Learning to Eat in Taiwan

Learning to Eat in Taiwan

Different cultures have different ways of eating, and obviously no one culture has a monopoly on the best way of doing anything.

Still, in Taiwan recently, I found myself watching my Asian tablemates at dinner, trying to mimic the way they did things, just to see how it would feel, just to see if, maybe, I couldn’t find a better way to do what most of us do three times (or usually more) every day.

Chopsticks, of course, were present here as the primary utensil, as they would be on most Asian tables. We eat with sticks all the time, and I have to say, for most foods (especially those cut into small pieces, like most Asian cuisine) chopsticks make it possible to focus more on the food, eating consciously rather than shoveling. Chopsticks are worthless for steaks and even some dumplings and sushi, but one has to admit: they compel the eater to spend more time with the food, and that’s probably a good thing.

Liquids seem to have a different place on the Taiwanese table than they do in the United States. Alcohol is largely absent. One Saturday night at the Sheraton Taipei, I marveled that in the large hotel dining room where we sat, only one other table had a bottle of beer on it (until I ordered a Taiwan Beer, doubling the tippler population). I’m not saying this is a good or a bad thing, but one certainly does learn restraint in a country of teetotalers.

Soup – as at Chicagoland Asian restaurants – seems to come at the late-middle or end of a meal, exactly opposite to how we usually enjoy it in the US. This may have something to do with the ayurvedic notion that slurping liquids of any sort with food will tend to dilute stomach acids and thus retard digestion (may also explain the lack of beer and wine at dinner, see above). Just speculating.



Perhaps the most powerful lesson about eating I picked up in Taiwan was at the Chung Tai Chan Monastery, where I was fortunate enough to share lunch with a resident Zen Master (one of the most serene dudes I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet). I noticed that all of the North Americans at the table (including me) inclined our heads toward the plate to eat, but that our hosts – all Zen monks –brought the small bowls or plates up to their mouths to eat, a much more elegant and graceful and, most importantly, pleasant way to enjoy food. When you hold the bowl chest-level to eat, you don’t have to hang over your plate like a slavering dog, and you can maintain eye-contact with your fellow diners at all times. It also tends to slow you down. Better, right?

Your last observation is very interesting - something I've taken for granted and never even thought about. In my family though, bigger plates always stay on the table. A bowl of rice would be the vessel that prevents one from lowering his head toward the plate. Even more hardcore, my grandparents would never eat anything that can't be picked up by chopsticks. In their opinions, all the cutting should be done in the kitchen, not on the dining table. Using knives on table, in their generation, is considered to be in poor taste.