When life gives you cheap beer, chug it and go to Roxy 99

Alas and alack, the universe did not heed my pleas, and I have now relocated to bunk bed number 5.  Okay, it's not as bad as all that.  Yes, I am now sleeping on a bunk bed.  And yes, we are now a gang of four occupying this two bedroom Taiwanese flat, where before we were only two.  But this provides a rustic, youthful flair to my great Taiwanese adventure.  Rustic in a youth-hostel/college-dormitory kind of way.  I've decided adorn my side of the room with patchouli scented wall hangings and twinkle lights.  I've also started listening to Tori Amos again.  Can evenings of Jello shots be far behind?


Actually my living situation is not the only throwback to my 20's that I've been experiencing.  TPR folk young and old have been hitting the clubs these past two weeks.  And I do not mean fancy clubs (okay, side note: I got my first club rejection here in Taipei.  Apparently frumpy dresses and crocs are not what the bouncers are looking for.  If my Chinese translation is correct, I believe we were told, "No heels, no service".  And to that I say, the bouncers at Luxy can rot in hell.)  We have instead been frequenting the illustrious Roxy 99.  To all you New Yorkers out there, Roxy 99 is like the Pyramid Club, except with more sketchy expats and fewer people dressed head to toe in wet leather.  For those of you not familiar with the Pyramid Club, let me paint the scene:  The subterranean venue has the requisite level of dinge and is of course engulfed in a permanent layer of smoke.  Drinks are cheap, but why buy there when you can pre-game at the Seven-11 around the corner?  (I'm really not kidding.  Please see below.)

The music is an odd mix of current hits, euro-trash, and old suburban white girl music. Yes, I did rock out to "Smells Like Teen Spirit", and I'm not ashamed to admit it.  But mainly it's just an excellent place to dance and have fun.  That is, if you can ignore the vomitous explosion that occurs around 2:30am when all the petite Asian girls reach peak drunkeness.  Also, it's a good idea to plan on at least three showers the following day.  For example, I last went to Roxy 99 on Saturday.  When the breeze catches my hair I can smell its foul odor still. 

My first trip to Roxy 99 was pre-pre-gamed by an "open mic night" at the Red Room.   I put that in quotes because it's not a traditional open mic, in that its creators don't delight in snobbery and exclusion like the creators of some open mics in certain major metropolitan areas that I can think of.  I'm not saying that everything I saw was to my taste.  But the atmosphere was incredible and eclectic.  Classical Chinese instrumental music got up next to modern dance and folk.  Also, ukuleles!  And whistlers!  And public displays of bartending!  And a particularly great British poet!  There were good people, plentiful red wine, and a receptive audience for Kurt Weill (all that was missing was Maria!) 



How about some memorable meals?  First, let us examine the noble soup dumpling.  Now, I've been to Joe's Shanghai in Flushing.  And I enjoy Joe's Shanghai.  But Din Tai Fung grabs Joe's Shanghai by the throat and drop kicks it all the way to Jersey.  And it does so with this guy:

There is just no comparison.  The wrappers are delicate and fine, the meat strikes the ultimate balance of savory and sweet.  We mix our own sauce.  There is plenty of la.  And if the dumplings aren't enough there's always smoky fried rice or drunken chicken - cold chicken in rice wine!  Of course!  It's suddenly all so clear!  Oh how we feasted.

The last meal to be discussed in this post falls under the category of "places I've gone with other people in Taipei which I'll never be able to find again on my own, at which I ate things I'll never know how to properly order."  It's a pretty big category.  I believe the intention of the night was grilled meat on a stick, but we ended up with this:

If only my fuzzy pictures could do this meal justice.  It was sort of like Chinese food candy land.  To the left we have the land of three-cup chicken: one cup "awesome", one cup "oh dear sweet lord this is good", and one cup, "my taste buds will never be the same again."  Also some onions, garlic, chili, and basil.  Above three-cup chicken land we meet Lady Kung Pao and her Mao-Po tofu brigade.  If I were a chef-judge on Chopped I would look tenderly into my bowl and declare the Kung Pao chicken "unctuous" and well-suited to the bite of the spicy tofu.  Follow the tofu down savory lane and over to the right and we reach what I like to call, "the random goose dish".  This dish ended up on our table because I saw a cooked goose sitting on the counter and demanded slices of it.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I kept repeating "give me goose" in a low-pitched growl while holding a sharpened chopstick up to the throat of our Chinese-speaking dining companion.  She did comply, and the goose was extraordinary.  It was cold and covered with a clear sauce reminiscent of drunken chicken.  Shall we call it, "completely hammered goose"?  Yes, I think we shall.  Below the goose we find the valley of fried delights, which consisted of fried oysters (yes!) ... and fried dragon balls (um, okay!  you're still delicious!  Tastes like chicken!) 

Work kicked into high gear last week, so I wasn't able to take in any major Taipei sights (other than Roxy 99, which deserves its own vomit-covered landmark plaque).  This week my goal is to make it to Elephant Mountain.  My understanding is that this is best hiked in the evening, as we all must make the choice between dying from sweat-induced dehydration or mosquito-transmitted Dengue fever at some point in our lives.  Also, I shall attend my second evening of Chinese school.  My first lesson involved lots of cursing while futilely trying to draw Chinese characters, and pizza.  I learned just enough to order a huge plate of fried dough for breakfast, but not enough to say, "please take me to the nearest hospital" while keeling over from immediate heart disease. 

That's all for now.  Next time I'll tell you all about Indian music videos - they're scarier than you think.  Until then, please enjoy this pictorial representation of my were-asian nature: