Sipping Oolong, savouring hot pot

From fragrant Dong Ding Oolong to steaming hot pots, the East Asian gem of Taiwan is drawing travellers in with its immersive culinary experiences, writes Meenakshi J

It was only seven in the evening, but Dongshan Township in central Yilan, Taiwan, already felt like it had dozed off. Except for the ever-reliable 7-Eleven stores, not a single commercial establishment seemed open in a region famed for its sprawling rice paddies.

We pulled up beside a quiet community park and took a right towards what looked like a charming country cottage. From the outside, the dim lighting made us second-guess whether it was even open for dinner. But the moment we stepped in, it felt as if an entire village had gathered for a cosy community meal — with a twist.

At this restaurant, each table felt like a lively cooking station where diners diligently “crafted” their own feast — chopsticks clinking, steam rising, and the rich aroma of simmering broth filling the air. Some children peered eagerly into their bubbling pots, while others remained engrossed in their iPads.

Two empty tables, each with a burner at its centre, stood waiting for attention, surrounded by neatly arranged cutlery and crockery. Without much ado, our group of eight quickly claimed them, ready to dive into a DIY dining experience that promised to be nothing short of an adventure.

Welcome to Taiwanese Hot Pot! A bubbling, simmering communal broth where diners cook their choice of meats, vegetables, and other flavourful ingredients. With its origins in traditional Chinese Hot Pot, and similar to Japan’s Shabu Shabu, yet with its own unique Taiwanese flair, the Hot Pot here is an immersive culinary experience like no other in the region. Well, except for its revered tea-drinking tradition, which we’ll get to a little later!

As a vegetarian, my options initially felt underwhelming compared to the lavish non-vegetarian spread. While others got aromatic, herb-infused chicken broth, my pan — or pot, to be precise — held nothing more than plain boiling water. But soon enough, I found my own way to turn this meal into a feast. A few steps away, a counter brimmed with fresh vegetables and an enticing array of condiments. I eagerly picked up some crisp lettuce, juicy corn, chopped celery, tomatoes, and shallots, while also gathering pungent minced garlic and ginger. I also grabbed a dash of soy sauce, vinegar, and my personal favourite — fiery red chilli paste glistening in oil.

As I brought this assortment to my table and resigned myself to a simple bubbling meal, in came a bowl of steamed rice and a plate with diced frozen yams, velvety purple taro, and an assortment of soy chunks in all shapes and sizes. Now, this looked like one helluva feast! Without wasting a second, I greedily tossed everything into the simmering broth and, at last, added the rice, letting it soak up the flavours a little longer.

When I finally ladled out a spoonful, something felt off — it was missing salt. I scanned the table, but there was no shaker in sight. That’s when our tour guide, Francis, chuckled and let me in on a local secret: Taiwanese cuisine relies on the natural flavours of vegetables and condiments, using minimal salt. But my Indian palate was not having it. So, when a pinch of salt finally arrived, I sprinkled it in with the flair of a MasterChef, adding the final touch to my creation.

Now, it was just right. Ahoy! My Taiwanese hot pot had transformed. It now tasted like a comforting bowl of Tamil rasam saadham, but only with fresh, hearty vegetables, minus the tamarind and spices. Yet, it was just as soothing, warm, and an antidote to the chilly, soggy weather outside. To end on an even cosier note, I crushed a packet of instant noodles into the remaining broth and made myself a steaming hot noodle soup.

And for dessert? Scoops of matcha and blueberry ice cream, with bites of Lotus Biscoff in between — because, well, an antidote to an antidote! This Hot Pot experience was hands down one of the most satisfying culinary moments of the trip, and it was only the beginning. The very next day, I found myself immersed in another deeply cultural ritual: tea drinking in Jiufen, a picturesque hill town on the edges of New Taipei’s city limits, that once housed Japanese miners.

“If you have friends and tea, you are rich,” Francis had remarked during our stroll in Taipei, quoting a Taiwanese saying that highlights the deep-rooted significance of tea in both ancient Chinese and modern Taiwanese culture.

In Taiwan, tea drinking isn’t just a routine — it is a ritualistic art. Traditional tea houses, complete with ornate tea-making equipment and beautifully crafted sets, offer an experience far beyond just sipping a hot beverage. The elaborate gongfu cha tea-brewing ritual is a spectacle in itself, drawing both locals and curious travellers. A typical gongfu cha set includes a kettle for hot water, a smaller kettle like gaiwan for brewing, a gongdao (fairness cup) for serving the brew, delicate tea cups, and a bowl for discarding waste.

I had the privilege of witnessing this meditative process while seated at a quaint tea house in Jiufen, with a quirky name inspired by taro and sweet potato. My order? Equally unconventional by Indian tapri-chai-drinking standards — honey-coloured Dong Ding Oolong tea, paired with a delicate green mung bean cookie! But my attention was soon drawn to the gongfu cha ceremony unfolding at the table next to mine, where a kettle sat on burning coal near the table’s legs. For the next five minutes, I was transfixed, watching the meditative stance of a petite lady acting as the tea master, as if time had momentarily slowed down. As an initial step, she brewed the first round, but instead of serving it, she gracefully poured it away on the tea set, warming the set and washing off any impurities from the leaves. An essential step in the gongfu cha tradition, often called the “rinse” or “awakening the tea,” meant to cleanse the leaves and prepare them for real brewing. Interestingly, earlier at a tea house in Taipei’s historic Dihua Street, I had observed a slight variation: plain hot water was used to warm up the tea set before the brewing even began, ensuring the perfect temperature for steeping. Both practices, though slightly different, seem to reflect the deep reverence Taiwan has for its tea culture, where every step, no matter how small, is performed with mindfulness. No wonder the Taiwanese tea varieties smelled and tasted so aromatic. As I travelled across Taiwan, I understood that if there’s one thing the island nation makes clear, it’s that food and drink aren’t just for sustenance. They are a celebration, a ritual, and an invitation to slow down and savour life. And, whether it’s the warmth of a hot pot or the quiet meditative sip of Oolong, Taiwan has a cure for every craving — even if that craving is for yet another indulgent and immersive experience.