In May 1997, I made my first visit to Taiwan — a 10-day trip that cemented my love for this island nation, its people, its culture, and especially its cuisine. I was living in Vietnam at the time, and my college ex-girlfriend was visiting her family in Zhongli, a small city about 45 minutes southwest of the capital Taipei, so I popped over to say hi. At the time, urban Taiwan was not exactly pretty: The buildings were concrete, heavy, worn, damp; and Zhongli itself was going through a garbage crisis, with overstuffed bags awaiting long-delayed pickup from the sidewalks.

But what stunned me was the food. At a night market, I had my first taste of ba wan, a thick, pork-filled dumpling whose bouncy, gummy texture exemplified the Taiwanese textural concept called Q. Outside Taipei’s main train station, we sat for fast-food teppanyaki that was — believe it or not — actually good, with fresh ingredients and strong flavors taking the place of the Benihana theatrics I’d expected. And in the countryside, we stopped for sticky rice cooked in bamboo and the crispiest, saltiest, most wonderful little river shrimp I’ve ever eaten. Food — snacks, meals, drinks — was a constant, available everywhere and everywhere produced and served with skill and joy.

In the 29 years since, I’ve returned again and again to this island — in part because I married a Taiwanese woman¹ whose family lives in Taipei, but also to understand what makes this cuisine unique. I learned to cook my wife’s favorite dishes for Saveur; I’ve surveyed the restaurant scene for the New York Times, Bon Appétit, and Travel + Leisure; and even when I was biking up Taiwan’s rugged east coast for Businessweek, I was really doing it to indulge in mangoes and pineapple, noodle soups and stewed pork, abalone and lobster. Always I’ve discovered new facets of the food culture, from the early 20th-century Japanese influence (Taiwan was its colony for 50 years) and the regional Chinese flavors brought over with the Nationalist retreat from the mainland in 1949, and on to homegrown innovations (ever heard of boba?) and the resurgent traditions of Taiwan’s aboriginal populations, who were here thousands of years before anyone else. Every bite is filled with as much history as flavor.

And now I’m back! It’s my first visit since just before the pandemic (that’s seven years, if you’re counting), and as much as possible I’m planning my days around meals.

When you’ve been returning to a destination for almost three decades, you tend to have two approaches: revisiting old favorites and seeking out new developments. So far, over the past week, I’ve leaned toward the former — I miss certain flavors and restaurants so much, I want to make sure they still exist as I remember them. Over the next, though, I’m hoping I’ll delve into the new. Gotta create new memories to revisit on the following trip, right? Cathy and I will go deep on all of this in an upcoming episode of the podcast, and we’ll have a map of must-eats, but before that I wanted to give you some highlights of my eating so far:

I can say without exaggeration that this dish is always the very first one we eat. Mianxian, also known as o a mi sua, is very thin, short wheat noodles in a rich and viscous pork and bonito broth, garnished with tons of fresh garlic, black vinegar, chili sauce, cilantro, nuggets of pig intestine, and sometimes oysters. To me, this is pure Taiwan, the flavors of mountain and sea, spice and herb, with an unbecoming look and a texture that can be unfamiliar and off-putting until you adjust, fall in love, and it becomes deeply comforting. We often get it from a cart two blocks from my wife’s family’s home in the old part of Taipei (look for a social video soon!), or from Ay-Chung, possibly the most popular mianxian shop in the city, which is two blocks away in the other direction.

When Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalists ceded mainland China to the Communists in 1949, they retreated to Taiwan, bringing over one million soldiers and officials, not to mention their families — and their food traditions. Many of them came from Sichuan Province, home of fiery málà spice, and wound up establishing restaurants here. Here in Wanhua, the old part of Taipei, Kangding Street’s Lane 25 is full of Sichuan eateries that have been around for decades, serving classics that have been adapted for local tastes — the chilies turned down a little, the sugar turned up. I’m as big a fan of powerful spice and modern cooking as anyone, but I love the throwback feel of a spot like Qian Yuan, where the mapo tofu is reminiscent of a ragù bolognese, the stir-fried is sweet and simple, and the seaweed salad was hotter than everything else combined.

From 1895 until the end of World War II, Taiwan was a colony of Japan, which made a strong culinary mark on the island, both during that time² and in the decades since. Ramen, curry, onigiri, tonkatsu, yakiniku, and shabu-shabu can be found everywhere here — and, of course, there’s sushi. The place we went the other day, 瞞著爹, was new to me, but the approach was not: super-fresh fish served as a chirashi bowl, in an adorable, cozy tatami room. The price was reasonable, so we went absolutely nuts. Fat and buttery scallops, delicate red shrimp, sweet sea urchin, and whole carpets of salmon roe.

The incredible thing is, there are spots like this all over this city of 2.4 million people — we just happened to go to the ones closest to home. Which is one of the ways Taipei feels special: Wherever you happen to find yourself, you’ll find yourself a damn good meal.

That said, look out for next week’s follow-up, where I’ll give you the full Google map of my Taipei eating adventures. And after that, I’m off to Tokyo! Got any tips for me? Let me know in the Tokyo channel of our brand-new Shut Up ‘n Eat community.

I have been attending San Diego Comic-Con off and on for the past 20 years, sometimes for work, sometimes for fun.  This year was a bit of both, as I wanted to promote this fun new podcast called Shut Up ‘n Eat! SDCC is located in the heart of San Diego’s downtown Gaslamp area, and the food choices in the past have often been touristy and franchise-driven. This year, however, I arrived after a long day at Disneyland with my family, starving and willing to try anything within a few blocks of my hotel.

Much to my delight, I found Taka Restaurant, whose chef, Takahiro Yamada, recently moved from L.A. to open this place. There’s an omakase option, but I went with à la carte classics like the torotaku roll (fatty tuna with pickles) and an aji (horse mackerel) sashimi where they leave the fish bones on the plate and fry the entire thing into a fish chip once you finish the sashimi. Taka’s rice was on point, too, and the prices were reasonable for downtown S.D. (especially compared to Nobu in my hotel).

After two long days of walking around the con, I met my local friend Joel for a much-needed reprieve at Yakitori Taisho, in Claremont, about 20 minutes away. We were blown away! From classic yakitori like chicken skin, gizzard, liver, thigh, and wings to beef tongue, pork belly, smoked mackerel, and more, Taisho’s food was as good as at any izakaya I’ve been to in Japan.