169. Taiwan Day 4: My Absolute Favorite Local Spot / 我最喜歡吃台南意麵黑白切 (Taipei: Jhong Jheng District / 台北市: 中正區)

I have written about this place before, a curiously popular eatery that is just bigger than a hole-in-the-wall but still slightly smaller than a restaurant in size.  It is nestled between apartment complexes and a produce store in a residential neighborhood.  It has no English name, but I have previously titled it Black White Slice, which is a careless translation of its name in the local language.  It is a true local spot, an absolute personal favorite... good enough reason to introduce this place to Diana and the Ma brothers, Jordan and Justin... and good enough reason to write about it again.  (See previous post here.)

The sliced goose (鵝肉 / Mandarin: é ròu) is a must here... an absolute must.  The chef poaches it in its own juice, allowing the meat to reabsorb its own natural juices and flavors.  It is cooked just to the point past rare so that the flesh is still tender.  The fat from the skin renders down into the succulent yet lean flesh and makes each slice extra supple, extra glistening, extra delicious.  Pair each bite some freshly sliced ginger, the fragrant basil leaves, or even a dip in the sweet chili sauce for a taste of pure heaven.

The noodles are also a must.  After all, it is in the name of the restaurant, and you can take my word for it.  There are two options, the flatter house egg noodles (意麵 / Mandarin: yì miàn) and its slightly thicker and rounder street stall variation chek-ah noodles (切仔麵 / Taiwanese: chek-ah mi, Mandarin: qie zǎi miàn), both of which are topped off with bean sprouts, sliced leeks, scallions, crispy fried shallots, and a sprinkle of white pepper.  Oh, and the broth? It's made from the poaching liquid of the goose... so sensually good.

When I think about the freshly sliced liver (豬肝 / Mandarin: zhu gan) here, my mouth waters.  It is nothing like any liver you have ever tasted before... the tough, iron tasting, brown and bubbly looking jerky-like substance that used to be eaten only when there wasn't enough money for actual meat.  This is different.  It is fresh and doesn't have any metal taste, and the texture is almost silken like a very fine tofu.  There's tons of fresh ginger to add to the liver if you're still squeamish, but this is nothing to be scared about.

Since the first time I visited this place almost a decade ago, I have always ordered the smoked shark (鯊魚煙 / Taiwanese: soa hee ian, Mandarin: sha yú yan).  The meat itself is soft and mild, very similar to unagi.  Even its smokiness is not as apparent but just a bit more scented than the typical smokiness from lox.  Dip it into the soy sauce paste and wasabi the way you would sashimi, and the natural sweetness of the fish develops.

I prefer my oysters raw in America, but in Taiwan I prefer them deep fried, made into omelettes or par-cooked like this.  These fresh blanched oysters (燙蚵仔 / Taiwanese: thng ô-ah) are perfectly bite-sized and served with sweet chili sauce, ginger and basil... easy to chase down with a swig of Taiwan Beer or a slurp of hot noodles.

We ordered some fresh asparagus tips (蘆筍 / Mandarin: lú sǔn) to balance out our protein heavy meal.  These chilled green vegetables work as a refreshing palate cleanser for all the dishes laden with soy, ginger, garlic, basil, and wasabi. 

Stinky tofu, oh, stinky tofu, how I love you so.  For something that is usually quite malodorous when deep fried, this spicy and steamed variation on the fermented bean curd (麻辣臭豆腐 / Mandarin: má là chòu dòu fǔ) is not as unpleasant.  In fact, the garlic, chili pepper, and peppercorn that it is simmered in makes for an aroma that draws you in and keeps you coming back for more.  The numbing spiciness of the broth requires you to follow it with a spoonful of noodles and soup to wash it away, but soon after the cleanse it beckons you to take another bite... only to have you chase it again with savory goose broth.  Slippery slope, much? I don't mind rolling down this hill...

By the way, this is a beer drinking establishment.  Customers grab the chilled bottles of Taiwan Beer from the self help fridge in the back of the restaurant and pop each one with the opener sitting in a basket on every table.  Every table, whether it's the businessmen who have just escaped their cubicles or the college students procrastinating on research assignments, has at least one bottle of beer.  Ours have four... so far.  All of these small plates or small bites (小吃 / Mandarin: xiǎo chi) paired with the alcohol makes this form of black white slice cuisine (黑白切 / Taiwanese: ouh beh tzeh, Mandarin: hei bái qie) something I look forward to each time I visit Taiwan.  From the looks of it, the Ma brothers, who happen to live just around the corner from here, may be looking forward to another visit as well.  Cheers, y'all.  Until next time, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

Tainan Noodle Black White Slice (台南意麵黑白切) 
台北市中正區濟南路二段53-8號 
No. 63-8, Jinan Rd., Sec. 2, Jhong Jheng District, Taipei City
MRT: Zhongxiao Xinsheng Station, exit no. 5 / 捷運忠孝新生站, 5號出口

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Post 15.1: Did We Really Eat Diaphragm? (Bay Area: Milpitas)

I ate diaphragm.  Or at least that's what the menu read.

While in the Bay Area for a quick 20 hours, Vickee took me around her hood for a quick bite at Milpitas Square before my return flight to LA.  Of all the different Asian restaurants in Milpitas Square, we stopped at Taiwan Noodle House (台灣排骨大王), a small mom and pop shop that serves Taiwanese snacks and a variety of Taiwanese-style noodles.  Of course, the literal translation of the restaurant's name from Han characters means Taiwan Pork Chop King... but hopefully the off-translation just meant that the food was authentic.

And authentic it was.  The menu listed 'diaphragm' as a specialty! Can you get any more authentic than that? Since it was so different from anything on the menu (trust me, everything else on the menu is pretty standard), I had to try it.  Plus, when I had asked the owner what she recommended, the she immediately responded, "Would you like to try diaphragm?"

Silently, Vickee shot me the are-you-serious-you're-gonna-order-diaphragm-I-hope-it's-not-really-diaphragm look. 

Me: "Yes, please."

So adding onto our soup noodles with deep-fried pork chops, we ordered a diabolical diaphragm as an appetizer.  How did it taste?

The first reaction was that it was firm yet tender.  A bit elastic and springy.  If protein could be al dente, this would be it.  Taiwanese traditionally describe this firm yet tender, elastic and springy texture as 'Q,' a term that can be used for anything from noodles to meatballs to... well, diaphragm.

My second reaction was that it didn't taste, smell, or look like anything out of the ordinary.  No strong flavors? No strange after taste? Hrmmm... so I began to wonder what exactly this diaphragm was.  We asked the boss, and she explained that diaphragm (豬肝蓮) actually refers to the meat surrounding the liver of the pig.  Is it really diaphragm? No, although had it been, Andrew Zimmerman would have been quite proud.

My third reaction was that it was really good.  Dipped in the traditional Taiwanese garlic soy sauce paste and garnished with fresh cilantro and sliced ginger, the flash-boiled meat that circumscribed the pork liver made for a really enjoyable appetizer.

Would I ever eat it again? You betcha.  (Sarah Palin-esque?)

The bowl of noodles that arrived soon after was not bad at all.  Although there was a viscous layer of oil across the top of the noodles, the blanched baby bok choy helped provide a healthier balance.

I was really delighted to see a few goji berries sprinkled into the soup.  Not only do that further the health benefit ever-so-slightly, it really broke up the monotony of the yellows and greens in the bowl.  (While often used to slow-cook light soup or broth in Asia, the health benefits of goji berries have recently picked up in America.  You can now find them in the aisles in supermarkets such as Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, and Henry's.)

I added a few shakes of the white pepper to give the soup a slight kick, but I had realized why the soup was a bit bland when the fried pork chop arrived.

This protein-packed plate was to be added to the noodles and soup.  Hidden from view is the hard-boiled egg that has later been braised in a soy sauce concoction of sorts.  Also to be added to the bowl of simple soup was the deep-fried tofu triangle, which had also been braised in the same soy sauce concoction as the egg.

The pickled cucumber and the chopped, pickled mustard greens are served alongside to help break the savory flavors and to cleanse the palate from the oils of the deep-fried pork chop and oily soup.

Not bad.  Not bad at all.  It definitely hit the spot quickly, but as Vickee mentioned, "it's not like we can't make this at home."  True, the noodles did resemble the instant dry noodles that can be purchased at an Asian supermarket.  (Funny how 99 Ranch is only 3 doors down...)  But I wasn't disappointed at all.

So I tried 'diaphragm' for the first time, and I ate a pork chop the size of my face with a bowl of noodles the size of my torso.  Not bad for less than 20 hours in the Bay Area.  Until next time, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

Notes:
'Diaphragm' is traditionally served in Taiwanese hole-in-the-wall deli shops called 黑白切 (Taiwanese: ouh beh tzeh, Mandarin: hei bai qie).  Look for a forthcoming post for this style of Taiwanese food.

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