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!
No comments:
Post a Comment