Tai Ke: The city's first 100% Taiwanese restaurant opens in U City

“One problem,” the waitress explained when we asked how business was going at Tai Ke, just opened, “is that people confuse Taiwanese with Thai.”

Which seems a little weird.  And anyway, business did not seem to be suffering much. Tai Ke, St. Louis’ new—and only—restaurant dedicated to Taiwanese cuisine, was already bustling full early on a weeknight. The clientele was, us aside, entirely Chinese.

That should change. For St. Louis diners, for those who list “authenticity” high up on their criteria for trying new cuisines, this modest little eatery is a must-try. It’s tucked in behind the storefronts along Olive Blvd., right next to the Vietnamese restaurant Dao Tien, alongside N. McKnight Road. Small, impeccably clean, it’s informal with excellent service. 

Taiwanese food is not, of course, Thai. It isn’t really Chinese, either, though, and it’s a mistake to think of it in those terms. Taiwan is sort of the New York City of Asia, in the sense it has been populated by a series of immigrants, most of them from various regions of China, many of whom found themselves in Taiwan when the Nationalist Army fled there from mainland China when Mao armies prevailed. They brought their own foods, their own methods of preparations, from Fujian mainly, but from Guangdong and Shanghai as well. (There was also a native Taiwanese cuisine.)  Things got mixed up and swapped out and then Japan invaded and ran things for half a century until the end of WWII and added their own influences in the kitchen. 

And in case you're wondering, the "Ke" (pronounced kuh) in Tai Ke refers to "a person from the region"—as in New Yorker or St. Louisan.

What’s resulted is a unique cuisine. It’s rare in this country; most Chinese restaurants, of course, depend up more familiar regional cooking, brought by immigrants from those places. There was never a big influx of Taiwanese immigration, so the food never made much inroad on American palates.

Tai Ke is one of those places that doesn’t waste a lot of menu space on detailed descriptions.  Moreover, what they do describe is not going to set  off your “Yumo!” reflexes. “Intestinal rice,” for instance. Or “Pork and Squid Hot Pot Hakka Style.” It’s clear, too, just by the prices, that most of the menu consists of smaller dishes. Xiaochi—little snacks, kind of like tapas—are a feature of informal Taiwanese dining. That’s what most of the appetizers are here. 

“Big sausage in a little sausage” (right) is a translation of da chang bao xiaochang; it’s another small snack that will gladden the hearts and stomachs of those who are familiar with Taiwan’s street food.  The “big sausage” is a roll of slightly sweet sticky rice that’s wrapped, like a bun enclosing a hot dog, around sticky rive with bits of fragrant Chinese sausage, both of them just lightly char-grilled.

Oyster omelets are a classic, tiny sweet oysters floating in perfectly cooked eggs. The portion is just enough to make you consider ordering another. Let it go, however, because there are gua bao that demand your attention.

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Gua bao (above) are the Taiwanese version of Chinese buns and they are glorious here. They’re fat, airy, a wonderfully light bread folded over a slab of sweet, rich pork belly, with cilantro  sprigs, pickled mustard greens, and powdered peanuts. A couple of bites and they’re gone and this time, when you’re tempted to order another, you ought to give in. Second time around take a little time to appreciate it. The mustard greens are finely chopped, fermented, with an acidic kick. The little chopped bits of cilantro, stems and leaves, balance things with a bright citrus tang. The peanut powder is talcum-fine, mixed with just a hint of sugar. The pork belly is braised, with rock  sugar, five-spice powder, and rice wine.  Every component plays just the right role.

“Marinated eggs” don’t sound all that appetizing. The dish, though, is a bowl of rice with pork shreds and vegetables, with a whole boiled egg on top, one that’s been marinated in soy sauce and five spice powder, another street food standard. A table of four Taiwanese students were huddled over theirs; tasting home it was obvious.

More substantial fare at Tai Ke is still worth sharing.  Figure for a table of four, on at least twice that many dishes.  Some of note:

San bei ji (above)—Taiwanese like to think they invented it—is a classic, from Jiangxi, in southern China.  “Three cups chicken” is the translation: the three cups refer to the ingredients:  soy sauce, rice wine, and sesame oil. The chicken is chunked and cooked in a clay pot quickly, then slowly simmered until all the sauces have nearly evaporated. It arrives sizzling here, as it should be, cooked until just a minute more would have burned it.

“Oyster noodles” in a savory broth is another deliciously typical Taiwanese favorite; thin vermicelli-like noodles called misua in the native Taiwanese dialect. Don’t overlook these. That light brown color of the noodles comes from just a touch of sugar added to the flour that caramelizes when they’re heated, adding both a unique flavor and a pleasant texture.  On our visit, the waitress apologized:  they’re having trouble finding oysters that match the taste and size of the petite versions necessary for Taiwanese dishes.  So the noodles were accompanied by slices of large pork intestine, which is common in this preparation in Taiwan and—

Yeah, okay.

Look, you got us.  When we translated that “big sausage, little sausage” snack above, you  said, “Wait a minute.  Chang isn’t ‘sausage.’  It’s ‘intestine.’”  True. 

Here’s the thing:  a lot of Taiwanese foods include pork intestine. Chitlins. You can eat here without having them, just fine. But you are the one who wants “authentic.” And the fact is, they’re really, really good. You want to see how good, order the spicy pork intestines (right). It arrives bubbling hot in a casserole, beautiful, big slices of intestine stewed to splendid tenderness, with slender Chinese celery, Chinese mustard greens, and hsiang-guo:  “fragrant mushrooms” that you might know as shiitake. And pork blood. Which is another thing.

Pork blood is also pretty big in Taiwan foods. It’s dried and thickened and sliced into small, carmine dark chunks, with a taste that’s not at all what you might expect. In Mandarin, the euphemism for it is “red tofu,” which describes the texture and color. Tai Ke, as we said, is fairly straightforward in their menu descriptions. “Pig blood cake,” for instance; well, yes, we can see where that’d not set your mouth a’watering. It is, however, delightful, the blood mixed with rice and sliced into small bites in a thick sauce spiked with garlic and Taiwanese basil.

A superbly, masterfully prepared and utterly authentic dish from a rarely offered cuisine in the Midwest, is the Hakka style pork and squid (at right, lower right). The Hakka are a minority in China and Taiwan; they originally lived on boats and their cuisine features lots of dishes made, like American Southern cooking, with modest ingredients.  Slivers of squid and pork are stir-fried with slices of Chinese celery and other vegetables, all of it a happy, understated combination of texture and taste.

The most famous Taiwanese dish is a beef noodle soup (above). Ironic, since beef isn’t a major component of the food there. Tai Ke’s version is outstanding, slow-cooked shank with thick egg noodles in a rich, dark broth, with a lemony smack of fresh cilantro.

A fried pork culet, with baby bok choi over rice is another success; so is the Taiwanese fried rice noodles (right), tossed with nibbles of pork, bean sprouts, and chives. You’re still fretting over that intestine and blood stuff, aren’t you?  We get it. (That’s why we didn’t mention the pork ear appetizer. Which is great.) We feel the same about tuna casserole. We understand others like it; we just can’t see it as food. When we asked about how business was going and the waitress made the comment about people confusing Taiwan with Thai, she added that they were considering enlarging the menu to include “more stir-fry” dishes. Maybe they will presently be adding more familiar Chinese fare, which is okay. Even so, Tai Ke is a remarkable addition to the St. Louis dining scene. 

Just don’t ask for the pad Thai.

Tai Ke Taiwanese Cuisine

8604 Olive 

University City

For hours and opening menu, see gallery above

314-801-8894