Vay Van
Google
Dear Taiwan Beef Noodles · Chicken Soup,
I don’t know how to say this, but… You ruined me.
When we first met, it was late, 9PM. The city was buzzing, and I was just looking for something casual, something comforting. I had heard about you through a mutual friend, Lucas Sin from Bon Appétit who casually mentioned you in a video. He never said your name directly, of course. You’re mysterious like that. Your name was literally just… what you serve. And I thought, how good could something with a Google Maps listing that literal be?
But then I found you.
And everything changed.
I waited for you—15 minutes. And I would’ve waited longer. I would’ve waited forever, honestly. Because the moment we were together, and I tasted that broth… something deep inside me shifted. I’ve had beef noodle soup before. But you? You were something else. You were The One.
You made me feel things I didn’t know soup could make me feel.
The Three Treasure combo: tendon, shin, tripe was a love letter to my soul. The intense broth, bold and bright, with tomato tang, bean paste umami, and sweet onion whispers; each sip felt like you were saying, I know you. I see you. You deserve better.
The thin alkaline noodles, perfectly firm, lovingly prepared in that constantly refreshed water— you cared about me. You wanted me to be happy.
I was happy.
But now I can’t go back.
Other beef noodle soups mean nothing to me. I sit across from them, smiling politely, thinking of you. You made me question everything I thought I knew about broth. You made me believe. And now I’m just… lost.
I tried to move on.
I ordered the house dry noodles with spicy ground pork—they were fine. But it was like kissing someone who isn’t you. No spark. No soul.
I even flirted with the side of sausage, fatty and cold, served with sliced garlic that tried its best to cut through the richness. But I couldn’t stop thinking, Why am I wasting my time on sides when I had everything I ever needed in that bowl?
You were it for me.
You are it for me.
So I’m coming back.
I booked a flight. Next year. Same city. Same table, if it’s still there. I’ll check the box again on that laminated menu. Intense broth. Firm noodles. Everything. Just like last time. Just like always.
Until then, I’ll dream of you.
Yours in heartbreak and soy sauce,
💔
A hopeless, noodle-obsessed fool who thought he was just getting dinner, but found religion instead