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.