Typhoons and Tea

Hello everyone! As I write this, Typhoon Soulik is approaching Taiwan. On the suggestion of my teachers, I stocked up on food, including non-perishables like instant noodles, because it's likely that this weekend going outdoors will be difficult. I've also seen people putting duct tape on their windows in an X shape, to help guard against shattering (or at least against shards flying everywhere). I'm not certain whether I should do that, but I have closed and locked my windows. I looked online for more typhoon tips, and found a lot of advice on how to avoid flood damage. Fortunately, I live on the thirteenth floor, so I'm not too concerned about water damage to my own belongings, but for the sake of people who live closer to the ground I hope the water level stays minimal.

This notice was posted in the elevator in my dorm.

Our classes ended at 2 PM, so I had my first two classes but not my last one. I'm glad I was able to go to class, though, because in my 1:10 PM class we got to practice the traditional Chinese way of making and serving tea! The unit in our textbook that we most recently studied deals with Chinese tea culture. This approach to tea is a cultural rather than national one, and is definitely present in Taiwan as well as mainland China.  (In fact, I'm surprised at how often my textbooks, written in Taiwan, refer to "Chinese culture" as having elements applying to both Taiwan and the mainland. In my morning class, we got into a discussion about how in Taiwan some people feel certain references to China, such as businesses with "China" in the name, are unpatriotic, but the names often persist anyway. There are a few different words that get translated into English as "Chinese" even just limiting ourselves to the ones that come through in English as an adjective, as in "she's Chinese." "From the mainland" and "ethnically Chinese" are very distinct concepts with very distinct words. As for referring to the language, Mandarin, that's another can of worms. There are many words that refer to it, with different shades of meaning and decrees of inclusiveness. I'm going to have to be careful not to step on anyone's toes!)

Where was I? Oh right, tea! In China and Taiwan, tea (茶, chá) is traditionally the most important beverage. Growing and brewing tea is an art, and tea connoisseurs have a whole procedure for how to enjoy it properly. The whole process is supposed to be very stress-relieving and good for you. It reminds me of the culture of wine connoisseurs, where smelling and analyzing the wine is an important part of enjoying it. Today in class, each of us took a turn brewing and serving the tea! Here's how it went, as best I can remember. We were given a list of instructions, but they are in Chinese and full of difficult tea jargon! Unfortunately, I didn't remember to take any pictures, but I'll find some images from Wikimedia to show you the parts of the tea set and their functions. I'll probably still get some of this stuff wrong, but here goes!

This tea set looks a bit like the one we used. Note the teapot, carafe, cups, and tea tray.
By Michal Osmenda from Brussels, Belgium (Chinese tea set  Uploaded by russavia) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Our teacher (老師 = Lǎoshī, a convenient word you can use as a term of address for teachers at all levels) brought in some oolong tea (烏龍茶, Wūlóngchá). This kind won first place in a Taiwanese tea competition! It was packaged as loose tea leaves in a double-lidded can. She said it's important to keep the can of tea closed tightly, because Taiwan's famous humidity can affect the tea. The can is technically called a "茶倉, Chá cāng" which Google Translate renders as "tea warehouse," but that's not the connotation it's supposed to have! Laoshi told us you could just as easily call it "the box you keep tea in," but since it's supposed to be fancy, there are words for tea serving implements (collectively, 茶具 = Chájù) that might not show up in dictionaries. 

First, you need to warm up the tea set. You do this by placing the teapot (茶壺, Cháhú) two kinds of teacups (I'll get to those!) and "tea sea" (茶海, Chá hǎi), which I'd probably translate as "carafe", on top of the tea tray (茶盤, Chápán) and pouring hot water over them from the kettle. The tea tray has a reservoir in the bottom where the water can collect, and a spout from which it can be poured out. Laoshi did this part for us.

Next, you use the tea spoon (茶匙 Cháchí) to measure out the amount of tea leaves (茶葉, Cháyè) you would like to use into the 茶則 (Chá zé). This term is a hard one to translate, and Google's no help; I'd probably go with "tea scoop." It's a little trowel-shaped scoop that holds about a few tablespoons. See the photo I posted above. The tea spoon itself is very long-handled with a tiny, almost spatula-like bowl on the end. I was a little generous with the tea because I like it strong. We used new tea leaves for each time, to give everyone the chance, but every tea aficionado has a different idea of how many times you can use tea leaves for best quality.

 When you've measured out your tea, you bring the scoop around to every guest and let them smell the tea. At this point, like with wine, people who know what they're talking about will comment on the color and aroma. I, of course, have no clue what I'm talking about!

In the jar, on the left, a tea scoop. In the middle, a tea spoon.
By Gary Stevens (Flickr: Tea utensils) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Once everyone has had a chance to smell the tea, you put your tea leaves into the teapot- making sure you've dumped out any water that you were using to keep it warm! The dumped water should go into a 水方 (shuǐ fāng) - a "water basin," I guess- but we didn't have one so we just used a bucket. 
Then, you wash the tea. You pour a little bit of hot water onto the tea leaves to allow them to open up, as well as to rinse off any dirt. After swirling it around a little bit, you pour off the liquid into a 渣方 (zhā fāng) - a "dregs basin?"- but we didn't have one of those either, so into the bucket went the tea rinse water. This is one of many time judgments you will have to make: too short a rinsing time and you could end up with dirty tea; too long and you might lose some flavor into the rinse. I think I poured too much water onto the tea, so I didn't rinse it very long to compensate.

Now you brew the tea! You pour the hot water into the teapot in three motions, known as "the phoenix nods three times" (鳳凰三點頭, Fènghuáng sān diǎntóu). First you fill it a third of the way, then lift the kettle; then you fill it another third, and lift the kettle; finally, you fill it until water overflows the top of the teapot. At this point, you take the lid of the teapot and swirl it around the opening at the top of the pot to make sure all of the tea leaves that floated up get knocked back into the pot. Then you close the teapot and pour more hot water over it to help it heat up.

Once the tea is in the pot, it's time for the major time judgment: how long to steep it! I decided to go for three minutes, longer than the classmate who went before me, because I wanted stronger tea. While the tea is steeping, theoretically you're making scintillating conversation with your guests! We put on some traditional Chinese music - from the teacher's iPhone, which I think speaks almost poetically to the timelessness of this tradition. Another classmate brought pineapple cakes, which are a traditional Taiwanese snack to serve with tea. Laoshi said peanuts are another such snack, but that other places have other specialties. I couldn't help but think of scones and cream with an English tea. 

Think you've steeped the tea enough? Now you pour it into the carafe, with the tea leaves remaining in the teapot, and let it sit. This part is so the sediment can settle to the bottom of the carafe, allowing you to pour nice clear tea for your guests. You guessed it- you have to judge the time carefully. If you let it sit too long, it won't have as much flavor; too short and you'll have sediment in your tea.

And now, the moment of truth! To serve the tea, you pour it from the carafe into the smelling cups (聞香杯, wénxiāng bēi). These cups are taller, with a smaller diameter at the mouth compared to the regular drinking teacups (茶杯, chábēi). Both kinds are without handles. Of course, taller and smaller are relative terms; both kinds of cups are small enough to fit in one hand. Even I could probably down that amount of tea in one big mouthful, but that would of course be rude! Once the smelling cups are full, you take each one, place a teacup on top, and invert it quickly so the tea goes into the teacup without spilling. If you spill, though, it will drain into the bottom of the tea tray. You serve each guest their tea with one empty smelling cup and one full teacup on a little individual plate. You use both hands to hand guests their plates, and say "請用茶" (Qǐng yòng chá). Literally, this means "Please use the tea," but in context it's a polite way to invite your guests to drink their tea. (I'm pretty sure this is what you say, anyway- it could be I've gotten it mixed up somehow!)

This woman is in the process of inverting the smelling cup into the teacup.
Photo by quinn norton via Wikimedia Commons, originally posted to Flickr.

What about those smelling cups? They're for exactly what it sounds like. Before drinking the tea, you first smell its scent from the smelling cup. If you've brewed it right, the cup will still smell like tea even after the tea has been poured out. The narrow opening keeps too much of the aroma from escaping, just like certain wineglasses are designed to do. Again, connoisseurs take this opportunity to remark on the scent. Laoshi said my tea was very fragrant, judging from the smelling cup. That's what I was going for, with the long steep time. After smelling, you sip the tea, slowly and leisurely enough to really taste its flavor. My other classmates brewed it a bit less strong than I did, according to taste, but this tea was good at all levels of strength. It was a clear, pale yellow-beige, even when brewed strong. According to Laoshi, a light clear color even when strong is the mark of good tea. It had a pleasant taste, a little bit flowery but still with distinct tea flavor.

In traditional Chinese weddings - including our teacher's!- the bride often goes through the whole ceremony of serving tea to friends and family members. She says it's a lot of pressure, because your new in-laws are watching your every move! It must be embarrassing if you spill something or break a cup, like I'm sure I would...

Well, as of now there are no high winds or heavy rains where I am, but it looks like the storm proper may come in soon. I will keep you posted on the typhoon. Wish me luck!

Shilin Night Market!

Yesterday, for the second time in as many days, I went to Shilin Night Market. That's 士林夜市　(Shìlín yèshì) for those wondering. I think it's high time I gave you all a glimpse into one of my favorite Taiwanese traditions. Lucky for you, on Friday I had the foresight to take a bunch of pictures!

A night market is exactly what it sounds like: a marketplace that opens by night. There are a few of them in Taipei, each with its own special characteristics that attract shoppers. Generally, the market takes place over an area of a few streets, which are closed to car traffic during that time. Whether the streets are formally or informally closed, I'm not sure. It probably depends on the individual market. There are roadside stands selling food, beverages, clothing, trinkets, and other goods, as well as some brick-and-mortar stores and restaurants that stay open late.

I've been to a few markets: Shilin, which is a subway trip from where I live, Shīdà (師大), which is within walking distance, and Gōngguǎn (公館), which is just down the street from me. I suspect some might not consider Gongguan's market a full-fledged night market; it's pretty small and only sells food. As I write this, it occurs to me I've never bought anything there- I think I need to fix that!

I've heard that the tradition of night markets began with stands that cropped up around temples. Shilin market's Wikipedia article says that this particular market started around a wharf on the Keelung River, but there is also a temple there.

Temple at Shilin. I took this picture the first time I was there, a few weeks ago.

In the case of Shilin, some of the market is even housed in a building, with food in the basement and mostly clothing and games on the ground floor. There don't seem to be any stands that sell only alcoholic drinks, but you can buy beer at some of the sit-down booths.

The building that houses many of the stands at Shilin.

 I went on Friday night with two friends, Rosa and Sam. Rosa and I had both been to Shilin before, but Sam, a friend from my hometown who arrived in Taiwan a week or so ago, had not. In fact, I think it was her first trip to a night market! Of course, we decided we had to bring her to Shilin, which is among the biggest and busiest night markets.

We arrived at the brightly lit entrance with a plan: we were going to try stinky tofu. I had seen- and smelled- this Taiwanese delicacy before, but I'd never ordered it myself. But Rosa had, and she recommended it. It's tofu that is fermented, giving it a characteristic stink, and can be prepared in a number of ways. Wherever it is sold, you can smell it from a ways away. The smell isn't terrible, but it's very strong. It's a distinctive smell that reminds me a bit of some stinky cheeses, though I can't really describe it well enough to convey it to someone who's never smelled it.

Inside the market building, we went to a place which had space for seating (in fact, I think it was only sit-down, even though it looked like a little stand).  We ordered one serving of the tofu fried, and another in spicy mala broth. I'd been told that the fried kind was "for beginners," so I hoped I'd like at least that one.

Stinky tofu in mala broth.

The tofu in mala broth definitely stank more at first. But since we were sitting at a stinky tofu restaurant, we were more or less used to the smell by the time our food came out. Still, I found it helpful to hold my breath as I ate it, so I could taste more of the spices and less of the stink. It really does taste much better than it smells, though. As I continued eating it, I think I noticed the stink less and less.

The mala broth also had "duck blood cake" in it, which Rosa had ordered because she likes it. I didn't try any, though. It's duck blood, congealed into small pieces that I'd have thought were some kind of organ meat if I didn't know better. Same principle as black pudding. Sam liked it, as far as I could tell. Rosa says it doesn't taste like much of anything, but one of my teachers says she doesn't like it because to her it tastes like putting your finger in your mouth when you have a cut. I'll report back if I'm ever brave enough to try it (because, let's face it, I'm never going to win any awards for being a strict vegetarian).

My favorite thing about that dish, though, was the mala broth. It was spicy and flavorful. And it didn't take on an iron taste from the duck blood or anything. I'd like to try mala hotpot if I get the chance.

Fried stinky tofu with pickled vegetables.

The fried stinky tofu definitely stank less at first. I liked the crispy exterior, which I'm fond of on non-stinky tofu as well. It wasn't flavored strongly with anything, but it was served with pickled vegetables to balance out the grease. I really liked the vegetables, and kept eating the tofu as an excuse to eat more of the tangy, vinegary pickles. Interestingly, I think we noticed the stink of this kind more and more over time. I'm not sure why- possibly because we were getting used to the stink from the spicy kind? So I held my breath, which again helped to bring out the flavors. I added some hot peppers, too, from a jar on the table, and I liked that combination.

So, my take on stinky tofu? Not bad. Mostly a good excuse to eat something spicy or pickled. I'd order it again with friends, but I don't think I could finish a serving on my own. However, everyone says it's an acquired taste, so there's at least a chance I'll be nostalgic for it by the time the summer is over.

Next, we wandered around looking for more snacks. Sam got small sausage wrapped in big sausage, a Taiwanese answer to the hot dog. It's a small sausage, available in a few varieties, grilled and placed in a large rice sausage, which serves as the bun. I'm not sure how exactly the rice sausage is made, but my guess is that it's rice in a sausage casing, with perhaps some meat drippings to flavor it and hold it together. At the same stand, you could also buy sausages that were as long as my forearm and as thick as my wrist.

I looked around for the peanut brittle ice cream roll I had seen at Dragon Boat Festival, which I had also seen sold at Shilin the last time I was there. At first I couldn't find the guy, which wasn't all that surprising considering how huge the market is. So I decided I'd get a different dessert, which, if I were in a movie, naturally ought to mean that as soon as I did, I'd see the dessert I was looking for all along. Foolproof illogic!

I decided I'd get a crêpe. Lots of flavors were available, so I picked chocolate banana. The vendor poured out batter on a huge griddle and spread it thin as he made everyone's orders. I ended up with a HUGE crepe, full of a thin layer of chocolate that got crispy on the hot griddle, and topped with big chunks of banana. Delicious!

Chocolate banana crêpe. Share one with your friends! You'll need to.

Of course, as I was strolling along snacking on chocolate banana goodness, I saw the ice cream man! The peanut brittle ice cream man, to be precise. Looks like the movies were right (I kid, I kid; I'm a scientist).  Crêpes be damned, I needed to try the cool refreshing treat. So I offered the rest of my crêpe to Sam and Rosa, and asked the guy how much for an ice cream roll. 30 NT, he told me, which is about $1 US!

So I ordered one, and watched as he made it. First he put down a thin rice wrapper of the kind used in spring rolls. Then he grated a handful or so of flakes from a huge block of peanut brittle, using a large planer. He sprinkled the flakes on the wrapper and topped it with two scoops of ice cream, in different flavors. Then he asked me if I wanted cilantro. Of course I did! So he sprinkled the last of the cilantro out of a jar- good thing I arrived when I did, or I'd have missed it. He rolled it up and handed it to me, and I took a bite, hoping it would fulfill my expectations.

Sorry this one turned out so blurry. Guess I'll have to go back and get another roll.

I didn't need to worry- it was as good as I'd hoped. The crunchy peanut brittle provided a pleasant texture and flavor contrast with the creamy ice cream. And the cilantro added a really nice fresh touch. I think part of why the combination worked was that the ice cream was fruity rather than creamy- it may even have been sorbet, as opposed to ice cream. One flavor was pineapple; the other was a milder flavor I couldn't identify. Highly recommended!

We kept strolling around for a while, enjoying the festive atmosphere. Rosa stood in a long line for a piece of fried chicken that had to be the size of my face. She and Sam also got tea, and the "smalls" they ordered turned out to be 700mL, which is a lot of tea. Not all the food here is huge, but you can get a lot of bang for your buck if giant food is your thing.

We caught the last subway train home, at 12:30. That's the only downside to Taipei's otherwise excellent public transportation system: it closes much too early. Especially so for a city renowned for its night markets, which are open until 2 AM! The buses end even earlier, at 10:30. If you're out late and you have a long way home, your only option is a taxi. The one time I've taken one here, it was very reasonably priced, but I still wish the MRT ran late.

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Around here, some sit-down restaurants were advertising to the night market crowds.

Yesterday, I ended up back at Shilin, since it was the last stop on a planned day trip that a bunch of us took (much, much more about that later). I had plans to meet Rosa and Sam elsewhere later, so I didn't stay very long, but I did buy some fried mushrooms I'd been eyeing the day before. There were three kinds: long thin enoki, king oyster mushrooms chopped into small chunks, and another that faintly resembled a button mushroom. They were tasty, fried in a crispy batter, and I got them with hot pepper dust. But after a while, I had the same response I usually have when trying to finish a whole serving of fried food alone, namely: "I should have split this with a friend". The greasiness got to be a bit much, so I didn't finish the bag. Next time, I'll find someone to share them with. I think they'd be great with some kind of dipping sauce - my favorite sriracha-mayo combination would be a good candidate.

I also bought a little glass trinket, in the shape of a bunch of hot peppers. I'd seen it in the stall the day before, and told the vendor I liked hot peppers and was thinking of buying it. I told her I'd come back, partially to be polite, but I ended up deciding it was too good to pass up. Wish I had a fraction of this glassworking skill!

That cabbage at the top? I think it's an art reference. Teaser for my museum post!

One thing I find interesting about the night markets I've been to is that they aren't overrun with tourists. While it's certainly popular with visitors, most people who go there are Taiwanese. Of course, not all foreigners are tourists, and not nearly everyone who speaks Chinese or looks like they might be Chinese is a local (ask any of the Asian-American students studying here). But by and large, it's clear that the night market isn't something Taipei residents do once and then leave up to the sightseers- it's a place lots of people go to hang out on weekends. Teenagers, students, old people, families with kids - there's something for everyone. Which is not to say everything is rated PG: there is a condoms-and-novelties store that has some risqué items on display, and a stand where you can buy suggestively shaped snacks. But they're easy to avoid if you don't want to feel awkward around your kids- or your parents!

Stay tuned for more Taipei adventures. Yesterday's trip to the Lin Yu-tang House and the National Palace Museum merits its own post. And of course, I'll be making plenty of trips back to the night markets, and reporting the highlights!