Pork Fluff: the Flavor of the Beach in Your Mouth

One of the first Taiwanese words I learned was for that Taiwanese pseudo-condiment, bah-hú, or pork fluff. Dried, salted, shredded meat sold in cans and jars used to flavor congee (rice porridge) and stuff cheap sashimi. The way it seems to melt into sand in my mouth makes me want to eat any winter morning breakfast congee (gruel, if you ask me) simply plain. I learned the word after the first time I visited a Taiwanese bakery. Greasy donuts rolled in granulated sugar, like what one sprinkles on cereal, were next to some rolls that had been baked with scallions in the dough. They would have probably gone great with a steak, but not as the sweet snack I was looking for. The Taiwanese Danish were filled with an unappetizing pale purple paste that I later discovered to be taro. On a lower shelf, I saw what looked like a jelly-filled doughnut, though it was lacking any powdered sugar coating. However, it had that non-descript shape, not quite an oval, not quite a rectangle, almost trapezoidal that I remembered from the pastries my hometown German bakery used to have. This Taiwanese delicacy even had similar indentations left by the cooling rack.

So, using the tongs and the tray provided to me by a cute, tittering shop assistant, I selected my pastry and took it to the counter, where it was placed in a paper pocket and then a small plastic bag. Once outside the shop, I removed it from its wrapping, took a huge bite and promptly spit it out. As I looked inside this vile creation, I saw what seemed to be bits of chopped up jute string. Had the shop sold me a donut in which the filling had already dried out, though the bread surrounding it seemed fresh? I considered taking another bite, but instead pinched some of the fibers that simply remained motionless in the donut, another unsettling image when one expects jelly to be oozing out. The gritty sensation between my fingers was far from pleasant and when I licked them, the almost briny flavor made me gag. Once I learned how to say bah-hú, I never had to experience such bitter disappointment in my pastry selection again.

The one thing I do not understand is why the Taiwanese eat this stuff. Taiwanese cuisine is not only delicious, but usually good for you. I can’t imagine any nutritional benefits remaining in this overly processed food. So, I have come to the opinion that pork fluff may not be actually made from pigs. Old woven plastic tarps, the red, white and blue ones used at roadside banquets, on building scaffolding and as funeral tents, are recycled to make this savory treat. First, the tarps are placed at entrances of cement plants and building sites so that construction vehicles and gravel trucks can run over them repeatedly to get the proper texture. Next, they are soaked in typhoon-swollen rivers for that appealing hue. Then, they are placed on the roofs of buildings so that the particle-filled air of various city-centers can add that extra degree of grittiness so detested by most foreigners. Thrown into huge shredders, these once useless vestiges of Taiwan’s plastic society are transformed into an edible parch pulp to be canned and sold. Bon appétit!