe.
You’ll enjoy a sample in any of Taipei 101’s “Meal Boxes,” which also come with noodles and rice (with minced pork over the top of the latter), so if you’re curious about the egg, but not overjoyed – you’ll get a taste here.
But really, you should be overjoyed.
The richly stained eggs simmer in a pot with soy sauce, sugar and a range of
spices for that rich, sexy color. This could mean ginger, chili, cinnamon and garlic, among other things, but most certainly includes star anise, infusing the creamy eggs with its unique licorice-like flavor.
It’s one you’ll find all over the menu. Though five-spice powder recipes can vary somewhat, star anise is standard and fivespice (which if you’re unfamiliar is robust and sweet, but not heat-laden) figures prominently here.
The gua bao, for example, features a sticky-sweet sauce infused with five spices on its tender, fatladen pork belly. This bao’s on the printed menu but watch the specials board for other options. On my last visit I sampled a shrimp cake variety (shrimp/crab, spicy mayo, peanuts, cucumber, cilantro, Taiwanese brown sugar; $4.50 for one, two for $8) that was reminiscent – in the best way possible – of the fish cakes I adored at my Brooklyn preschool.
The salted pork bao sounded tempting, but already had a dry-erase X beside it on the board. So, too, did other specials, including pork pottage with noodles, Taiwanese BBQ with shiitake squid pottage, the eggplant pork meal box and scallion pancake. It was only 2:30 p.m. I
told you this place was good.
“Pottage,” if it’s a new word for you, is a variation on “porridge,” a thick, peasanty stew.
Soup fans will note that Taipei 101 often has at least one ramen special – they added this to the menu a few years back. I enjoyed a steamy bowl of tonkatsu during the last cold spell, but more often opt for the Niu Rou Tang Mian (spicy beef noodle soup; $9.95), a dish for which Taiwan is known.
The soft entry selection for my kids years back was Mi Fen Chao ($7.75), a flavorful mix of delicate rice noodles and minced pork with slender-chopped vegetables.
Asian cuisine is nose-totail to be sure; Taiwan is no exception. Staples on the menu include pig ear and chitterlings, though you’ll often see other offal – hearts, gizzards and the like – making appearances as specials.
I’ve eaten crispy-fried pig’s ear and found it tasty – like heavy-duty chicharrón – and had chitterlings in Asian soups, with rich broth and crunchy veggies as textural accompaniment, but here, the cartilage I so prize at the ends of a wing bone, or amid a pot of soup chicken, does little for me. The chitterlings smack gelatinous. Gummy. Both are awash in flavors like those delectable eggs, but I’ll be honest. I’m just not that into them.
Next time, I might throw ‘em in a pan and try crisping them up.
I endeavor to like everything, but don’t always. Everyone who knows me can tell you that I never refuse chopped liver. Ever. But it doesn’t seem to matter if I find it studded with hard-boiled eggs on a Passover Seder plate or alongside crusty rounds on a frou-frou French charcuterie board. I haven’t encountered one that’s inspired me to take a second bite.
I still won’t “officially” not like it, though. And I’ll never stop trying. Not chopped liver. Not Taipei 101’s pig ear. Not anything else.
Neither should any of you.