Written by Thomas Lu (Pitzer College), Student Correspondent for CET Taiwan, Spring 2026
In Search of Good Cheese
Graffiti was strewn across the facade of the joint like multicolored cooked spaghetti recently dropped on the floor. It was a squat, two story building on an odd shaped, fallow plot of land under the long, arching gargantua of the Civic Boulevard overpass in Zhongzheng district. The floor plan of the brick structure resembled a tall trapezoid if you put it in your back pocket and accidentally sat on it. It was clearly tailored to a specific space between buildings that no longer existed, leaving this looming shadow remnant the lone resident of a now undeveloped island sprouting out of an asphalt sea.
J-Pop played loudly as we slid open the screeching glass door; most in the city are automatic, but this spot was old school, wood-on-wood sliding action. The main dining area was bathed in embattled fluorescent white and neon red lights. The black and white tile of the main dining area matched the 老闆’s (lǎobǎn – boss) checkerboard Vans and was too intricately patterned for my tired eyes in this light. Around fifteen seats in total, all uncomfortably tall metal stools, left barely any room to navigate the cramped dining area. An eight inch deep bar ran the circumference of the oddly shaped spot just above hip height. Bare cast iron pipes zigzagged across the unfinished concrete ceiling, carrying who knows what to who knows where.
The bathroom was gross with sticky floors and a graffitied stainless steel sink. Its one lightbulb hung from a sketchy cord that looked like it might raze the place to the ground if bumped the wrong way. The place was a dive. The rolling metal shutter across the front door was only ever raised after the sun had been set for hours. In fact, Jordan and I had walked by the spot at least twice before during daylight hours, and only ever assumed the place to be abandoned.
Tricolor Risograph posters from 2009 onward hung on the walls alongside neon signs in various states of decay. Bands I had never heard of advertised shows in venues as small as school auditoriums to as large as Taipei Dome. The people around us chatted in various mixtures of English, Chinese, and Japanese. A strange live stream of another restaurant played on the small Insignia TV that hung on the wall. It was the same kind of TV my family had in the kitchen of my childhood home. Every part of this place was eerily familiar.
Two awkwardly placed beverage fridges abutted the ordering counter, of which the 老闆 stood to the side of, casually leaning against the hot glass case which held the pizza. He was probably in his early thirties and had long black hair with significant grey streaks pulled back into a ponytail. Thick, circular, dark rimmed glasses framed his unamused face. I ordered in decent if broken Chinese, the 老闆 responding “do you want extra cheese on top?” in perfect English. “Yes please,” I said, knowing good cheese was the only reason I had come to this place at all. Jordan and I were both craving a real slice of pizza and all the other 外國人 (wàiguórén – foreigners) online mentioned this spot particularly. Rightfully so, there is no abundance of pizza in Taipei. That which you will find tends to be topped with squid, American cheese, and all manner of things deemed preferential by the Taiwanese palate. It’s still good food, but wasn’t scratching the itch like we needed.
We sat down near a corner window and sat in silence watching the cyclical rhythm of Taipei’s 摩托車人 (mótuōchērén – motorcyclists) as they lined up, idling while the digital red light counted down before jetting off as soon as the light turned green. Two or three cycles later the 老闆 called out our numbers and we retrieved our food. The slices came out piping hot, on Chuck E. Cheese-style greasy white paper plates. Traffic grumbled outside the plate glass window, coming from both ground level and the elevated expressway. I grumbled to Jordan about how incredibly expensive the spot was and how it couldn’t be worth it, but that first bite changed everything.
The crunch of the semolina crust, the aroma of the Asian basil, the sharpness of the parmigiano reggiano. My tune changed quicker than a jukebox on the fritz. It was incredible. The crust was fluffy, chewy, and dense in all the right ways. The pepperoni was crisp around the edges and cupped small mouthfuls of peppery grease perfectly. The cheese was sharp but not overpowering. The tomato sauce was basic but an incredible team player bringing subtle flavor and acidity to cut through the density of the cheese, as all pizza sauce should. And that basil. The Asian basil was the moneymaker on this slice. I would’ve paid double to have that first bite again, not to mention the pickled jalapeños offering a well needed but sparse kick that burst through the heaviness of the fats and carbs on display. I looked at Jordan and without saying a word we agreed, this was the slice to beat.
In my life I have never had a first bite like this and, maybe it was the two months I had gone without cheese, but it was indescribably intense and delicious. I didn’t come to Taipei to eat pizza, and in fact every other meal I’ve had here was likely as incredible as this one, but pizza was a necessary break from the flavors I love on a daily basis. When you live on an apple farm, even the most average orange tastes incredible.
The 老闆 nodded in approval as we hounded our slices. I was craving good cheese so badly I even licked the plate clean. Immediately we both walked back to the counter and ordered another. A glint shone in the 老闆’s eye; he knew he had us hooked from the moment we stepped through the door. The pizza was the insidious key that opened our wallets completely to the man beside the counter. We lotophagi had no choice though, it was just that good. Only Taipei’s hippest and most en-denimed 20 somethings came to this joint, completely subsumed by the goods. Our second pieces came out five minutes later and we ate them just as quickly and greedily. It was grimy and it was delicious.
We both left in a stunned silence. “Whoa,” Jordan said as we stepped back onto the street, “That was insane.” I could do nothing but agree, it was insane. I’ve told everyone who asks about this spot that they have to try it, but it seems so far that only Jordan and I have ventured under the bridge in search of good cheese.
Showing My Brother Around Taiwan
During week five of my program, my brother came to visit. On spring break from his elementary school teacher job, we made the most of his six days here by going on three hikes, doing classic touristy things, and seeing two professional sports games. On a whim, we watched the Chinese Taipei National Team get thoroughly beaten by the Sri Lankans at Taipei Municipal Stadium for the Asia Cup Qualifiers. The crowd of 1,556 roared tepidly and intermittently as my brother and I cheered as loud as we could for the Blue Magpies.
On Friday, my brother’s last day before making the long journey back to the States, we made plans with some of my housemates and good friends from the program to go watch a Taiwanese pro baseball game, an activity highly recommended by my local roommates. In the morning we splurged at a breakfast market on various scallion-bespeckled breakfast foods before taking the MRT one stop down the red line to hike Xiangshan (Elephant Mountain). It was a clear day with a light drizzle, which in Taipei means stiflingly muggy conditions on the ground. After the hike we went back to our Airbnb to give him time to pack and myself some time to study.
After a cooldown period in the apartment, we then met up with my roommates Jordan and Allen and made our way to Tianmu Stadium in northern Taipei. At the stadium we met up with another good friend from the program Hutton, and headed towards the team store. We realized once we started shopping that the Taipei team was sponsored by Wei Chuan, the company that makes most of my family’s favorite frozen Taiwanese/Chinese foods. That sealed the deal for my brother, who was already considering buying a jersey, and he bought a ridiculously intricately stitched red jersey with a giant gold dragon reaching across the front buttons. He and I are now fans for life, go Dragons!
Handy tip for anyone in Taiwan looking to attend a baseball game and who knows less than a functional amount of Chinese, when buying your tickets at FamilyMart, which of course you can, make sure you check what section you are buying tickets for instead of just clicking the successive green buttons on the kiosk screen. We realized once we got to our section that we had accidentally bought tickets in the opposing team’s section. And while I admire the TSG Hawks from Kaohsiung and the pretty sizable crowd they drew in an opposing city, it was a mistake I seriously regret. Taiwanese baseball has a stadium pulse unlike any other sporting event I’ve gone to. Tens of cheerleaders lead the home crowd in rehearsed dances, songs, and rituals while the fans get incredibly into the game. The camera operator for the jumbotron had a knack for finding superfans decked out entirely in red and gold gear reproducing the cheerleaders’ dances flawlessly for the home team. We unfortunately were seeing all this from afar, as the Hawks’ section had a complete audio system and drum line.
Apart from the seating mix up, the game was quite exciting as well. The two teams were tied up at the bottom of the first inning when we initially sat down, with the Hawks taking the lead around the top of the third. However by the bottom of the eighth, our beloved Dragons had tied it up. Going into the ninth, the Dragons held the Hawks at one walk but then three successive strikeouts meant their scoring days were over. The Hawks rallied in the bottom of the ninth and had the Dragons at two walks and two strikeouts as the last hitter took home plate.
Both sections of fans were dead silent, though the Hawks fans around us were grinning ear to ear. They were the favorites for this game, with one fan sitting nearby quite simply telling us “They will not lose.” The drummers stowed their sticks for the final play as only the faint digital buzzing of the speakers hung in the air. Even though we were four hundred feet from home plate, I swear I could hear that first pitch hit the leather webbing of the catcher’s glove as the Dragons batter swung and missed. Every Hawks fan in section E6 exhaled their held breaths and leaned a little more into the edge of their seat as the pitcher warmed up for what would surely be his second strike. My brother nervously fiddled with the last button on his jersey as we Dragons fans held out for a miraculous play knowing that, with third base loaded, all we needed was a single to win this thing.
The stadium remained silent as the pitcher reared back onto his right foot, brought his left leg up and back, and then flung the ball towards home plate. A stunned panic took the crowd as we heard the crack of the maple wood bat against the red stitched seams of the ball. A white blaze flew across the alternating dark and light stripes of the green grass as we watched the ground ball make its way right between second and third. At the same time a dark, sharp hunk of the bat followed, bouncing erratically across the red clay. He broke the bat! I watched as our batter took off towards first and, once he was close enough, I looked towards home plate. I had completely forgotten about our player on third and as I scanned, he crossed home plate.
I didn’t think the crowd could get louder or dance harder, but I was completely wrong. Having won the game, each team met in the middle of the diamond to shake hands on a game well played. The entire population of sections A1 through E5 lost their minds as they turned into a frenetic sea of waving red shirts, hats, and towels. The roar was thunderous and deserving of the Dragon name. Drums beat and music played as the home team celebrated. My friends, my brother, and I did our part, cheering as loud as we could from our little red dot in the green section. To my surprise, as we began to filter out of the bleachers we weren’t met with jeers or disappointed Hawks fans. They were genuinely happy to have seen a great game and were congratulatory towards us.
As much as I love the game and am so enamored with the improvements the Taiwanese have made to baseball, one thing that I absolutely cannot stand is how gracious and respectful each team is. Where’s the rivalry? Where’s the dangerously competitive spirit and pride? Why are we shaking hands and picking up trash when we just won the game by the skin of our teeth?!! As an American raised sports-watcher and fan of a team that is constantly testing my patience (go Angels!), I couldn’t and refuse to understand why Taiwanese fans could see the bigger picture. If I go to a baseball game, it is only to root for the red team. I do not, under any circumstances, want to acknowledge that player X from team Y had a record breaking game, or that it is the last game for their scheduling manager, or that they played better even though we won. We won didn’t we?! Taiwanese baseball is a game that strives for an egalitarian ideal. This is something I will have to get used to as a new 外國人(waiguoren – foreigner) fan.
We wrapped up my brother’s trip at Raohe Night Market, where he got many compliments and comments on his new jersey from fans who were just as excited to have seen the Dragons win. We were both overjoyed at having watched such a good game and couldn’t have asked for a better experience to end on (except for the super spicy bao at Raohe that left me crying and coughing almost as intensely as that time my friend accidentally pepper sprayed me, I would go back and ask for that to be different). The last thing he packed in his suitcase the next morning was his brand new red and gold jersey, folding it neatly along the pre-existing lines so as to preserve the large embroidered dragon, and we talked about the game all the way to the airport.