In search of stinky tofu

I had read about stinky tofu, or chou doufu as it's known here, long before I came to Taiwan. It's a form of fermented tofu that is left to rot in a brine of fermented milk, vegetables, and meat for up to several months before being served, creating the particular stench that gives stinky tofu it's name. And, yes, it's stinky! You smell stinky tofu as soon as you come near, leaving no doubt as to what it is you're about to eat. It also takes on an extremely soft texture as a result of being left to ferment for so long, as well as a shiny, black pallor. The Taiwanese are crazy about it, and I wanted to find out what all the fuss is about.

I had visited several street markets over the last week but had not yet seen the elusive, yet apparently very popular stinky tofu. Then one day while hiking in Maokong, outside of Taipei, I came across this cluster of food stalls along the ridge line.

Lo and behold: I had found the stinky tofu! The smell certainly lived up to it's name. I held my nose and ordered.

Sadly, it wasn't love at first bite. The tofu had the sick taste of something that had been rotting for a long time, and the texture was so soft and slimy that it really turned me off.

(Incidentally, the hike in Maokong takes you along a path lined with historic tea houses which overlook a deep valley along the ridge line. For centuries, these tea houses have offered a perfect place for weary hikers to rest, and they will definitely be the subject of a forthcoming post.)

Undeterred by my first experience, I decided to try stinky tofu again tonight in Kaoshiung. I headed to the Liuhe Night Market, famous for local delicacies, to see if I would like the Southern Taiwan version of stinky tofu any better.

I walked the length of the market searching for those stinky, black cubes. Finally, at the last stall, I was stopped by the distinctive smell. I pointed to the large, simmering pot. "stinky tofu?" I asked.

The proprietor, having no English, understood my meaning but tried to dissuade me, pointing instead to the pots of regular tofu instead. "No," I insisted, "stinky tofu. One, please!."

Resigned, the cook started scooping out the dark pieces of tofu. This time, the dish was prepared a little differently. In addition to the tofu, she added delicate mushrooms, and bathed the whole concoction in a red sauce that was much spicier than the last one. She also asked, reluctantly, if I wanted another particularly offensive ingredient - some kind of innards."Yes, please." I said, figuring that I might as well go whole hog.

I have to say, this time, I really enjoyed my stinky tofu. The spicy sauce and the delicate, stringy mushrooms really brought another dynamic to the tofu. And even the innards added their own, unique dimension. Finally, I think I know what all the fuss is about. And although I won't be ordering stinky tofu daily, I won't shun it either. It's a unique taste of Taiwan, and one that I recommend you try if you ever visit - at least once.

Seoul Food

I only had about 2 1/2 days in Seoul - not enough time to really experience the food culture there. But I wanted to get in as much as possible. Finding street food in Seoul was the easy part: I was staying in one of the university areas, with ample nightlife and the street stalls that go with it. The hard part was deciding what to eat first! I knew I needed to break myself in as quickly as possible. So I went for something really different (in other words, something that sounded potentially disgusting!), but that turned out to actually be really good.

The name of this dish is sundae. It's a kind of sausage made from pig's intestine stuffed with rice and pig's blood. It sounds gross but actually it was really good. I'd advise not eating the little scraps on the side, though. I don't know what they were but they kind of made me want to throw up.

Not quite satisfied, I surveyed the other offerings at the same stall. Each dish only cost about  $1.50 - quite a bargain!

I decided to try the Korean version of tempura, called twigim. I chose from a variety of veggies and seafood, and the cook fried them up before my eyes, and then smothered them with a sweet, spicy red sauce. Delicious!

After 11 hours on a plane, this was just what the doctor ordered. Delirious with jet lag, but now with a belly full of excellent Korean street food, I set about exploring the neighborhood. Koreans love to go out, be it eating, shopping, drinking or dancing. The streets were full of young university students, and I quickly noticed that many of them were stopping to enjoy a peculiar desert: shaved ice topped with a variety of beans, nuts, candies, and other, unknown toppings. Having flown 5,600 miles, I decided that one more dish was in order to celebrate being in my new surroundings. 

This one was really a treat! The red beans sounded weird mixed with ice cream, but they were delicious, and the shaved ice made the whole desert taste light and cool in the 90+ degree heat.

The following day I set out searching for the quintessence of Korean cuisine: bibimbap. It would have been easy enough to find a Korean restaurant serving bibimbap (although finding one with an English menu would have been a bit trickier). But sitting in an air conditioned restaurant and ordering off the menu wasn't what I had in mind. Instead, I headed out to Namdaemun Market, perhaps the biggest and most famous street market in Seoul. The market is spread out like a maze over several blocks, and I spent a good hour prowling through aisles of knock-off jeans and off-brand electronics before I came upon this little alleyway, and I knew I had found the spot!

I could tell right away that I had found something special. As I looked down the length of the alleyway I could see that all the seats were taken. The aroma of ginger, garlic and red pepper wafted through the air, and the room was full of the sounds of frying oil, clinking utensils, and people ordering excitedly in Korean. When a couple of women stood up to leave I grabbed their seats and was met by a gregarious cook with no English but who greeted me warmly and showed me a menu, all in Korean.

"Bibimbap!" I said. With this she began putting together the best bibimbap I have ever tasted. Honestly, I would marry into her family just so that I could eat that food on a regular basis. It was prepared differently from the bibimbap I have had in the States. Instead of being served in a single dish, she placed a series of dishes in front of me. She then took a pair of household scissors and cut the noodles and greens up, and motioned for me to stir them into the rice.

Every time I emptied the little bowl of kimchi, she would ladle out another bowl from an enormous bucket she kept behind the counter. The process of mixing the different dishes together created an incredible smell and kept me hungry and excited until I had finally finished the entire spread. I would have paid quite a bit for that dinner, but when she wrote the bill on a piece of paper I was even more delighted to see that it cost $5,000 Korean Won - about $4!

This is just a taste of the street food to come. I've since moved on from Korea to Taiwan, an island that truly is street food heaven! Look out for more updates - I'll definitely enjoy putting them together in the weeks and months ahead. : )