Taiwan Journal Ep. 1: Scallion Pancake with Egg and Soy Milk / 蛋餅加豆漿

This is a series of journals about Taiwan.

The journal will be mostly on my trip this March during spring break with the Harvard Asia Law Society, but many things that I felt was affected by my previous experiences with Taiwan, of course. I had thought about this for a little bit before writing the first words, because I don’t want to sound like a foreigner writing about an exotic place. Taiwan is not an exotic place. There are real people living there with real lives and real big problems. I want to do more than talk about how I was pleasantly surprised because of my ignorance.

So where to start? Let’s start with breakfast then, since I’m always thinking about eating and it’s probably the first thing on my mind after I wake up. So let’s talk about breakfast.

Speaking of breakfast, nothing is more Taiwanese to me than scallion pancake with egg and soy milk (I’m going to write 蛋餅加豆漿, since it just doesn’t sound right in English.) What is so “Taiwanese” about it, I am not too sure. I am pretty sure it’s not something indigenous or unique to Taiwan. Not too many things are, at least the things you can buy. I can get something like that in the U.S. too, in frozen form. They even sell that stuff in Yenching (across the street from Harvard Yard), but none of them speaks to me in the same way. The connection, then, must be on a more personal level.

On the very last morning before we took off for Boston, I had an encounter with 蛋餅加豆漿. We were supposed to meet at the lobby at around 7:00, so I took some time beforehand to get some food. At 6 in the morning on Sunday, Zhonghua Road was pretty much deserted, except for the occasional cab and scooter. I walked into the Ximen area and soon I heard the sound of metal spatulas clinking with sizzling hot griddles. I approached one street corner and there were two breakfast shops right next to each other.

I call them shops but they are really small makeshift kitchens along the sidewalk. The one on the right was bigger, brighter, and staffed with three or four women busy frying things in the griddle, and someone else handling the money. There was a small line of people, mostly wearing very casual clothing. On the left hand side there was one woman older than the others, handing off a small cup of soy milk to a customer wearing flip flops and a white t-shirt. I was looking at her as she turned around. As soon as she realized I was there, she motioned me over.

“What would you like?” She asked me in Chinese.

“蛋餅加豆漿,” I told her in Taiwanese.

“Sure.” She replied in Taiwanese. “You’re not from here right? Your Taiwanese does not have a Taipei accent.”

“My family’s from Chiayi (嘉義), but I actually go to school in the U.S.” I said. “And where are you from?”

“I’ve lived around here for a long time now, but I’m from Tainan. So we’re both from the south, yeah? Let me tell you something. Taipei is so different from the south.” She slapped the scallion pancakes onto the griddle.

“How so?”

“You know, people in the south (she used the word “下港人”, literally “lower port people”) are much nicer. They’ll help you out when you need them. Everyone help everyone, you know? Everyone You here only cares about themselves. They don’t give a damn about you. They’ll step all over you to get ahead. It just makes me mad. Look over there. A decade ago I came up here and opened this little place, and then those people over there decided to do exactly the same thing just to compete with me. See those girls working for her? They’re from Indonesia and God knows how much they’re getting paid. They’re just here to take our money.”

I looked over, and somehow I felt one of the women looking at me. I had a feeling she was more just curious as to what we’re talking about. She quickly went back to work.

Just then the customer that I saw before came back. “Hey let me have another cup of soy milk...I tripped on something and spilled the last cup.” The old woman ladled out another cup and ran it through the sealing machine. The customer fished out some change, cupped them in his left hand, and extended it to the old woman.

“No no no, no charge.” She said, and tossed the change back into the guy’s bag along with the cup of soy milk. The customer nodded, stuffed the change back into his pocket, and slowly walked away.

“So what are you doing here in Taipei? Vacationing?” The woman said as she turned her eyes back on the griddle.

“Something like that,” I said. “I’m here with some friends from school just doing some sightseeing and meeting some people.”

She stuffed my food in a little plastic bag, and added some soy sauce. “That’s good...that’s good. I hope you guys had a good stay.”

“Thank you. Well, so long.” I said as I paid her. She waved goodbye and returned to organizing her frozen meats in the small fridge she has next to the gas tank that was attached to the griddle.

I suppose it’s ironic that the first in the series about Taiwan actually turned out to be the very last meal I had in Taiwan since then. Or, put another way, the very last VIP I had a meeting with, among the many VIPs we met that week. I feel that I learned just as much about Taiwan and myself from her, as I did in any of our meetings or dinners. I learned that Taiwan isn’t just another exotic place or a topic of discussion in an international relations case study. This woman was living her life out in Taiwan, from the south to the north, from the past to the present. Seeing and getting in touch with that was more the point of my trip, I think.

But we knew that, even a week before that morning when we landed in Taipei. We were excited about being absorbed by Taiwan, loving it, hating it, not knowing what to think of it, feeling totally overwhelmed by it. We would have had foot massages, drank beer out of an ice bucket, stuffed our face with pork shabu shabu, and wondered about Taiwan’s future with the best and brightest and most passionate minds. But that’s for the next entry. For now, let’s just enjoy some breakfast.

Somewhere Only We Know (Part 1 of 3)

“The first few weeks of living in Kyoto were harder than I thought. Not that I haven’t lived in Japan before, but Kyoto was definitely something else. The old lady that lived next door yelled at me for using the wrong kind of trash bag---can you believe it? And oh yeah, working at the art gallery was really tough as well.”

Violet looked at her glass of water as if she were looking for something, and then looked at me.

“Wow. That does sound pretty tough,” I said.

“Definitely. Of course, after a while things got a lot better.”

“I know you could do it.”

We had just finished a late dinner at a small Thai restaurant somewhere in the Upper West Side. Sitting next to the floor-to-ceiling window that formed the façade, we had a good view of the narrow street outside. Occasionally a car would pass by, its headlights adding a brief moment of illumination to our candlelit table.

Violet sat across from me, her arms neatly folded at the edge of our small table, her body leaned in slightly. She was wearing a white button down shirt that was almost translucent, and through the opening of her collar I could see a very thin gold necklace. Her deep auburn hair came down straight past her shoulders and curled in at the tips, framing her face. She wasn’t wearing a ring.

“So, what exactly are you doing in New York?” I asked.

“There’s an upcoming auction at Sotheby’s and my gallery has a collection of items that’s part of the exhibition, so I was sent here to work with them. I’ve already met a couple of their people at lunch today. They seem like nice people.”

“I see. So how long are you going to stay in New York?”

“I’m not sure...the auction is in a week, but I suppose there will be things to take care of afterwards. My gallery basically told me I could stay as long as I need to.”

“That’s really nice of them.”

“Isn’t it?” She had a sip of water. “But enough about me. How have you been doing? I want to know.”

“Me? Nothing too exciting. It’s the same as always.”

“Really? That’s hard to believe. I heard you have your own clinic in Flushing. That must really be something.”

I laughed a little. “Once in a while I’d get some interesting cases, but overall it’s rather boring. Mostly family stuff. I see a lot of grandmas.”

She chuckled. “Really?”

“Mainly arthritis or high blood pressure, the usual. If it’s too serious then I’d just send them onto a bigger hospital.”

“I see...well, I still think it’s impressive. You’ll have to show me around one of these days.”

There weren’t many people left in the restaurant. I paused for a moment to look at Violet, and she smiled.

“It’s getting late.” She said.
　
“Shall we go?”

“Sure. Thanks for dinner.”

We got up and gathered our belongings, and I helped her into her jacket.

“Here,” she reached into the inside pocket on her jacket as she turned around. “They gave me a temporary cell phone and a box of business cards. Give me a call sometime if you’re not too busy, alright?”

* * *

Violet and I had met sometime during the spring semester of our freshmen year in college. We were in the same economics class, and before lecture one day she came up to me out of nowhere and asked if she could borrow a pencil. Being freshmen, we wasted no time in introducing ourselves to each other. After class she returned the pencil and we ended up having lunch together while talking about people we both knew.

For the next couple of months we would have lunch together after economics class, and then spend the rest of the afternoon sitting in the billiards lounge at the student center, talking about all sorts of things---what we liked to eat, our favorite spots for studying, ways to procrastinate, and funny stories about our friends. She had a special way of arching her back and leaning in close as she listened to me talk, as if nothing else around her mattered except for the silly words coming from me.

Violet was different from the other girls I knew. She usually wore nothing more elaborate than a t-shirt, a simple white cardigan and jeans. She didn’t care much for makeup or jewelry. And she always carried around a tiny notebook for taking notes while she read---and she read everything from 19th century Russian novels to Cosmo.

Violet had asked me to go to the annual campus-wide formal towards the end of that first school year. I hadn’t planned on going and I didn’t think too much into it, but Violet had pitched it as just a fun way for us to spend a Saturday evening, so I shrugged and said sure.

That evening I got ready, went over to Violet’s room, and knocked on her door. Moments later the door opened halfway, and through the gap between the door and the frame I saw her standing there. She had nothing on but a deep blue towel loosely wrapped around her. Her right hand was holding on to the edge of the towel over her left breast, and her hair was damp and clumped into thick strands that plastered onto her face. She looked at me with her mouth parted slightly, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity like nothing I had ever felt. I stood in the hallway silently. Finally she smiled, told me to wait outside for a bit, and disappeared behind the door as she slowly closed it.

After what felt like a couple of seconds she emerged again wearing a dazzling black satin spaghetti-strap dress. We then walked from her room to the formal, which was held in the vaulted, gothic-style freshmen dining hall. The drabness and strange odors that were still there at lunch were all but gone, replaced by ice sculptures and mountains of grapes and berries. Violet and I walked around and stopped to listen to the swing band.

After the swing bands played through three songs, Violet turned to me and grabbed my hand.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“Where to?”

“I’ll show you.”

She led me through the crowd of big sweaty guys by the chocolate fountain to the rear of the dining hall, and then we were out through the back exit. She took out a key from her purse, and unlocked the unmarked door next to the exit. Beyond the door a dark hallway appeared, at the end of which was an elevator.

We got in the elevator and went up. When the elevator doors opened again, we were at the balcony in the bell tower. Below us was the shape of the campus etched out by tiny lots of light, beyond which was the city, and then the harbor, everything shrouded by the dark navy blue of the night. The wind was strong up there, but it carried with it a sense of freshness and even a tint of saltiness that reminded me of the end of spring.

She walked over to the railing and grabbed it, resting her weight on it. “Much better now, isn’t it?”

I stood right behind her. “Oh yeah. It was so stuffy down there. How did you find out about this place?”

“When I did student janitor last semester I had to clean this place twice a month, so I just kept the key afterwards.”

“It’s...beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? I like to come up here once in a while when I’m frustrated.”

“Really? Frustrated about what?”

“Frustrated about...decisions.”

“...what kind of decisions?”

“Decisions on life...what kind of a person to be, what kind of a life I want to have, what kind of boy to like, things like that. It’s just, I don’t want to have to make these decisions just yet...but I don’t want to let anyone else decide for me either,” she turned around and smiled. “I guess I’m just really contradictory, yeah?”

“It’s ok.” I said. “I think I need to think of things in more concrete
terms, but I sort of understand what you’re saying.”

She brought herself up from the railing, and leaned back until she was
resting her back on me. Instinctively but slowly I brought my arms around her
waist. I closed my eyes and let her hair fall on my face, her scent seeping into my pores and filling my veins. I felt the weight of her body against my chest.

And then just like that I let go of my arms, unconsciously, and I was back again. She turned to face me. “Thanks for tonight,” she said softly, kissed me on the cheek, and started towards the elevator.

When I was back in my room later that night I sat on the edge of my bed and thought about what happened that night, replaying the events over and over again in my mind, hoping that they would eventually be seared in permanently. But as the images crystallized one after another, my consciousness slipped away. I lost the ability to think.

After the formal we continued to hang out at the billiards lounge as usual, and once in a while we would go watch an indie film or go to a school concert. Usually she did the inviting, since she had friends in the school orchestra and choir, and she was much more up to date than I was about movies.

I wasn’t aware of it back then obviously, but very slowly we drifted apart anyway, naturally, even when neither of us wanted it. We chose different majors, stopped taking the same classes, and then work just piled on. I was working with a neuroscience professor in lab, and she was starting to work on the creative piece of her fine arts thesis. At first it was cutting our conversations short, and then it was twice a week, and then once a week, and then we had to plan around our schedules just to see each other. Eventually, phone calls were replaced by emails, and then even that became rarer as time went by.

Sometime towards the end of junior year Violet had called to see if we could meet up. It was the first time in maybe several weeks since she last talked. I went to meet her that Friday at the billiards lounge.

The place was quiet, dimly lit with a maroon tint. I walked in and found Violet sitting on the couch under the vintage Absinthe poster. She had kicked off her sandals and drawn her legs up on the couch. Her hair came down straight over her cheeks.

I sat down next to her. “What’s wrong? You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”

“Um, well...alright. I just wanted to tell you, I’m sort of seeing this guy. His name is Jeremy.”

I nodded, and stared at the silhouette of the three pool tables in front of me. “Oh.” I said.

“Oh?” She said. “Is that...it?”

“That’s...pretty much.”

“Well...I just wanted you to know. We’ve been seeing each other for almost two months now. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. He’s this second year med school student, really smart guy. We met at a friend’s birthday party one night. We share a lot of interests. He’s been really good to me. He understands me.”

“That’s nice, but...why are you telling me all this?”

“Because, well, I just thought you should know.” She extended her legs and slipped her feet into her sandals. “So...that’s that. Hey, I don’t want you to let this bother you. I want to stay as friends, just like we are now, yeah?”

I looked at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

“Then, you should be happy for me. Can you do that? Will you do it for me?”

Without saying anything, I closed my eyes and exhaled. Violet looked at me and waited, but I couldn’t give her what she wanted to hear.

Finally, she looked at her watch and sighed. “Well...I have to go now. I’ll see you around.” She got up and slipped out of the room, leaving me in the dark. Her movements reminded me of that image of her wrapped in the towel. And one after another the images came to my mind, juxtaposing themselves on each other, blurring and swirling together in a torrent of sights, sounds, and scents. Soon those fragments of memories became indistinguishable shapes, and I gave into the darkness.

The next morning I was woken up by the Christian Fellowship people who used the lounge on Saturday mornings for Bible study. With a piercing headache, I dragged myself back to my room across campus.

(To be continued)

Preface

So perhaps some people are reading this and saying, why is Ting starting a blog?

I’ve always dreamed of having a little room for myself where I can dabble in a little of this or that. A simple table and a simple typewriter (or better yet, a regular notebook and some pencils with HB lead), and another huge table for drawing or painting or whatever I feel like doing that day. Instead I’m sitting in front of my computer somewhere right now...

I suppose some sort of place to put up unfinished pieces of work would be good enough for now though. So here it is. Enjoy it in the same way you would enjoy your five year old cousin’s drawings from kindergarten art class.

Now there are a few guidelines I’m following. First, I’m not posting about my daily or weekly updates of my life. Some of you may know that I keep a journal with me almost all the time, in an old fashioned spiral notebook. I do my writing about daily life in there, and that’s just for myself. Sometimes the articles will be about my thought on life, but it wouldn’t be a day to day record. Second, I don’t really appreciate insulting comments, and I will cut them. I also don’t want to pick fights about politics. Any constructive discussions is always welcomed.

Ok that’s basically it. For the next couple of weeks I will be posting the following things: a couple of pieces about my trip to Taiwan in March, an old story from two years ago, and portions of a new story I’m working on. I hope you guys like it.

I hope you guys like it. Maybe that’s why I’m doing this blog thing.