What’s in this sleepy aboriginal town? The toughest table to book in Taiwan – South China Morning Post Feedzy

It is a moonless night and, if not for the headlamps worn by those accompanying me, it would be pitch dark.

Nevertheless, the three hunters have no problem identifying animals when they shine their lights into the foliage on Mount Jingang, at the northernmost tip of Taitung county, on Taiwan’s east coast. The glow and outline of the eyes they spot tell them all they need to know.

Home to a number of aboriginal tribes, wild, fertile Taitung has the island’s longest stretch of craggy coastline, punctuated by steep cliffs.

The hunters belong to the Amis tribe, one of 16 recognised in Taiwan. They know the woods like the backs of their hands, their forefathers having hunted, fished and eaten according to the seasons some 5,500 years before the Chinese came to the island.

Many aboriginals in these parts are still schooled in the traditions of their ancestors, and want to pass them on to the next generation. They also want to let non-aboriginals know about their culture. The Three Men, as the trio I am with call themselves, take guests along on hunting trips on mild winter nights for NT$1,000 (US$31) per person.

We keep going for nearly an hour while the leader, Yan “Xiao Yan” Jilu, a 41-year-old who runs a homestay, points out which plants are edible and which are highly toxic, the differences too subtle to the inexperienced eye. He also tells me about the rituals and taboos of the aboriginals.

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Only men are allowed to hunt. We started the hunt with offerings of wine to the spirits that roam the forests.

“We avoid hunting when we know there is a high likelihood of getting baby animals that have not been weaned,” says Xiao Yan, whose aboriginal name is Sapod. “Taking down a pregnant animal is also a no-no.”

So that no animals die in vain, the hunters are also supposed to eat everything they kill.

The aboriginals are the only people in Taiwan issued with hunting licences. However, restrictions apply; they may hunt only unprotected species, and only for sustenance. And they may use only traps and home-made firearms. It is not clear why the government will not allow them to buy safer, professionally made weapons.

The Three Men are endorsed by a well-known chef who has come along on the hunt. Nick Yang is a Han Chinese transplant from Tainan, in the south, who fell in love with the area and aboriginal culture during 11 months doing military service in Changbin, the township surrounding Mount Jingang, in 2013.

Yang later did an apprenticeship as a chef in Provence, southern France. Learning about the French concept of terroir – the geographical conditions that affect the flavour of food – made him reflect on his time in Changbin, where some of his peers had shared with him the aboriginal wisdom of seasonal eating.

Yang, who by 2017 was the chef de partie at the three-Michelin-star Le Petit Nice, in Marseille, returned from France when he was approached by the owner of Sinasera, in Changbin, to head the hotel’s restaurant, Sinasera 24.

Over the past six years, Yang, now 33, has grown the reputation of Sinasera 24 to such an extent that guests must now book a table at the French fine-dining restaurant at least a month in advance.

Sinasera means “great earth” in the Amis language and the “24” in the restaurant’s name refers to the 24 micro seasons described in the farmers’ almanac of ancient China.

As a nod to the aboriginals, who favour eating food high in nutritional value and with warming properties during winter, Yang has designed a NT$4,000 game menu in collaboration with The Three Men.

However, because hunters are forbidden from benefiting financially from their activities, their spoils do not feature in paid-for meals at Sinasera 24, although sometimes The Three Men give Yang a small portion of their kill, which the chef turns into a complimentary dish for guests.

For his 13-course menu, therefore, Yang buys ingredients such as snake, peacock and meat of the brilliant green-necked Mallard duck, as well as bee pupae, from farms that breed these animals for export.

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The menu may turn off some diners – although venison and rabbit also feature – but adventurous foodies arrive in droves to see how Yang presents this unusual fare as elegant French cuisine.

That night, out on the forested tracks, the hunters have little luck at first, until one of them spies a doe on a boulder. He takes aim with his improvised rifle and fires. Winged, the doe takes flight. A shot from another hunter quickly follows. The doe collapses.

Even these seasoned killers find it difficult to watch her frantic kicks as the young doe struggles. They make a deep slash across her throat. Life gushes away in a rivulet of blood and the hunters carry her back to their base camp, where they skin and gut her.

The next evening, part of her is presented to me as a croquette, on the house. The meat is tender but I enjoy it less than the other dishes, which are beautifully presented and have delicate, layered tastes and textures. By simmering it with thyme and garlic, Yang has made supposedly bland-tasting peacock delicious.

It takes effort to get to Changbin. From Taipei Main Station, I took a 3.5-hour train ride to Yuli, a town in Hualien, from where Sinasera is 30 minutes away by car.

Given the distance, most visitors from Taipei stay overnight in Changbin and take the time to enjoy scenic spots such as Jingang (“King Kong”) Boulevard, an expanse of highway flanked by terraced rice fields, and stroll around the small town.

“If not for Sinasera 24, I would not have thought of coming here,” says a Taipei woman I meet at Green Giant, an artisan coffee shop on quiet No. 11 Highway, a 15-minute walk from Sinasera.

Green Giant’s owner-barista, Liang Zhen, is a self-professed recluse from Kaohsiung, Taiwan’s third largest city, and tells me he came to Changbin because he wanted to get away from cities and crowds.

But the secret is out. Besides surf breaks off secluded Pacific Ocean beaches, tropical forests with swaying coconut trees and hills blanketed with lush vegetation, a handful of hip shops have been opened in Changbin in the past few years, mostly by those who, like Liang, have come in search of peace and quiet.

Mini is an Instagrammable gelato shop that would not look out of place in Canggu, in Bali, Indonesia. It is owned and run by a singer-songwriter couple who moved to Changbin in search of a quiet life with their children in 2015.

A star-struck customer whispers to me that the woman is Ilid Kaolo, a famous Amis country singer from Hualien.

Two streets away is Little Blue Dot, a bakery that turns out artisan bread in small batches. By 3pm, it has closed, the last loaf having been sold.

Luma has more fixed opening hours – 11am to 8pm. Opened by Yang in May, the cafe stands on Changbin’s main street, where supermarkets, lottery shops and other small places to eat are also found, along with a fresh food market that opens on some mornings.

Luma specialises in Vietnamese cuisine cooked with local ingredients. Wanting to provide employment to other newcomers to the area, Yang has staffed the cafe mostly with Vietnamese migrant brides and other foreigners.

With Sinasera 24, the chef pays tribute to the first people to settle on the island. With Luma, he is recognising a new generation of settlers in Changbin.