The Republic of Eggs

A week or two ago, me and several of my cohorts were trying to ascertain the average number of eggs eaten by a Taiwanese person in a week. Of course this is a fools errand if there ever was one but we were in consensus that the majority of people eat at least an egg a day. In the past this would have been considered a direct route to high cholesterol, heart disease, and premature death, but like so many of the proclamations from the high priests of health, the evil of eggs has apparently been greatly eggzagerated.

Eggs find there way into almost all Taiwanese meals in some form or another. They are the secret key ingredient in good fried rice or fried noodles. If you haven't tried it, order up a meatless egg fried rice (dan chao fan) and you'll probably agree that there is little lacking in the dish. In Chongqing I found a late night food stall that served dan chao fan with nothing but eggs, rice, oil, and salt. It was clean and satisfying and I returned on many occasions.

A traditional lunch box (bian dan) is not complete without egg of some sort, usually half a tea egg (lu dan) or scrambled eggs mixed with ground pork. Gong fu mien is a great 'dry' (gan) style noodle dish with an added tea egg. For soups, hot and sour soup (suan la tang) is invariably thickened with egg, and egg drop soup (dan hua tang) is a great, simple and light accompaniment to a meal. Any decent hot pot will come with a raw egg. Try cracking it into the pot and letting it cook for about 30 seconds before mixing it up with your chop sticks, this thickens up the soup with the runny yolk while also giving you some tasty egg morsels at the bottom. For breakfast, the Dan Bing--a light, crepe-like pancake wrapped around an omelette--is an old standby. Although the sweet, garlic-heavy hoisin sauce they squeeze on top is a little much.


For egg heavy dishes, various omelettes are avialable in most banquet style (xiao cai) restaurants. A traditional Taiwanese dish is the radish omelette (luo bo jian). This dish evovled as a way for poor families to stretch a single egg into a full dish. The shredded radish blends seamlessly with the egg to create the illusion. As mentioned in Part one of The Tainan Oyster Masquerade, the oyster omelette drowned in ketchup sauce (uh ah jian), is a specialty of Taichung. This is pretty much a wrong turn down nasty street, and I'll leave it at that. Tomato fried eggs (fan chie chao dan) is a standard throughout China. Personally I feel this is one of the least successful egg dishes, as the wateriness of the fried tomato adds an unpleasant soggy, stringy feel to the eggs. Much better is shrimp and pea scrambled eggs (xia ci, he lan dou, chao dan). In terms of taste and texture, shrimp and eggs are a match made in heaven. 

For preserved eggs, the infamous 100 year egg (pi dan) is an excellent pungent and astringent addition to rice porridge (zhou). My favorite writer on Chinese food, Fuchsia Dunlop, gives an excellent account of the history of pi dan as well as descriptions of the various other types of preserved eggs to be found in Chinese cooking.  I was disappointed though that her article failed to concur with the story I had been told of the origin of these eggs; that the original method of preparation involved pickling in horse urine. Perhaps she felt this historical colour was a little too exotic for her delicate readership. We at The Hungry Donkeys though are of course happy to pick up the slack (we live for this shit). Read more on the history and preparation of 100 year eggs, including the story of horse piss, at wikipedia. 

The Ultimate Donkey Hangover Cure

Have you fallen off your buggy, little donkey? Have you pried open a pair of bleary eyes onto an unforgiving and apathetic Sunday; as if the day itself had materialized into a double-chinned prison warden, pronouncing an interminable sentence upon you? Are you experiencing the nameless dread of the Booze Blues, wondering whose toes you stomped on with your cloddish donkey hooves--in your throes of Donkey Drink On? And did you not relinquish your rights to water, prior to crashing hard on the wagon trail? Well then, young Equus Africanus Asinus, it sounds like you've got yourself a little bit of a hangover? Now, you seek the antidote to your foolishness, yes?

Out of all the urban legends in the world, such as spiders growing in a man's pimple, or waking up in a tub full of ice, sans kidney, only the Hangover Cure has ever managed to reach the consumer sector of our society. A vast array of lotions and potions can be bought with a simple click of a mouse. The fact, however, is that none of them actually work. Yet, in the magical land of the Hungry Donkey, you may be yet saved from your self-inflicted woes. 

Most seasoned drinkers know the causes of a hangover: dehydration and fatigue. The fatigue we feel is a logical summary of the parts or episodes of the previous night. Duh. However, on a biological level it is primarily due to the liver pining hard to process the toxins created by our gleeful consumption of alcohol. Furthermore, in these processes, we find ourselves lacking the vitamins responsible for the feelings of wellness we generally take for granted. In the parlance of the layman, we are left without B12, Sugars, water, and probably money. So, here's what you can do:

Being a gourmand and an alkee, I have devised a unique hangover cure. I shall call it The Donkey's Special Breakfast, or known in some circles as, The SIGS (Self-Inflicted Grief Syndrome) Remedy. Please note, this is a bare-bones cure. You may embellish it as you see fit. Here's what you do:

1. Make yourself a Virgin Bloody Mary. Do not reach out for the hair of the dog. Although, many drinkers stand by this Sailor's Fallacy, it only postpones the inevitable hangover, and actually creates more toxins for the liver to deal with. Besides, the vodka in a good Bloody Mary is almost invisible to the palette anyway. So, here goes:

STEP ONE--THE BEVERAGE

1. Use a good unsweetened Tomato Juice

2. Squeeze a Lemon into a large glass of ice

3. Add half a clove or more of minced Garlic

4. Dash of Worcestershire Sauce

5. Add a tablespoon of GOOD Apple Cider Vinegar

6. Throw in a tablespoon of Horseradish

7. Pour in your Tomato Juice

8. Crack some Black Pepper

9. Stir.

2. Get some decent Whole-Grain bread, a couple of eggs, some honey, some butter, and a banana. The bread will help absorb some of the bile in your stomach, while toasting it will produce carbon, which will act as a subtle filter and aid the liver. Eggs are a good source of Cysteine, a substance that will help the liver break down the culprit toxin, Acetaldehyde. Honey is a healthy source of sugar. Bananas are full of the Potassium you have lost through alcohol's diuretic effect. And butter is just so damn good...but it will help protect the stomach lining from the noxious swill you've accumulated down there. So: 

STEP TWO--THE MAIN COURSE

1. Cook two eggs any way you like (poached is the best)

2. Toast the bread (the more you toast it the better, as more carbon-or char-will result)

3. Spread a layer of butter on the toast

4. Spread a layer of honey on the toast

5. Place your cooked eggs on top

6. Garnish with whatever you like, or have available

7. Eat it!

For the final step, you will need some Aspirin, or another low-grade pain-killer, water, your banana, and you will need to go back to bed, as you will see in the following step.

STEP THREE--THE DOCTOR'S ORDERS

1. Take a pill

2. Fill your empty Bloody Mary glass with water and drink it down. (DO NOT RINSE GLASS)

3. Eat banana (cold is better--as its texture will be firmer, and you will be less likely to spew, had you eaten it mushy)

4. Go back to bed

There you have it--The Donkey's Special Breakfast. Now, you may be thinking that eggs, honey, Bloody Marys and bananas are not a pleasant sounding mix. That's OK. Remember, you are hungover, practically still wasted; you had little discretion in your choices last night, so why be so picky today? This is a hangover CURE. It has nothing to do with temporarily comforting yourself with greasy food and coffee, as we've all done to no avail, many times. For one, your Sausage Mc Muffins will only put your body in a greater state of duress, and coffee is as much dehydrating as the very hooch that got you to this place. This is science here. Trust the gods of Logic. Try the Special Breakfast. In fact, force yourself out of bed to make it, as you will be feeling better and counting donkeys in no time...

Notes for the advanced: If you've successfully cured the physiological aspects of your hangover with help from The Donkey's Special Breakfast(R.), yet are still in the grips of SIGS, or Self-Inflicted Grief Syndrome, you may want to consider getting laid. Sex may be the only tried and true cure for the Booze Blues. 

The Baron in the Trees

In his novel The Baron in the Trees, Italo Calvino describes to us the dubious culinary attitudes of our hero's sister, Battista. Here is an excerpt from Chapter One.

Her evil schemes found expression in cooking. She was a really excellent cook, for she had the primary gifts in the culinary art: diligence and imagination; but when she put her hand to it, no one ever knew what surprise might appear at table. Once she made some pate toast, really exquisite, of rats' livers; this she never told us until we had eaten them and pronounced them good; and some grasshoppers' claws, crisp and sectioned, laid on an open tart in a mosaic; and pigs' tails baked as if they were little cakes; and once she cooked a complete porcupine with all its quills--who knows why, probably just to give us all a shock at the raising of the dish cover, for even she, who usually ate everything, however odd, that she had prepared herself, refused to taste it, though it was a baby porcupine, rosy and certainly tender. In fact, most of these horrible dishes of hers were thought out just for effect, rather than for any pleasure in making us eat disgusting food with her. These dishes of Battista's were works of the most delicate animal or vegetable jewelry; cauliflower heads with hares' ear set on a collar of fur; or a pig's head from whose mouth stuck a scarlet lobster as if putting out its tongue, and the lobster was holding the pig's tongue in its pincers as if they had torn it out. And finally the snails; she had managed to behead I don't know how many snails, and the heads, those soft little equine heads, she had inserted, I think with a toothpick, each in a wire-mesh; they looked, as they came on the table, like a flight of tiny swans. Even more revolting than the sight of these delicacies was the thought of Battista's zealous determination in preparing them, of those thin hands of hers tearing the little creatures to pieces.

Italo Calvino--The Baron in the Trees, Harvest Books

Definitely Not the Salad Days

I am aging. Maybe even rapidly. And as time pummels me down with fists like toasters, I find myself desiring little more on a sunny afternoon than to sit on a restaurant patio with a sandwich...and a salad. I can remember going to restaurants as a child with my parents and their friends. They would lean back in their chairs, one leg crossed over the other, and gaze at the world peacefully whilst nibbling on fresh green salads. They would tranquilly mix the oil and vinegar, crack the pepper, and talk about grown-up things. Watching them, I felt almost tiny in the presence of such adulthood, yet with my lack of experience at age five, I still knew I was missing out on something. And now, in the wane of my youth, I find myself seeking out a similar afternoon as my parents so enjoyed in their 30s. A light lunch. A sandwich on whole-grain, a fresh salad, and a hot cup of black coffee.

But it is no easy task finding a decent salad in Taiwan. Neither the local or foreign restaurants in Taiwan could actually boast that they have a killer salad on their menus. The Taiwanese believe a salad of ice-berg lettuce, sprinkled with corn niblets and drowned in their favorite Thousand Island dressing will suffice. For the western-style restaurants, on the other hand, the problem is much more disturbing and inexplicable. It would appear that when a foreigner opens a restaurant in Taiwan, they simply put a short list of salads on their menu for visual effect, the very way a furniture store might add a few fake plants to spruce up a kitchen showroom. These are not actual items on the menu, but rather they are filler. They serve no other purpose than to simply get the menu as close to the bottom of the page as possible. My last two weekends in Taichung have given me harsh proof of my theory.

On one particular afternoon, I visited a Taichung favorite for having decent Italian food and pizza. It is true, Amici is a great restaurant. It is reliable, reasonably priced, the atmosphere is great; just don't order the Japanese Salad. Was I foolish to do so? Yes. My partner in blog, Chuck, suggested that next time I should go order pasta at a Japanese restaurant, while he hucked down his 4 cheese pizza. I admit to making some poor choices once in a while, but come on--if it's not meant to be ordered, then what is it doing on the menu?? In fact, I was so distraught when I saw this shabby little bed of wilted lettuce staring at me, that I have since decided to order all the obscure items on every menu I see from now on! I don't mind being a martyr in my search of a good salad. Not only did the Japanese Salad consist of only ice-berg lettuce and a measly few carrot strips, it was douched in a wet and runny dressing that made scooping up a full bite almost impossible. I eventually had to run my fork into my thumb just to squeeze up a good sized bite.

On another afternoon, I visited La Terrasse; an expat restaurant that has been doing business for over 10 years in Taichung. They have a great patio on a semi-quietish side street, and their menu is fairly simple, utilizing a 16pt font size to attract the take-out crowd and to...beef up the menu. For there, at the bottom of the page, are some salads. I went for the Caesar. It was priced at 150nt, so I figured it should be half-decent. Again, I was disappointed. Instead of crappy ice-berg, it was indeed Romaine lettuce that lay wilted and dejected before my eyes. The croutons were these freeze-dried little things that had the powdery texture of a Flintstones Vitamin, and a flavor similar to the dust one might find at the bottom of a Cap'n Crunch box. The dressing itself was not too bad, but it was definitely not made from scratch. True, they may have doctored it up a little with some garlic, but it was obvious that a base of mayonnaise or some other cheap Caesar Dressing had been used. And let's face it: a good Caesar Dressing made from scratch is a work of art. All in all, it was a depressing experience.

Now, on a positive note, there are a couple western-style restaurants in Taiwan where getting a salad is a refreshing experience. Take the Japanese Salad with Ponzu Dressing at Finga's for instance: It is a veritable vegetable patch served in a large pasta bowl. Crisp lettuce, baby corn, green and red pepper, julienned carrots are just a few of the veggies that comprise this light, yet filling masterpiece. And yes, the Ponzu Dressing is as it should be: a hint of each ingredient that forms this simple dressing is all that is needed. Each tone of sesame oil, rice vinegar, garlic, shallot, ginger, and soy equally compliment each other, and it is the harmony and careful alchemy of this dressing that makes it so savoury, yet light and refreshing. And it is served on the side, the way it should be.

Another great salad can be had, ironically, in perhaps Taipei's most notorious "meat-markets". A place generally known for its late night promiscuity, prostitutes, and drunken whiteys, Carnegies has a great afternoon patio scene...and a Greek Salad to rival any. True, it is not an authentic or traditional style Greek Salad. In fact, the only thing Greek about it are the huge cubes of tangy feta cheese and its use of both green and black olives. The rest of the dish is mainly comprised of cucumbers and tomatoes. And the dressing, which again comes on the side, is a simple oil and vinegar set--balsamic vinegar, to be exact. Also on the side of this massively filling salad are a few long slices of lightly toasted baguette--a beautiful touch. A generous touch. No rinky-dinking around here. This monster will set you back around 300nt, but it is well worth it. And if you succeed in finishing it, you may find yourself tipping the huge bowl down your throat, trying to slather up the remaining juices.

There are some other places worth noting, such as Sababa, famous for it's falafels. And The Diner, located directly behind Carnegies, offers a decent Caesar--mostly for it's generous bacon component, not so much for it's dressing. Other than that, there are simply no salads to be had on this island. I would even go so far to say that the 7-11 Potato Salad, if doctored up with some fresh cracked pepper and some balsamic, rates far higher than most salads offered in restaurants in Taiwan.

I want to make something clear: In no part of this critique have I mentioned anything about health, or the power of vegetables, or the food groups, or any such nonsense. I am simply stating my disappointment towards false advertising and laziness on the part of restaurateurs, who have the audacity to add items on their menus WHICH SHOULDN'T BE ORDERED. It would be like me putting something like this on my teaching resume:

"NOT VERY GOOD WITH KIDS. PRONE TO UNEXPECTED CHANGES IN TEMPERAMENT. DOESN'T LIKE TO GET UP EARLY--but I am an OK teacher..."

Do you see where I am going with this? A salad is a respectable ally to most entrees. If eaten for health reasons, I would have to call "retard" on that. There is simply no nutritional value in lettuce, and the meager amounts of other vegetables one might expect in any given salad serve only as roughage. Sure, it will provide your body with some additional vitamins, but not much. It is a palette cleanser and warm-up for the main-course. It is also a testament to the restaurant's thoughtfulness in presentation.

A salad, I say again, is a respectable ally to most entrees. It is part of the dish. Not french fries. A french fry is a toy for children. Seeing a grown man eating french fries is like watching a respected professor of university play with dinky-cars. It is disturbing, to say the least. But more disturbing is the fact that out of the plethora of foreign-run restaurants in Taiwan, there are less than a handful that can be trusted to toss my salad.

The Whale as a Dish

Herman Melville gives us a rollicking early treatise on the preparation and consumption of whale around the world. Here is chapter 65 from Moby Dick.

(http://www.topnews.in/files/whale.jpg)

The Whale as a Dish

That mortal man should feed upon the creature that feeds his lamp, and, like Stubb, eat him by his own light, as you may say; this seems so outlandish a thing that one must needs go a little into the history and philosophy of it.

It is upon record, that three centuries ago the tongue of the Right Whale was esteemed a great delicacy in France, and commanded large prices there. Also, that in Henry VIIIth's time, a certain cook of the court obtained a handsome reward for inventing an admirable sauce to be eaten with barbacued porpoises, which, you remember, are a species of whale. Porpoises, indeed, are to this day considered fine eating. The meat is made into balls about the size of billiard balls, and being well seasoned and spiced might be taken for turtle-balls or veal balls. The old monks of Dunfermline were very fond of them. They had a great porpoise grant from the crown.

The fact is, that among his hunters at least, the whale would by all hands be considered a noble dish, were there not so much of him; but when you come to sit down before a meat-pie nearly one hundred feet long, it takes away your appetite. Only the most unprejudiced of men like Stubb, nowadays partake of cooked whales; but the Esquimaux are not so fastidious. We all know how they live upon whales, and have rare old vintages of prime old train oil. Zogranda, one of their most famous doctors, recommends strips of blubber for infants, as being exceedingly juicy and nourishing. And this reminds me that certain Englishmen, who long ago were accidentally left in Greenland by a whaling vessel- that these men actually lived for several months on the mouldy scraps of whales which had been left ashore after trying out the blubber. Among the Dutch whalemen these scraps are called "fritters"; which, indeed, they greatly resemble, being brown and crisp, and smelling something like old Amsterdam housewives' dough-nuts or oly-cooks, when fresh. They have such an eatable look that the most self-denying stranger can hardly keep his hands off.

But what further depreciates the whale as a civilized dish, is his exceeding richness. He is the great prize ox of the sea, too fat to be delicately good. Look at his hump, which would be as fine eating as the buffalo's (which is esteemed a rare dish), were it not such a solid pyramid of fat. But the spermaceti itself, how bland and creamy that is; like the transparent, half jellied, white meat of a cocoanut in the third month of its growth, yet far too rich to supply a substitute for butter. Nevertheless, many whalemen have a method of absorbing it into some other substance, and then partaking of it. In the long try watches of the night it is a common thing for the seamen to dip their ship-biscuit into the huge oil-pots and let them fry there awhile. Many a good supper have I thus made.

In the case of a small Sperm Whale the brains are accounted a fine dish. The casket of the skull is broken into with an axe, and the two plump, whitish lobes being withdrawn (precisely resembling two large puddings), they are then mixed with flour, and cooked into a most delectable mess, in flavor somewhat resembling calves' head, which is quite a dish among some epicures; and every one knows that some young bucks among the epicures, by continually dining upon calves' brains, by and by get to have a little brains of their own, so as to be able to tell a calf's head from their own heads; which, indeed, requires uncommon discrimination. And that is the reason why a young buck with an intelligent looking calf's head before him, is somehow one of the saddest sights you can see. The head looks a sort of reproachfully at him, with an "Et tu Brute!" expression.

It is not, perhaps, entirely because the whale is so excessively unctuous that landsmen seem to regard the eating of him with abhorrence; that appears to result, in some way, from the consideration before mentioned: i.e. that a man should eat a newly murdered thing of the sea, and eat it too by its own light. But no doubt the first man that ever murdered an ox was regarded as a murderer; perhaps he was hung; and if he had been put on his trial by oxen, he certainly would have been; and he certainly deserved it if any murderer does. Go to the meat-market of a Saturday night and see the crowds of live bipeds staring up at the long rows of dead quadrupeds. Does not that sight take a tooth out of the cannibal's jaw? Cannibals? who is not a cannibal? I tell you it will be more tolerable for the Fejee that salted down a lean missionary in his cellar against a coming famine; it will be more tolerable for that provident Fejee, I say, in the day of judgment, than for thee, civilized and enlightened gourmand, who nailest geese to the ground and feastest on their bloated livers in thy pate-de-foie-gras.

But Stubb, he eats the whale by its own light, does he? and that is adding insult to injury, is it? Look at your knife-handle, there, my civilized and enlightened gourmand, dining off that roast beef, what is that handle made of?- what but the bones of the brother of the very ox you are eating? And what do you pick your teeth with, after devouring that fat goose? With a feather of the same fowl. And with what quill did the Secretary of the Society for the Suppression of Cruelty of Ganders formally indite his circulars? It is only within the last month or two that the society passed a resolution to patronize nothing but steel pens.

(http://www.classicreader.com)

Some Notes on the dish 'Phoenix and Dragon Lucky Together'

In this excerpt from The Republic of Wine, by Mo Yan, we receive more detailed instructions on the proper cooking method of 'Phoenix and Dragon Lucky Together', continued from the post, The All Donkey Banquet.



What we are pursuing is beauty, nothing but beauty. It's not true beauty if we didn't create it. Creating beauty with beauty is not true beauty either; real beauty is achieved by transforming the ugly into the beautiful. This has two levels of significance. Let me explain. First, there's no beauty in sticking a donkey dick inside a donkey pussy and putting them on a plate, because they are dark as pitch, incredibly filthy, and they stink like hell. No one would eat them, that's for sure. But the head chef in Yichi Tavern soaks them in fresh water three times, bathes them in bloody water three times, and boils them three times in soda water. Then he strips the penis of its sinewy parts and plucks the pubic hair before frying them both in oil, simmering them in an earthen pot, and steaming them in a pressure cooker, after which he carves different patterns with his refined skills, adds rare seasoning, decorates the dish with bright-colored cabbage hearts, and voila, the male donkey organ is transformed into a black dragon and the female organ into a black phoenix. A dragon and a phoenix kissing and copulating, coiling around an array of reds and purples, filling the air with fragrance and looking so alive, a treat for the mind and the eye. Isn't that transforming the ugly into the beautiful? Second, donkey dick and donkey pussy are vulgar terms that assail one's sense of propriety and cause the imagination of the weak-willed to run wild. Now we change the former's name into dragon and the latter into phoenix, for the dragon and the phoenix are solemn totems of the Chinese race, lofty, sacred, and beautiful symbols that signify meanings too numerous to mention. Can't you see that this too is transforming the ugly into the beautiful?


(from The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan, Penguin Books, 2001)

Steamed Platypus

Take a platypus, kill it and hang it upside down for about an hour to drain the blood. Please note that you should use a silver knife and cut from under its mouth to make sure the point of entry is as small as possible. After draining the blood, put the platypus in water heated to 75 degrees Celsius to strip the hide. Then carefully remove the innards, the liver, the heart, and the eggs (if there are any). Use special care when removing the liver, making sure you don't puncture the gallbladder. Otherwise the playtpus will become inedible and useless. Take out the intestines and turn them inside out to clean thoroughly with salt water. Then wash the mouth and feet with boiling water, rub off the rough shell over the beak and the rough skin between the toes. Make sure to keep the webbing between the toes intact. After cleaning, lightly cook the innards in hot oil and stuff them inside the platypus. For sauce, add salt, garlic, shredded ginger, chili pepper, sesame oil -- remember not to use any MSG -- and slowly cook over a low fire until it turns dark red and gives off a peculiar odor. If the situation permits, saute the eggs and innards together, then stuff them back inside the platypus. If there are larger, better-formed eggs, you can make them into a separate gourmet dish by following the recipe for braised turtle eggs.

(from The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan, Penguin Books, 2001)

The All Donkey Banquet

In this excerpt from The Republic of Wine, we rejoin our narrator in the famed Yichi Tavern on Donkey Avenue, where he and his guests are treated to a rare culinary event, the all donkey banquet.




Several dwarfs come up to pour tea and alcoholic beverages and to set the table with plates and chopsticks. They whirl around the table as if they were on wheels. The tea is Oolong, the liquor Maotai, no local flavor, but easily state-banquet quality. First to be served are twelve cold delicacies arranged in the shape of a lotus flower: donkey stomach, donkey liver, donkey heart, donkey intestines, donkey lungs, donkey tongue, and donkey lips . . . all donkey stuff. Friends, sample these delicacies sparingly and leave room for what follows, for experience tells me that the best is yet to come. Take note, friends, here come the hot dishes. You, the lady over there, be careful, don't burn yourself! A dwarf all in red -- painted red lips and roughed cheeks, red shoes and a red cap, red from head to toe, like a red candle -- rolls up to the table carrying a steaming platter of food. She opens her mouth, and out spills a flurry of words, falling like pearls: 'Braised donkey ear. Enjoy!'
'Steamed donkey brains, for your dining pleasure!'
'Pearled donkey eyes, for your dining pleasure!'
The donkey eyes, in beautifully contrasting black and white, lay pooled on a large platter. Go ahead, friends, dig in. Don't be afraid. They might appear to be alive, but they are, after all, just food. But, hold on, there are only two eyes but ten of us. How do we divide them up fairly. Will you help us out here, miss? The red candle girl smiles and picks up a steel fork. Two gentle pokes, and the black pearls pop, filling the platter with a gelatinous liquid. Use your spoons, comrades, scoop it up, one spoonful at a time. It may not be a pretty dish, but it tastes wonderful. I know there's another dish for which Yichi Tavern is famous. It's called Black Dragon Sporting with Pearls, The main ingredients are a donkey dick and a pair of donkey eyes. Today, however, the chef has used the eyes to make Pearled Donkey Eyes, so it looks like there'll be no sporting by the donkey dick this time. Who knows, maybe we're eating a female donkey.
Don't be shy, brothers and sisters. Loosen you belts, let you bellies hang out, eat till you burst. There'll be no toasting, since we're all family. Just drink to your hearts' content. And don't worry about the bill. Today you can bleed me.
'Donkey ribs in wine, for you dining pleasure.'
'Donkey tongue in brine, for your dining pleasure.'
'Braised donkey tendons, for your dining pleasure.'
'Pear and lotus root donkey throat, for your dining pleasure.'
'Steamed and fried donkey intestines, for your dining pleasure.'
'Stewed donkey hooves with sea cucumbers, for your dining pleasure.'
'Five-spice donkey liver, for your dining pleasure.'
. . . and so on . . .
A medley of donkey dishes flows onto our table, filling stomachs that are now stretched taut as drums, and drawing rumbling belches out of the diners. Or faces are covered with a film of donkey grease, through which weariness shows, like donkeys worn out from turning a millstone, Comrades, you must be exhausted by now. I stop an attendand and ask, 'How many more dishes are there?'
'Twenty or so, I guess,' she replies. 'I'm not exactly sure. I just bring out what they give me.'
I point to the friends around the table. 'They're nearly full. Can't we skip some of the dishes?
With a show of reluctance, she says, 'You ordered a whole donkey, and you've barely made a dent in it.'
'But we're stuffed,' I plead. 'Dear young lady, won't you please ask the kitchen to just bring out the best and forget the rest.'
The lady says, 'You disappoint me, but, OK, I'll talk to them.'
She is successful. Out comes the final dish.
'Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together, for your dining pleasure. Enjoy!'
She wants us to enjoy the sight of the dish before beginning our dining pleasure.
One of our group, a sourpuss of a woman -- and not very smart, either -- asks the attendant, 'Which part of the donkey is this made of?'
Without hesitation, she answers, 'It's the donkey's sex organs.'
The woman blushes, but, unable to control her curiosity, asks, 'We only ordered one donkey, so how could there be . . .' She puckers up her lips to point at the 'dragon' and 'phoenix' on the plate.
'The chef felt terrible that you missed over a dozen dishes,' the waitress replies, 'so he added a set of female donkey's genitalia to create this dish.'
Please dig in, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends, don't be shy. These are the donkeys' jewels, as delicious as they are ugly. If you don't eat, it's your loss. If you do, it's still your loss, sooner or later, if you know what I mean. Come on, dig in , give it a try eat eat eat Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together.

(from The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan, Penguin Books, 2001)

The Handsome Donkey

For your reading pleasure, a passage from The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan, published by Penguin books, 2001. Here we find a rare and colourful description of the original Hungry Donkey.


Walk slowly, enjoy the sites. Donkey Avenue is a mile long, with butcher shops on both sides. There are ninety restaurants and inns, and all of them use the carcasses of donkeys in their fare. The menus are always changing, as new dishes vie for attention. The epitome of donkey gourmandism is reached in this place. Anyone who has sampled the fare of all ninety establishments need never again eat donkey. And only those people who have eaten their way up one side of the street and down the other can thump their chests proudly and announce: I have eaten donkey!

Donkey Avenue is like a big dictionary, filled with so much that even if my mouth were hard enough to drive nails through metal, I could never exhaust, finish, reach the end of the subject. If I don't tell my story well, it is because I babble nonsense or garbage. Please forgive and bear with me, please allow me down a glass of Red-Maned Stallion to pull myself together. For hundreds of years, countless numbers of donkeys have been slaughtered here on Donkey Avenue. You can just about say that swarms of donkey ghosts roam Donkey Avenue day and night, or that every stone on Donkey Avenue is soaked in the blood of donkeys, or that every plant of Donkey Avenue is watered with donkey spirits, or that donkey souls flourish in every toilet on Donkey Avenue, or that anyone who has been to Donkey Avenue is more or less endowed with donkey qualities. My friends, donkey affairs are like smoke that shrouds the sky of Donkey Avenue and weakens the radiance of the sun. If we close our eyes we see hordes of donkeys of all shapes and shades running around and braying to the heavens.

According to local legend, late at night, when it is really quiet, when all is still, an extremely nimble, extremely handsome little black donkey (sex unknown) races from one end of the flagstoned avenue to the other, from east to west, then from west to east. Its handsome, delicate hooves, shaped like wine glasses carved out of black agate, pound the smooth flagstones, filling the air with a crisp, clear tattoo. This late-night sound is like music from Heaven, terrifying, mysterious, and tender all at the same time. Anyone hearing it is moved to tears, entranced, intoxicated, given to long, emotional sighs [...]


more later...

The Erudite Donkey: The State of Taiwan-China Relations

As all of our minions of loyal readers know, The Hungry Donkey is basically a place for a couple of jackasses to talk about stuffing their faces. But once in a while, after a good feed, our donkey minds drift away from the topic of food and we ponder the larger state of the universe. In this, the first installment of "The Erudite Donkey", the subject of Taiwan’s relationship to Mainland China is discussed and contrasted with the relationship between Britain and its former North American colonies. The differences between these two historical relationships sheds much light on the current state of Taiwan-China relations.



For those of us foreigners who have grown deep roots in Taiwan, there is little question on the issue of China’s claim to this island. There is essentially unanimous agreement that Taiwan is a sovereign country that should unquestionably be recognized as such by China and the world. For more than a century, it has been completely removed from Mainland rule, first as a colony of Japan, and then as an independently governed entity. It has grown into a relatively well-functioning democracy with a fully independent government. It maintains its own military, postal service, educational system, health care system, and any and all of the other social, economic, and cultural departments of government that could be argued to be definitive of an independent nation. China’s claim to Taiwan could be likened to Britain suddenly laying claim to Canada, Australia, or the United States. To most, such a claim would enter into the absurd.

The Taiwanese that I know personally will echo these sentiments; but with the added underlying emotion that comes with having one’s own political, economic, and cultural freedom threatened. They are the one’s who must endure the humiliations of being denied official embassies, excluded from all international organizations, and forced to compete in international sporting events under the moniker of “Chinese Taipei”. How then is it possible that a decidedly pro-China political party like the Guomindang (KMT) gets elected? How is it possible that a Taiwanese diplomat, in an anonymous internet posting, calls for the repression of the ‘Taibazi’ (Taiwanese hicks) to facilitate smoother relations with China.

There is a hidden but powerful pro-China faction in Taiwan. It is almost never openly articulated. It must be read between the lines, primarily in the policies and statements of the KMT. The candor of the diplomat mentioned above, proved a rare exception but he has tellingly since been removed from his post. Even though one can feel the government moving towards a closer relationship with the mainland, it is still unacceptable to openly state a belief in reunification. But more to the point, why does this faction exist?

It is easy to write it off as simple self-preservation—as choosing the concrete practicalities of economic and political stability over the more abstract principals of sovereignty and self-determination. But this pat explanation fails to shed light on the complexity of the situation. It is very difficult for North Americans of European decent to understand what it means to be Chinese. We come from a society of mixed descent, where the majority of people have, to a large extent, severed ties with the histories and cultures of our various ethnic origins. One of my grandfathers came to Canada from England and the other from Ukraine, but for me this is largely an historical curiosity. My grandfathers left their cultural histories behind when they came to Canada. Their children where raised as Canadians, and in my family, our ethnic origin was never discussed as a topic of great importance. I identify myself, almost solely as an expatriate Canadian.

The rapid divorce between Europe and its North American colonies was able to happen for a number of reasons. These include the great distance between the continents, the large mix of cultures represented, the primarily poor and agrarian origin of the settlers, and the great size and bounty of the new world. As well, the close proximity and inter-familiarity of European cultures led to a pan-European sense of values and identity. This facilitated a relatively rapid integration amongst its former members.

If one considers Taiwan, almost none of these conditions exist for the formation of a truly new culture. With the exception of the Aboriginal population, Taiwan is comprised almost solely of people of Chinese origin. It is a tiny island, which sits only a stone’s throw away from the mainland. Complicating matters further, political and economic power here has, since the 1950s, been primarily controlled by the KMT. In contrast to the mix of poor peasants who settled North America, the KMT, led by Generalisimo Chiang Kai Shek, ruled all of China in the early part of the century. They continued to be recognized as the rightful rulers of China until 1972 when Nixon visited Beijing and established diplomatic relations with Chairman Mao Tse Tung. The KMT was never interested in declaring the independence of Taiwan. Until recently, they were interested primarily in wresting power of the mainland from the Communists. For the KMT, Taiwan was never home, but rather a place of exile.

It is telling that amongst those Taiwanese who abhor the idea of reunification, many support the labeling of Taiwan and the Mainland as ‘Two Chinas’. Why Two Chinas? I often wondered. Why not simply ‘China and Taiwan’? During a recent trip to Beijing with a contingent of students and professors from the Landscape Architecture departments of Taiwan’s universities, my understanding of this idea of two Chinas became clearer.

I was very fortunate to be invited on this inaugural program of academic exchange. Not only was I able to tour the numerous historical sites in Beijing with some of the world’s experts on Chinese architecture, I also listened to presentations related to landscape architecture by professors from both Taiwan and Beijing. Despite being exhausted by my attempt to understand hour after hour of academic Chinese, I gained much from the experience. The subject matter of almost all of the Taiwanese presentations related somehow to the history of Chinese thought and culture. One presenter discussed the architectural descriptions in the classic The Dream of the Red Chamber, another discussed the legitimacy of feng shui as a design tool, another discussed the influence of European landscape design on Chinese landscape design throughout history. The further one attempts to understand how things are now, the further one must go back into history. So to discuss the meaning of Taiwanese design and culture, one must inevitably go back to China. ‘Five thousand years of history’ is a phrase that is often heard in both China and Taiwan. I used to consider this phrase a fetishization of history that distracted from the failures of modern Chinese culture; or as a hollow legitimization for the unyielding policies of the Chinese Communist Party towards Taiwan, Tibet, and Xinjiang. But participating in this exchange helped me to realize that five thousand years of history, is much more than a slogan, it is an inescapable reality. For better or worse, Taiwan is encompassed by this history.

I will never become a supporter of the KMT and my views on the rightful sovereignty of Taiwan will never change, but this trip helped me to realize the necessity of opening up as many lines of communication as possible with the mainland. Taiwan may be ahead of China in many areas, but Taiwan is small and in order to grow it must participate in open academic discussion with Chinese thinkers. Taiwan and China are culturally different but they share the same history. The free exchange of ideas can only benefit both sides.

A Smooth Descent Upon BKS International

Seeing as Chuck has (in our first week) managed to take our promising blog to sub-pedestrian levels with his ode to Mc Dairnuld's breakfast, I find it hard to resist slumming it myself. As a foreigner in Taiwan, sans proper business papers, I find myself shuffling my feet around the airport every 60 days, embarking or returning from another unremarkable visa run. With either an empty stomach that grumbles out of neglect or one that groans in protest to the in-flight cuisine I've hucked down, I despair at times. Visa runs are mundane enough without having to starve. And one need not remind oneself of these bland times by stuffing grey food down the hole. 

Hence, my solution to foreigners in Taiwan, or tourists on visit. The Airport Basement Food Court. Yes, for in the sub-levels of our Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport can be found the holiest of holy fast food chains....the Burger King--or the Hamburger King, as I fondly call it. What other international airport in the world can offer hamburger eat on goodness at pedestrian cost? None, that's who. The BK International is not part of some glossed over, mustard and taupe walled airport food court. It offers no "free" internet. There are no plush couchettes where you can read your Ladies Day Magazine, and there isn't a Starbucks in sight. Just a few other crappy restaurants--that are never open--and a Burger King that always is.

To top it off, this Hamburger King happens to be self-serve. A luxury among fast food chains. A point-and-shoot burger and fries to carry you through your flight or to soothe your way home post arrival. Which leads me to my recommendation: The Bacon Double Cheeseburger, medium fries, medium Coke. This is by far the best pre-boarding combo available. This special hamburger fits perfectly in palm of the hand, and is best classified as a semi-dry burger. It is not as saucy as it's fat sibling, The Whopper. It is simple, the barbecue sauce and bacon compliment the lower flavor registers of meat and cheese, and it is mess free--which is not only a crowd pleaser, but a mature choice when you're about to face immigration officials....or maybe even a cute flight attendant. 

On the other end of things--upon arrival to this wonderful country--I would then suggest the Whopper combo. Take it as a silent celebration; a pat on the back for getting your ass back on the island for another 60 days. Allow those juices to flow down through your fingers because if you are a broke-ass visa-runner like me, this is the closest thing to a welcome back steak dinner you're gonna get. 

You know, there are moments in this Taiwan life of mine that I have to thank my lucky stars that I don't live somewhere else. I am soothed when I get back here. It's like pulling up the old driveway for Thanksgiving Dinner with the family. It's like the smell of pine needles at the cabin. Taiwan is disarming yet open-armed. And should friendly immigration and customs officials, and an almost absence of security, be a gauge on how good this place is, you would have to agree that Taiwan is one of the good guys. And if you're in the mood, stop by the Hamburger King in the basement. Get your burger on and have a couple laughs...  

Review: The Double Sausage McMuffin with Egg

While the Chinese lay claim to the revolutionary invention of the noodle, Western culture has given us the Sausage McMuffin with Egg. And while we celebrate the likes of Alexander Graham Bell and Henry Ford, the heroic inventors of these culinary staples remain anonymous. Thus is the cruel indifference of history.

As any civilized foreigner living in Taiwan knows, a proper Western breakfast is impossible to find. Yes, there are a few pretenders who claim to fulfill the promise of bacon, eggs, toast and hashbrowns, but all versions of these deceptively simple dishes are marred by fatal flaws. Half-cooked sweet bacon anyone? Watery scrambled eggs? How about some warm, sweetened white bread with margarine masquerading as toast? Or maybe a couple of cocktail wieners that we refer to as ‘sausages’...Please.

Thus when us true gourmands are lucky enough to awake on a Sunday morning before 10:30, Where do we head for guaranteed nourishment, comfort, and hangover relief? You guessed it: McDonald’s. And when we arrive, we don’t waste time gaping at the photos of the various breakfast sandwiches on offer, we order up the undisputed king of breakfast sandwiches: the Sausage McMuffin with Egg. In this sandwich we find, not only a day’s worth of calories to keep us trucking, but also a complex mélange of textures and flavour sensations. The sour, crispy yet chewy English muffin; the supple and mysteriously formed egg; the gooey, sunshine happiness of the cheese; and most important, the greasy, salty, goodness of the sausage patty. I have always been fully satisfied with this sandwich. Remove or substitute any of the ingredients, and you will have an inferior product. But what if one were to zero in on the tastiest of these ingredients—the sausage patty—and double it. I had never considered such a move. Would this not be like doubling the amount of oxygen in the atmosphere? or adding an extra set of breasts to a perfectly formed young lady? Or would it in fact be achieving what the Chinese refer to as Shuang Xi: the elusive ‘double lucky’?

It was like Christmas morn when I unwrapped this new creation. And when I first beheld it, I’m not ashamed to say the image of baby Jesus in swaddling clothes flashed before my eyes. There it was, the breakfast sandwich I knew so well and loved so dearly, but with twice the meats. I sucked back a string of drool as I raised it to my eager lips. My eyes rolled back into my head and I sunk my teeth in. BOOM! My head snapped back as an H-bomb of sausage exploded in my mouth. It was sausage, sausage and then more sausage. The delicate blend of delights that one finds in the Sausage McMuffin with Egg proper, had been replaced by an obtuse sausage delivery mechanism. The problem was not an excess of meat per se, but rather an excess of the grease and salt carried by the meat. Even for a salt and grease lover such as myself, it was overpowering. This sandwich is like the embodiment of a lost Aesop’s fable, with the moral of the story being: “too much of a good thing is not a good thing” or “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”. Give the Double Sausage McMuffin with Egg a pass and stick to the original.

The Tainan Oyster Masquerade: Part 3.2

I pass on my thanks to Kinger for that scholarly post. I'll follow it up with a little technical data. My research indicates that the culprit was most likely not Lord Salmonella, but rather Viscount Vibrio or The Black Knight of Norwalk.

According to safeoysters.org, the Vibrio vulnificus virus reproduces rapidly when water temperatures are 86°F to 95°F and salinity levels are approximately 0.5% sodium chloride. I couldn’t find a reading for temperatures off of Tainan, (not that I looked that hard) but it seems quite likely they fall within these boundaries. Another possible culprit is the Norwalk virus which is spread through small amounts of human feces. Just to give a little colour to this science talk, here is a list of potential symptoms from consuming oysters infected by Vibrio vulnificus, again provided by safeoysters.org:

fever/chills; nausea; vomiting; diarrhea; sharp drop in blood pressure; painful skin lesions that are initially red, develop into blisters and are sometimes filled with blood, then become necrotic ulcers; septicemia; shock; death

And the Norwalk virus from medterms.com:

abdominal pain, watery diarrhea, nausea and vomiting, possibly with a headache and low-grade fever. Some people also suffer severe cramping or bloody diarrhea,

So to sum up, the next time you order oysters in Taiwan, try deep fried with basil or sautéed into a ketchup drowned omelette.

Part 3: The Carnivorous Oyster

And begin it did. For inside my sacred chassis a six-headed baby was in its early stages of development. Writhing around silently in the tenderloin of my belly, its host unaware of its secret rise to power...

And as Sunday’s Saga of Salacious Savor ebbed into another Monday, I began my week as a refreshed new spirit—donning shiny medals, brandishing new weekend memoirs like so many pearls. Let my indifference to hung-over exhaustion give proof that such magical weekends exist!!! Lo!!! And on what should have been yet another anti-Monday of licking wounds and Kostner movies, I reveled in my exploits and threw my rock fist high into the dreary Taipei sky, shouting, "Oysters!!!!!" 

But begin…it did. It started simply as images warping in and out my mind; dreams that were not dreams. Pictures with no form, yet awash with vibrant colors rose and fell, and seemed to be coming from a place deeper than my mind. And out of nowhere came a feeling I can only describe as a ‘nameless dread’. A puzzling montage of reds, pale pinks, tides shifting, jelly wobbling, and something like a living conscious being writhing around in my guts. And it steadily worked its way into my joints, bringing a bruising ache. My stomach hardened, and my oyster-slashed finger began throbbing, as if it were some silent red alarm—announcing that the six-headed baby devil had finally come.

I couldn't move, yet to stay still was pain enough. Cold sweat, as salty and thin as the oyster’s juices, covered my body. The viscera of the newborn beast of ocean meats…And then I exploded. And from both ends issued a substance I can not describe. Some horrors are better left uncolored. Yes, that last plate of oysters did it. What gluttony and abandon.

I was sick. Lord Salmonella had gutted me with his talons from somewhere deep in my shell. My body heaved and grumbled like a paper furnace. My head reeled in twisting hallucinations. Always rising and falling, like the ocean itself. I reached for water; took the smallest of sips, and purged the exact amount almost instantly. I moved a leg to find some relief from the aching, and my pain was converted into a disgusting liquid measure. I lay on the cold spackled floor of the bathroom, wishing for an end to the agony. Wishing for a two-headed toilet. Wishing for my mommy. Wishing for death to reach its arm from the bile and bog and pull me down once and for good.

And somewhere in my delirious state, far away, I heard my phone ringing. It was way past 2am at this point, but I instantly knew. I was not alone in my pains. Out there somewhere, were two-- maybe three other victims; raped and bashed by a separate, single and bad oyster. 

Wo is he that brazenly tucks into sweetmeats of the abyss...

I have since learned some extremely helpful rules to proper oyster eating (although I can barely imagine ever eating another). For one, raw oysters should only be eaten in months ending with the letter R. Then, you have to take into consideration the depth and temperature of the waters they are found in. The deeper and cooler the water, the better. So, basically eating raw oysters in Taiwan---in the summer---in the south---should be avoided! It’s no wonder that the locals don’t eat them raw. 

In the end, with new knowledge and fading flashbacks, I impart this thought. Perhaps such heavenly rare food should be respected with the same penitence one might reserve for a violent god.  

 

 

The Tainan Oyster Masquerade: Part 2

The glory of the oyster, as it was meant to be eaten, was not truly experienced until the second adventure. This time we specified not only that we wanted raw oysters, but also how we wished them to be prepared. This did the trick. We were presented with first one, and then another five or six orders of beautiful plump oysters, served in their shells, and arranged in hypnotic circles on the plate. They were served with lemon wedges and wasabi in separate dishes. I stuck with the lemon, as after eating one, I felt that I could not be satisfied more with any alteration of the flavour. I’m not saying that this was a perfect oyster, but at the time it felt like it. I felt the power and beauty of the ocean as I ate these oysters. I felt the primal lust of consuming a raw animal in its entirety. I felt the calming affects of its texture and the absolute fullness of its taste. From the eye to the hand to the tongue to the throat to the stomach, and deeper into the body and brain. As with all of our greatest experiences with food, this experience was not merely culinary but also spiritual.

We followed up our five or so plates of these oysters with pitchers of draft at the former German consulate, and then with several cans of Asahi at roadside. This led to a spur of the moment foot-race with Kinger at a local school.

We then made a late evening visit to one of the wholesale oyster vender that can be found around the city. Displayed on the floor was a massive tangle of mud and shells that could hardly be described as appetizing or aesthetically pleasing. Our representative seafood expert, Ron Rose, pointed out that the intriguing mess before us displayed a notable lack of small crabs and other sea life that should have been crawling about, and therefore indicated a lack of health in the ocean’s ecosystem. We were unperturbed by this warning though, and proceeded to purchase a large styrofoam cooler of unshucked oysters on ice.

We hauled our booty over to an empty parking lot and set about devouring it in a bacchanalian frenzy. It was pure oyster lust. Oyster upon oyster was shucked and devoured with growing speed and abandon. As each oyster was consumed, the desire for more increased. The natural neurotoxins from these still living oysters began having their effect and our civilized bearings melted away. Our faces, hands and clothes were covered with oyster juice, an astonishing pile of shells rose before us like a newly formed volcanic island. Revolting sucking sounds echoed down the streets. We had become primal beings linked to our Neanderthal cousins in the pure joy of consuming life, raw and whole.

Our Scottish representative, Collin, normally known for bouts of drunken insanity, was strangely disgusted by the carnage we had wrought and only wished for it all to end. I was happy to ignore his feminine pleas for decency, but the others catered to his whims and decided enough was enough. When we finally called it quits, Kinger had sliced open his finger on a shell and was bleeding profusely. I barely noticed as I rolled about, bloated yet energized from the thirty or so oyster souls sloshing about in my stomach. I can recall few moments in my life as happy as this one.

We deposited the remaining cache of oysters beside a homeless man sleeping at a neighbouring temple and headed back to Taichung. We imagined that our Tainan oyster adventure had finally come to a stupendously successful end. How wrong we were. The final chapter of this saga was not to begin until two days later on the other side of the island…

The Tainan Oyster Masquerade: Part 1

If you ask most Taiwanese where to head for a relaxing weekend of fine seafood and ocean scenery, it is unlikely their first answer will be Tainan. For those who have not visited in recent years the mention of Tainan’s beaches is more likely to bring up connotations of washed up detritus and industrial despoilment, than places to be enjoyed for their natural beauty. And while this makeover is still a work in progress, one has an opportunity to enjoy the city, before it undergoes the inevitable tourist oriented transformation of Kenting.

As part of the national government’s long overdue attempt to remarket Taiwan as a destination for international tourism, Tainan has received massive grants to upgrade its public spaces and build upon its historical and natural assets. They have done well, creating an environment replete with beautifully landscaped, pedestrian-oriented districts that enhance the historic architecture and present a wealth of opportunities for pleasant street-side eating.

Despite the hungry donkey’s long tenure in Taiwan we have spent little time in this fine city, and we in no way claim to be experts in the subtleties of Tainan cuisine. It should also be stated that one of our meals was in fact a disastrous insult (this nightmare will be recounted in gory detail in the first installment of the Angry Donkey). But aside from this one wrong turn, our brief culinary adventures in the city were a resounding success.

In this first installment on the cuisine of Tainan, we will focus on a single ingredient. It is to be found in great abundance in the city. It requires no cooking and is best enjoyed with as little meddling as possible. The flavour of this food cannot be enhanced by elaborately concocted sauces. When it is contaminated in such a manner, it draws more attention to the ego of the chef than to the subtle potency of its God-given essence. For as Anatole France so wisely posited:

"What can be more foolish than to think that all this rare fabric of heaven and earth could come by chance, when all the skill of art is not able to make an oyster! "

Darwin clearly never had the pleasure of a raw oyster. Yes my friends, the oyster, sent straight from heaven in all of its glory. Debatably a superior organism to man, and most definitely a superior organism to the donkey!

Our first experience with the Tainan oyster was an admitted failure on our part. Knowing that we live in a culture whose enjoyment of the oyster is largely limited to battered and deep-fried with basil, or sautéed into a ketchup-drowned omelette, we should have been painstakingly specific in our instructions to the cook. Specifying the word “raw” was clearly not sufficient. When our oysters emerged from the back of the restaurant they were indeed raw, but the shells were nowhere to be seen. The oysters had been torn from their natural casings and laid on a bed of ice. Serving a raw oyster without its shell can only be likened to serving a raw wiener with its skin peeled off. Or perhaps returning a child to its mother with its eyes and limbs removed. It’s a heinous crime and an assault on the senses.

Half of the enjoyment of eating a raw oyster is with the experience of the shell. It’s rough, encrusted outing casing and its exquisitely smooth and delicate inner surface. These contrasts are experienced through both vision and touch—by the eye as it sits on the plate; by the hand as it is raised to the lips; and by the tongue just before the moment of consumption.

This aesthetic depredation was mirrored in the taste of the flesh. Not only does the shell serve as an object of contemplation, it also acts as a vessel for the essential juices that bring with them the higher-toned, sublime flavours of the oyster—they are the very soul of the oyster. The foolishness of discarding this nectar cannot be overstated.

Being deprived of the shell along with the essential juices of the oysters, we were left with only a pale shadow of what an oyster can be—limpid, slimy things clinging to ice-cubes, presented with wasabi on the side, and consumed with chopsticks. The entire experience was less than satisfying and should be taken as a warning for others looking for the glory of the oyster in Tainan. Specify not only raw but also in the shell. If you don’t know how to say this in Chinese, look it up.

Aw, Frankt! Another Blog about Food!

Well, yes and no. Firstly, we don't rinkydink around with eats. As seasoned weekend binge drinkers, what goes into the body pre and post Pie-Joe is of extreme importance to us.  So, what you'll get here will be nothing less than raw accounts of what you should be tucking into, and adversely, what should be avoided like the canse-aids.

Occasionally, there will be a recipe here and there; such as "Chuck's Famous Self-Spicing Chykin", or "Kinger's Black Box." You may even learn some more advanced techniques, such as how to successfully marinate a pork shoulder in expensive tequila and turmeric. 

Fine Print? Yes. We, the authors and custodians of The Hungry Donkeys, retain the right to either include, or omit the whereabouts of our favorite establishments; thus protecting the aforementioned eating establishments from becoming what I like to call "Great White Feed Zones." I.E. keep it in the hood. 

However, on some occasions a great restaurant can go unspotted for years, and sometimes the little guy needs a boost. And provided we provide choice cuts of our eating experiences, then perhaps we will be of some use to our communities. 

On the other hand, some ignoramus restauranteurs may think that Butter Chicken can be made cheaper with margarine, or that ketchup is tomato sauce that can be used in lieu of Spaghetti sauce. In our review of these types of places, you can be sure an address, and EXTREMELY CLEAR directions will MOST CERTAINLY be included to expose them for what they are: SCAMBOTS.

Get yer Eat ON!!!!