There’s a deep love for sugar in Taiwan, a love so pervasive and distinct that it can be shocking. I’ve had pork sausages that taste like sweets (candy), and milkfish soup so saccharine that someone tasting it for the very first time could easily mistake it for dessert.
“When we make spring rolls, we stir-fry the ingredients inside the roll with nothing but sugar,” said Yen Wei, the food stylist for my new cookbook, Made in Taiwan, published this September. Wei was born and raised in the southern city of Tainan, the island’s first metropolis and the birthplace of the country’s sugar industry.
“Not even a pinch of salt?” I asked, sceptical.
She shook her head. “No salt,” she said, beaming and proud.
The Taiwanese love for sugar evolved alongside the island’s colonial history. The industry was first jump-started by the Dutch East India Company in the early 17th Century, which recruited farmers from China to grow sugarcane in what is now modern-day Tainan. Early sugarcane operations were powered exclusively by oxen, who would pull carts to turn a series of stone gears to crush and extract juice from the sugarcane. Workers would then manually boil, filter and crystallise the juice to form glistening granules of sugar.
At that time, Taiwan-produced sugar was held in high regard on the global market and commanded premium prices. By the 1720s, when parts of Taiwan had been occupied by China’s Qing Dynasty, Taiwan was producing more sugar than any other island the world. But because most of it was destined for the export market, for the residents of Taiwan, it was considered an ingredient of luxury – something reserved for very important guests and special occasions. The sweeter a meal, the more refined it was – a philosophy that was eventually embraced by the layman and began to show up in the street food scene.
While researching my cookbook last year, I found myself in a small restaurant kitchen in Tainan, watching the chef prepare minced pork belly over rice, a street food dish ubiquitous across the country. He stir-fried pixels of finely diced pork belly over the stove, rendering out some of its fat as large bright flames licked the side of the carbon steel wok. He poured in some old braising liquid from the day before, then added water, soy sauce, an impressively tall mound of white sugar and fried shallots. That was it. Dressed over sticky granules of short-grain rice, the finished pork sparkled in the light. The complexity of the dish came from the braising sauce, but the sugar was what helped coaxed out the flavour.
Sweetness is a dominant flavour profile in Taiwanese cuisine (Credit: Yen Wei and Ryan Chen)
When Taiwan became a Japanese colony in the late 19th Century, the sugar industry was transformed from a primitive (yet very productive) enterprise into a modern powerhouse. At that time, the Empire of Japan was reliant on imported sugar, and Taiwan’s subtropical climate meant that it was the perfect place to establish a proper sugar industry. Manually powered mills were swapped out for state-of-the-art factories equipped with the latest machinery. Sugar became such a dominant part of the economy that, at one point, sugarcane growers made up one-third of all rural households in Taiwan. Most of the sugar produced at that time was shipped and consumed exclusively within the Japanese Empire.
In 1946, after the government of the Republic of China took control of the island, the sugar industry was turned into a public enterprise and reopened to the global market once again. However, because of high tariffs, Taiwan could no longer compete on the international market and production quickly plummeted.
Today, Taiwan is no longer an international sugar superpower, but sweetness remains a dominant flavour profile in the cuisine. Fundamental sauces like soy paste – a thick brown sauce served over hearty street food dishes like spring onion pancakes and stinky tofu, or haishan sauce – a reddish sauce typically drizzled on top of seafood – are significantly heavier on the sugar than the salt.
Sugar is also commonly used as a finishing touch for many of the island’s savoury dishes. At the night markets, for example, thick rectangular skewers of pig’s blood cake are dressed with soy paste and garnished with coriander, crushed peanut powder and a couple of teaspoons of white sugar to finish.
My personal favourite is a whimsical sweet and sour pineapple-prawn dish that can be found at many beer-centric restaurants across the island. Arranged neatly next to fresh cubes of pineapples, shelled prawns are tossed in a sweet mayonnaise and then topped with sugary hundreds and thousands (rainbow sprinkles). It’s sugar on sugar. Instead of a rare ingredient reserved for the elite, sugar has now become an everyday staple.
For my cookbook, my team and I made and photographed more than 70 Taiwanese dishes over two weeks at Wei’s studio in Tainan. At the end of each shooting day, we always had a plethora of leftovers that we would repurpose and reheat into a family-style dinner. And every time we sat down, I’d watch with delight as Wei seasoned her plate like a true southern Taiwanese epicurean – with even more sugar.
The prawns are fried, coated with Japanese mayonnaise and served with pineapple (Credit: Yen Wei and Ryan Chen)
Pineapple Prawns recipeBy Clarissa Wei
Serves 4
Sweet and sour is a universal flavour combination, and using fruit as the acid of choice is a common technique in East Asia. Southern China, for example, has cubes of chicken thighs saut?ed in an orange juice slurry, which eventually evolved into the American Chinese deep-fried orange chicken we know and love today. In Taiwan, we use pineapple instead of oranges and prawns instead of chicken. The prawns are deep-fried and then coated with a heavy hand of Kewpie (Japanese-style) mayonnaise. It’s then served with pineapples, which can be tossed with the prawns or served on the side. To finish, the dish is often garnished with hundreds and thousands (rainbow sprinkles) for a pop of colour — though toasted sesame seeds are traditional and admittedly a bit more demure.
Ingredients
For the prawns:450g (1lb) peeled and deveined large prawns (see Notes)1 tsp Taiwanese rice wine (michiu) or cooking sake 1/2 tsp fine sea salt1 egg white1 tbsp tapioca starch or cornflour 1/2 tsp toasted sesame oil4 cups (1 litre) canola or soybean oil
For the sauce and garnish: 1/4 cup (60g) Kewpie mayonnaise1 1/2 tsp rice vinegar1 tsp white sugar 1/2 tsp fine sea salt300g (10 1/2 oz) fresh pineapple, peeled, cored, and cut into 2.5cm (1in) wide wedgeshundreds and thousands (rainbow sprinkles) or toasted white sesame seeds
Method
Step 1 Make the prawns. Pat the prawns completely dry with kitchen paper. In a large bowl, combine the prawns, rice wine and salt. Mix to combine, then add the egg white. Mix to combine again and add the tapioca starch and sesame oil. Massage the marinade into the prawns with your hands. Cover and chill in the refrigerator for at least 20 minutes.
Step 2In a large wok over medium-high heat, heat the oil until it registers 175C/350F on an instant-read thermometer. Add half of the prawns and fry, stirring so they don’t clump together, until they curl and turn pink, about 1 minute. With a spider strainer, transfer the prawns to a kitchen paper-lined plate and drain thoroughly. Repeat with the remaining prawns. When the prawns are cool enough to handle, gently pat off any excess oil with more kitchen paper.
Step 3Make the sauce. In a small bowl, mix together the Kewpie mayonnaise, rice vinegar, white sugar and salt. In a large mixing bowl, combine the fried prawns and sauce and mix until the prawns are completely coated. Transfer to a serving plate, and artfully arrange the pineapple on the perimeter of the plate. Garnish with rainbow sprinkles (hundreds and thousands) and serve.
NotesIf you’re buying shell-on prawns, 900g (2lb) shell-on prawns will yield about 450g (1lb) peeled prawns.
Canned pineapple will work as well; just make sure to drain before use.
Hundreds and thousands (rainbow sprinkles) as a garnish is popular in the south of Taiwan. For northerners, it’s considered a bit tacky.
(Recipe excerpted from Made In Taiwan: Recipes and Stories from the Island Nation. Copyright @ 2023 by Clarissa Wei. Reproduced by permission of Simon Element, and imprint of Simon & Schuster. All rights reserved.)
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