Let's talk about food

Yeah, pretty much. Does anyone eat at home here? Sleeping spaces are tight. Kitchen spaces, too. I tried the frog-egg milk tea but not the milkfish. Had the oyster omelet but not the pork-brain soup. Tonight I'm going out for iron eggs and tube rice pudding, if I can find them. Might even have a chicken cutlet the size of my head.

There is simply not enough time to sample all of Taiwan’s incredible eats, a hodgepodge of dishes from mainland Chinese, Japanese and aboriginal kitchens. But I am not putting stinky tofu in my mouth (I don’t think). Maybe next time.

I'll be honest. For the first 36 hours I ate at Family Mart, staggered by a marathon flight and stricken by a mild case of culture shock. But then, baby steps. First a dumpling. Then a tongful of steamed asparagus flecked with fresh, hot red pepper. A bit of cold red tofu.

One of my most powerful language tools has been "war yeah shyung!" ("I want that, too!"), but hugely promising food opportunities of the city remain off-limits to me. Not for lack of trying. Calm yourself, I'd say. Listen. Watch. But after several minutes, if I couldn't shake that trundling dread, if there was no visual frame of reference or discernible "code," I'd move on. You don't have the game, I conceded. Dumb maybe, but I have my pride.

I started gravitating toward eateries that attracted men of simple means (like me).

My favorite sit-down places look like this from the outside, and the code is fairly simple.

Look for a paper plate near the entrance. Don't hand it at the guy with the big spoon. Hold it yourself. Point at two or three things. Another fella will hand you a a bowl of rice, take your money and make change. Grab some chopsticks and go to town. Bus your own table. Nod on your way out (optional).

My concept of Chinese food has changed. It's spinach with garlic and a dash of soy. A few chunks of wok-fried pumpkin. Tender slivers of sweet carrot scrambled with egg.

The best meal I've had in two weeks came here. The chef worked fast and hot while his helper washed dishes on the floor.

Simple spicy chicken noodles, expertly conceived. Price: $1.60 USD. That was 10 days ago and I still can't get it out of my mind.

Do you need some basic language skills? Well, maybe, but on this day I blanked on the word for "chicken" and actually flapped my elbows and made the "bawk" sound. It delighted them, and they doted on me for the rest of my visit. It's just a few blocks from the Nanjing Fuxing MRT. Like Hansel, I dropped photo crumbs so I can find my way back.

At a hole in the wall next to the Neijiang Hotel, pork, scallions, green beans and a slab of golden fried tofu.

Walk around. Point. Everyone wants to help.

The stand-up places are the easiest. They sell only one thing. This spot in Ximending is super-popular among non-Taiwanese. I think it reminds them of home, wherever on the biggest continent that may be.

Flour noodles, the width of a hatpin, in a fishy sauce. Chunks of squid the size of dice lurk beneath the surface.

My second-favorite meal in Taipei came on the sidewalk. He slides the omelet into a paper bag so you can walk around with it, your mind blown with every bite. The dipping sauces here mean everything: They impart primarily a umami sensation, but they're also a little sweet.

I learned to shop around. It's worth walking a couple of blocks to find the browned, chewy wontons. Same with the savory buns. The pale ones just aren't as satisfying.

OK, sometimes things are a little confounding. Make a mental note and keep walking.

The rolling food stalls are technically illegal but widely tolerated. When word gets out that the cops are coming, they pack up and vanish.

Some people swear by the department-store basement restaurants. Been there. I think that's something visitors tell one another. Wendy and I are having lunch today. Can't wait to taste where we go.