Nobuo: Essentiality, Clarity, and Hospitality

 “Curry Rice!” my friend exclaimed as a white bowl was placed in front of him. A small mound of white rice with a dark and shimmering crescent-shaped pool of curry was an unexpected way to finish the savory portion of a tasting menu. Since the restaurant has one Michelin star, the curry rice is an elevated version of standard Japanese fare; the ingredient list is long, with mirepoix, fruits, spices, espresso, and dark chocolate. The rice was perfectly cooked, and the curry was full-flavored and complex. This is one of two signature dishes by Chef Nobu Lee at his eponymous restaurant, Nobuo, in downtown Taipei.

At first glance, the "ugly delicious" curry seemed out of place among the parade of delicately plated savory courses that came before. The seemingly simple yet complex dish is not only comforting but also reflects the essence of the restaurant and its chef—a confluence of different cultures and influences gained through travel and life experiences.

Curry may have its origins in India, but Japanese curry is not a direct descendant; rather, it was brought to Japan by the British. As curry migrates through the world, it gets reinterpreted. In Japan, curry was adapted to suit local tastes and became its own genre. Japanese-Taiwanese chef Lee spent his tumultuous childhood in Japan and later in Taiwan. Like many great chefs, he started as a dishwasher and worked in all sorts of places to make ends meet, including the American Club in Taipei. Eventually, he secured a job at L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon in Paris, which set the course for a career in fine dining. He was trained by some of the best French chefs in the world—Joël Robuchon and Yannick Alléno—by working in their restaurants in Taipei. He also worked in Australia and New Zealand. His journey ultimately brought him back to Taipei in 2019, where he became the head chef at Orchid restaurant. In 2023, he opened his own restaurant. Lee’s food is French in origin and technique, but many of the ingredients he uses are local. The flavor profiles are adapted to the local palate. Like Japanese curry, Lee has made French cuisine uniquely his own in Taipei.

The first time I had the curry rice—I’ve been to the restaurant twice—I didn’t know the dish offered unlimited servings. After I devoured the food, the server asked if I would like some more. Without thinking much, I said, “Sure.” It was only after I finished the second serving and the server asked again if I wanted another that I realized the curry rice was unlimited. The server said the chef wants to make sure people don’t leave the restaurant hungry. The idea that one can ask for more, and that there’s always more rice available, feels like eating at someone’s home. One senses less of the transactional nature of dining out and more of generosity.

The ambiance of the restaurant also feels a bit like a home. It is located on the ground floor of a seven-story apartment building in a residential neighborhood. The semi-enclosed entrance is partly paneled in wood, with painted green walls. A large potted leafy plant dominates the entry. Beside the dark brown wood door is a backlit crest reminiscent of Japanese family crests. Lee’s crest consists of three oysters and three knives. In the press, Lee said that a chef he once worked with told him, “The world is your oyster.” This phrase has stayed with him ever since, serving as an inspiration for freedom, adventure, and the pursuit of his dreams.

Step inside the wooden door, and you’ll find a shallow credenza in a small foyer—like entering someone’s apartment. In contrast to the exterior, the color palette inside is light, with off-white walls and ceiling and light wood floors. The dining room is one continuous space with two distinct areas. The back area, with 12 seats, is more defined and does not have a direct view of the open kitchen. The front area, with six seats, is directly in front of the kitchen. The kitchen workstations are perpendicular to the space, and there isn’t a barrier between the kitchen and the diners—not even a kitchen pass; it feels almost like eating at a kitchen table. Even though the kitchen is open, it is not noisy at all. In fact, there’s an efficiency and rhythm to the movement that feels almost choreographed.

There are no views to the outside, but a window made of glass bricks allows some natural light into the space during the day. Framed artworks hang on a few walls, and the soundtrack is mostly mid-century hard-bop jazz. The wooden tables are covered with white tablecloths that are slotted into the table at both ends. The table setting is minimal, with just the essentials: a white napkin, a simple water glass, and a menu. Even though the restaurant is small, the tables are nicely spaced. The overall feel is very pleasant.

Maybe because I visited Tokyo just before coming to Nobuo for the first time, the restaurant feels slightly Japanese in terms of its look and scale. I can’t quite explain this perception, but I can easily imagine Nobuo being located in Tokyo’s Minato ward.

Lee stated that his food is based on the principles of "simplicity, purity, and honesty." I’ve been to the restaurant twice in the last six months—once for lunch and once for dinner—and I understand these ideas and see them reflected on the plates. However, these terms can feel a bit nebulous. Instead, I suggest three other words to describe Lee’s food, as well as the restaurant: essentiality, clarity, and hospitality.

Simplicity in fine dining often belies the complicated and arduous process behind it. This is similar to minimalist architecture, where achieving something that looks simple and effortless often requires more work and greater expense. Also, simplicity in food doesn’t mean a lack of complexity in flavor. Instead of “simplicity,” I prefer the term essentiality to describe what Lee is trying to achieve—and, for the most part, accomplishes. His dishes are pared down and free of extraneous components.

The two scallop dishes that Lee served in succession during my dinner in June are good examples. The first was a cold scallop dish: the scallop was lightly smoked, served with almond purée, and topped with caviar. The dish certainly looked simple and elegant, but it was rooted in refined technique. The beauty of this simplicity is that the diner is not distracted and can truly focus on the taste of the ingredients.

The warm scallop dish is Lee’s other signature offering: scallop mousse. The mousse is molded in the shape of a small scallop shell, steamed, and served with a butter-based sauce. Visually, this dish is even simpler, with a very limited color palette—yet it is strikingly beautiful. It’s a good example of how you don’t need sharply contrasting colors, excessive ingredients, or tweezer-plated components to create a stunning dish—a rare sight in Western fine dining in Taipei. The texture of the scallop mousse is light, and the sauce is wonderful. The dish’s simplicity demands technical precision because there’s nothing to hide mistakes. It was a memorable dish, and I can see why Lee always keeps it on the seasonally changing menu.

For the majority of the meal, Lee manages to keep things simple and essential, but occasionally a dish doesn’t quite work. The main course at my dinner in June—A5 wagyu beef au poivre with conch—was a bit too complicated and lacked balance. I love the idea of surf and turf, but in this case, the two didn’t really go together. The conch provided a different texture from the beef but felt more decorative than complementary. The sauce was well made but a bit too heavy—not just for the conch, but for the beef as well. Each of the components was well prepared, but they didn’t seem to come together cohesively. I can see that, since this is the pièce de résistance, the chef wanted to do more, but this dish didn’t have the same quality of simplicity or essentiality as the seafood dishes. To make matters worse, the dish comes with a NT$600 supplemental charge.

Lee’s second principle is “purity,” which implies the state of not being mixed with anything else. Again, I understand Lee’s intention, but this idea is hard to apply to food, because cooking inevitably involves some manipulation of nature’s bounty. Instead of purity, I prefer the term "clarity", which suggests coherence, intelligibility, and the ability to see—or taste—clearly. There is clarity in Lee’s intention, execution, and flavor profile. You know what you are eating, and the food is not overly manipulated for the sake of technique.

The best example is the fish course: snapper with green peas. The fish was cooked simply and looked beautiful. The petit pois that accompanied the fish were vibrant in color and nicely prepared. The sauce, made with clams to enhance the flavor, was delicate and well balanced. One could see and taste the freshness. There was clarity in both the plating and the flavors. It was a wonderful dish.

Another example is the octopus, which is slow-cooked, seared, dusted with shrimp powder, and served with a shrimp- and tomato-based cream sauce. 

The pre-dessert is also a good illustration of clarity. Lee serves a quenelle of tofu ice cream with tofu purée. The appearance and flavor of the pre-dessert are clean and simply very nice.

The same cannot be said about the main dessert, which takes inspiration from the Japanese treat sakuramochi. It consists of red bean paste, diced wax apple, white chocolate ganache, cherry blossom leaf, sake sorbet, and a sake-based sauce. The ideas of essentiality and clarity both eluded this dessert. Of all the dishes I had at Nobuo, this was the one I disliked the most. Maybe I don’t have a strong enough memory of eating sakuramochi to appreciate the idea behind the dessert—or maybe I was just hoping for some actual mochi. The flavors of each component were fine, but they didn’t seem to come together to form a cohesive whole. For me, this dessert was too clever or complicated for its own good.

Aside from the dessert, the other thing I don’t like at Nobuo is the bread service. In between the two seafood courses, the server brought out a small kugelhopf with a dipping sauce. This is one of the few things I didn’t enjoy at either of my meals. I didn’t understand the purpose of the dish or its place in the sequence. This is essentially the bread course, but the kugelhopf was too crumbly—more like a cake than a bread. It was hard to eat with the sauce served on the side. I also disliked the size—it was too small.

I wish Lee would serve a larger kugelhopf meant to be shared, like Gabriel Kreuther does at his eponymous restaurant in New York City. It’s always nice to break bread with dining companions. Actually, what I’d really prefer is for Lee to serve some bread at the beginning of the meal. Many of the dishes at Nobuo come with well-made and delicious sauces. It would be so much better if I had some bread to sop up those sauces.

Maybe Lee doesn’t have the personnel or capacity for an in-house bread program. There’s nothing wrong with outsourcing bread—even some Michelin three-star restaurants do that. Perhaps Lee thinks serving bread is too Western, or that it doesn’t pair well with the curry rice at the end. But if not bread, how about some flatbread (餅)? Starting from the amuse-bouche, there are so many nice sauces that deserve to be sopped up.

Lee’s third principle is “honesty.” Frankly, this is a bit hard for a diner to judge. Take the pricing of the meals at Nobuo: lunch is NT$2,880 plus 10%, and dinner is NT$4,280 plus 10%; lunch has three fewer courses than dinner. Are these prices honest or fair? I can only say the pricing seems reasonable based on the experience and in comparison to other similar restaurants in Taipei. Or take the origin of the ingredients—I can only assume the information provided is accurate. Therefore, instead of honesty, I prefer the term hospitality, which means the act of being friendly and welcoming to guests.

You can feel the hospitality the moment you walk into the restaurant. You are welcomed by a friendly server who helps open the door. As you walk past the open kitchen, the chef says hello. After sitting down, the restaurant manager, Heidi Peng, comes to greet you and explain the menu.

Hospitality doesn’t mean being overtly friendly. For instance, when dishes are brought to the table, there are no lengthy explanations—just the essentials. The servers don’t hover over you or interrupt your conversations with your dining companions. But throughout the meal at Nobuo, you always feel well taken care of by the staff. The service feels more European than American or Taiwanese. The staff is sincere and very professional.

Another example is the aforementioned unlimited refill of curry rice. Chef Lee is a serious cook—you won’t find him laughing it up or sitting down with diners in the dining room. But you can see his hospitality and heartfelt desire to make sure guests go home with full stomachs.

At our dinner in June, we were celebrating my daughter’s birthday. The restaurant put a candle on her dessert plate. But they went one step beyond the standard practice: Peng gave her a birthday card signed by the entire staff. It was her first time at Nobuo, yet the gesture made her feel at home—as if she were with old friends. However, to make it even more personal, Peng might consider handwriting the entire note, similar to what luxury hotels often do.

After we finished our dinner, we said goodbye to the chef and staff. A server walked us to the door and waited with us until our ride arrived. He saw us off with the same way you might find in Japan.

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me what memorable meal I had recently. Without hesitation, I said Nobuo. The meal wasn’t perfect, but it was a highly enjoyable experience. The majority of the dishes were on point and delicious. The weaker dishes—the final savory course and the main dessert—were those where Lee seemed to be trying to do too much or felt the need to present a multi-component creation. The result was dishes with well-executed parts, but lacking an integrated whole where everything felt essential.

Given that the restaurant serves only one tasting menu for all guests, I wish Lee would experiment with some large-format dishes. Instead of conceiving and cooking only individual tasting portions, why not create dishes that are shared and even cut and served table side? For example, rather than serving each diner a small kugelhopf, why not bake a large loaf of bread and slice it at the table—similar to what Alain Ducasse does at some of his fine dining restaurants. For savory courses, there could be en croûte dishes or whole poultry meant for sharing. Large-format dishes would provide variety and perhaps lessen the need for overly complicated main courses.

Since Nobuo is a small restaurant, difficult to book, and offers only a seasonal tasting menu, it’s not the kind of place one can visit weekly or even monthly. Nor is it a restaurant that promises extravagance or grand cuisine. Rather, Nobuo is a very good and compelling restaurant where you can have a great experience, enjoy beautiful ingredients cooked with skill,   and gain insights into the world that Lee came from.

The Graphic Design Concepts For Ivy Ball MMXXIV

Every mid-December, the alumni associations of the Ivy League schools in Taiwan host a holiday ball, with two schools taking turns organizing the event. This year, the responsibility falls to the alumni of Cornell and Princeton Universities. Since I work in the field of design, I took on the task of designing the graphics for the ball, primarily the backdrop for the stage. 

I am an architect and not a graphic designer. I don’t know the finer points of typography or kerning. But as the Milanese architect Ernesto Nathan Rogers once said, “dal cucchiaio alla città” (from the spoon to the city). An architect should know how to design everything. 

To develop a concept for the design, I began by examining the designs of previous years. These designs predominantly utilized the logos of the eight Ivy League schools as the primary elements, creating various combinations and patterns. This approach is understandable, as the logos are likely the most recognizable graphics that represent the branding of the schools. However, I wanted to create a design that went beyond mere repetition, aiming for something fresh and distinctive. Additionally, I wanted the design to convey deeper meanings beyond its decorative nature. 

To propose a new approach, I opted to eliminate the logos entirely. After all, the logo alone is not the only thing that represents the school. In lieu of the logos, I would use the mottos of the schools as the primary graphic element. Arguably, these mottos possess greater symbolic resonance as they embody the spirit of the institution that the logos don't quite express. For instance, Harvard’s motto, “Veritas,” exudes a profound and enduring impact compared to its logo. By emphasizing the mottos rather than the logos, the graphics will acquire a deeper and more meaningful significance. 

Utilizing only text produce a more cohesive visual representation. However, during my research on the mottos of the eight schools, I discovered that Cornell is the only one without a Latin motto. Founded in 1868, the youngest of the eight schools, Cornell’s motto is exclusively in English and originates from its founder, Ezra Cornell: “I would establish an institution where any individual can obtain instruction in any discipline.” This phrase can be abbreviated as “… any individual … any discipline.” Having seven mottos in Latin and one in English would place too much attention on one school. 

Given that Cornell and Princeton serve as the organizers, I have chosen to use Princeton’s informal English motto. While Princeton’s Latin motto, “Dei Sub Numine Viget” (Under God’s Power She Flourishes), holds historical significance, it is now rarely seen or mentioned. Instead, Princeton has become predominantly associated with its informal motto, “In the nation’s service and the service of humanity.” This motto was conceived by Woodrow Wilson and subsequently added onto by Sonia Sotomayor. The two organizers will have their mottos in English and be differentiated from the other Ivy League schools. 

Utilizing text exclusively as the backdrop is new for the Ivy Ball, but it is certainly not a novel idea. I studied the design Pentagram created for the 92nd Street Y to determine the appropriate text size and its visual impact in photographs with people in the foreground. Unlike Pentagram, I didn't have the resources to develop a new typeface specifically for the Ivy Ball. Instead, I chose to use Bodoni. I remember when I interviewed Bruce Mau many years ago, he told me a story about Massimo Vignelli. Vignelli’s designers would be working with all sorts of typefaces, and he would come by their desks and say, “I don’t know, maybe Bodoni.” Vignelli once said that "Bodoni is one of the most elegant typefaces ever designed.“ 

Beyond consulting the works of graphic designers, I also drew inspiration from one of my favorite artists, Ed Ruscha, who began his career in the field of graphics. I have always admired Ruscha’s work, which centers around words and phrases. As Ruscha once stated, “I simply happened to paint words like someone else paints flowers.” 

Emulating Ruscha, I wanted the texts to float over a color field. Since I’m not an artist, I chose to do the color in a mechanical and calculated manner. I used the Princeton orange (CMYK: 6, 65, 100, 0) on one side and the Cornell red (CMYK:0,100,79,20) on the other side and asked the computer to generate a gradation in between. 

The physical backdrop for the Ivy Ball existed for only a few hours, but the design lives on in the digital realm through the photographs captured that evening. While some attendees may not be familiar with the texts in the backdrop, the mottos of the participating schools, many of which have theological roots, encapsulate universal moral principles. These mottos, such as seeking light and truth, providing opportunities for any person, and being in the service of humanity, serve as powerful reminders of the privilege of receiving exceptional education. This privilege, however, also entails the responsibility to contribute to a better world.

Is the Food at Restaurant A Art?

Restaurant A is the latest venture by chef Alain Huang, formerly the Chef de Cuisine of the two-Michelin-star restaurant RAW in Taipei. After leaving RAW Huang took more than two years to prepare and open his fine dining restaurant. He and his investors are clearly looking to garner multiple Michelin stars. Since the restaurant opened in September of 2023, I have been there twice for dinner, once in winter and another in spring. Restaurant A is an ambitious endeavor and asks questions that deserve careful considerations. 

Is food art? This is the main question Restaurant A poses to the diners. This question is often considered at fine dining restaurants as the line between food and art is sometimes blurred. For instance, chef Ferran Adria of El Bulli restaurant was invited to participate in the art fair, Documenta 12, in Kassel in 2007. By posing the question, Restaurant A certainly thinks food is art and wants the diners to view its food as art. This desire drives the bulk of the dining experience. While the approach is understandable and perhaps even admirable, it is also misguided. Food is not art because it has a functional purpose to nourish people. Food can certainly can be art-like, however, forcing the ideas of art onto the diners actually diminishes the power of the food and the enjoyment of the experience.

Restaurant A occupies the entire 4th floor of a small retail building in downtown Taipei. The elevator opens into a mostly white, sterile, and brightly lit space with a receptionist at one end. Upon entering, one of my dining companions quips, it’s like going to a dentist’s office; harsh but kind of true. The reception is designed to resemble a gallery. The hostess is eager to point out the artworks on the walls and that they are provided by a gallery the restaurant collaborates with. The artworks change with the seasons and they serve as inspirations for the food. While this may sound artsy and sophisticated, a gallery is not a good model for a restaurant. The space of a gallery is about selling art, in contrast, a restaurant is about providing hospitality. The word restaurant is derived from the French word, restaurer, meaning to restore to a former state; restaurant is about nourishing people. Another problem with using the gallery as a model for the restaurant is lighting. In the galleries the lighting is often bright because the purpose is to show the art. But a restaurant is less about spotlighting the food and more about creating an ambiance. Using the art gallery as the model for the restaurant is simply wrongheaded.

Before going into the dining room, I stop by the men’s room on the right side of the reception. The signage design is too artistic as it is hard to tell which door is the men’s room; the design forgets its primary purpose: communication. What's worse is if a woman accidentally opens the wrong door, she will have a direct view of two urinals; there's very little privacy. The custom designed sink isn’t too attractive either. I also fail to understand why in this post-pandemic world a restaurant doesn’t install a contactless faucet. The towels provided on the right side of the sink are too small to properly dry one’s hands. For a restaurant that seems generous with the use of space and cares greatly about appearance, the men's room is poorly planned. 

The sliding doors on the left side of the reception open to a lounge called Alcoholiday; the name doesn’t mean much. The ceiling, walls, and floor of the space are all in white. But the design is too complicated for its own good. The majority of the vertical planes consists of horizontal shallow shelves in a running bond tile-like pattern. This device is both a decorative element in front of solid walls and a screen that separates different spaces. The shelves are constructed of small modular pieces and connected with highly visible round head screws. I can only assume the designer really wants to reveal the construction of the shelves. I wish the design and the construction are more minimal and elegant to project a sense of effortlessness. The pitched ceiling consists of shingled long white planks with continuous cover lights. The ceiling reminds me a bit of the ceiling at the airline baggage check-in area in Taipei Main Station. I don't know what's the intention behind the design, but it's too busy. A hanging blue ribbon-like sculpture makes the room even more busy. 

The lounge is where the idea of an art gallery as a restaurant simply doesn’t work. The functional requirements of the lounge such as the counter for preparing drinks diminishes the prominence and power of the art, especially the paintings on the walls; they simply become decorative objects. At the same time the brightness of the lighting and the white walls and panels do not produce an intimate setting to enjoy a drink or to relax at the end of a long dinner. 

A narrow corridor with a white noren leads to the dining room. The use of the Japanese fabric divider is a bit random and unnecessary; another sign of too much stuff. The noren doesn’t block anything, since the corridor is not straight and there is no direct view to the dining room. The noren also doesn’t offer any symbolic function either as the food and the culture of service is not Japanese at all. As I walk along the corridor the hostess points to a built-in glass display case in the wall. Inside there's a custom made dinnerware that we will be eating off of later. The intention is clear, not only is the food art, the serving ware is also art to be fetishized. 

The design of the dining room is calmer and nicer than the previous two spaces. Instead of white terrazzo floors in the reception and lounge, the floor is light color wood planks. The combination of wood color and white is quite pleasant. The chairs are fairly comfortable and the tables are well spaced. The tabletop has a off-white leather-like finish which is also quite nice. The room is decorated with flower arrangements on the serving stations and on each table. One strange aspect of the room is none of the tables are placed close to the exterior windows. 

While the design of the dining room is better, it still suffers from a lack of restraint. The walls are not left alone but decorated with LED strips at different heights. There is also a strip of light at the base of the wall. The color of the light is too white and the effect is distracting. These light fixtures are really not necessary. 

At the back of the dining room is a large window with a clear view of the kitchen that is also mostly white. The full height glass sliding door into the kitchen isn’t very attractive. One gets a view of the tile floor of the kitchen, which is too jarring from the dining room. The dark floor mat that prevents slippage in front of the door is also visually distracting. The kitchen is brightly lit and looks very clean, yet not very attractive. I love open kitchen, but it needs to be designed and staged better. The irony is the kitchen is the one place in the restaurant that needs some decoration yet doesn’t have any. 

Unlike the reception and the lounge the dining room doesn’t have any artwork on the walls or the ceiling, except for one near the entry that’s not visible from most of the tables. Clearly the idea is the food is the art to be admired. 

After we sit down the server tells us that the no-choice set menu consists of 16 courses.This sounds grandiose but actually 9 of the so-called courses are really just snacks at the start and mignardises at the end. 

The meal begins with five snacks that are designated salty, sweet/acidic, spicy, bitter, and umami and served sequentially. I have been to Restaurant A twice for dinner and both times the meal starts the same way with an idea from art, trompe-l'oeil. An edible bouchon placed in the middle of a bowl of real bouchons. Maybe this is inspired by the potato stones at Mugaritz. Nevertheless, this is a fun idea. The diner picks up the edible cork and eats it in one bite. The problem is the chef can’t leave well enough alone. Besides the bowl of corks, the server brings out a custom made serving ware and says we can take the cork out of the bowl, place it on the plate, take a picture and then eat it. I oblige, but the plate is completely unnecessary–either serve the cork on the plate or in the bowl. You do not need both. The chef has too many ideas and can’t let some of them go. More isn’t better, in fact, they take away from the power of the dish. The tendency of having too much stuff is a recurring problem through out the meal. What the chef needs is an editor, someone to take things away rather than keep adding. 

Putting aside the problem with the presentation, the faux bouchon is a well made snack with a crispy shell and oozing cheese. Both times the cheese in the bouchon is Comté, which has a low salt content relative to other cheeses. Therefore instead of salty, the taste is a bit sweet. At my first dinner the Comté is paired with chestnut and nutmeg and the second time is with pine nuts and broccolini. 

The second snack is called Sweetness and is a fish roe tart. The tart shell is well made and the flavors are good. The third snack is a small bite of a chicken; nice but not too memorable. The fourth snack at both of my dinners is a little salad, or a display of tweezer food with small pieces layered elegantly. Of all the five snacks, this is the one I like the best and I wish it is a larger salad rather than small bite. 

The last snack is called the umami bomb, a small “doughnut” with a mushroom “cappuccino” on the side. Umami yes, but bomb I’m not so sure. The server says this is the signature dish of chef Huang, something he would never take off the menu. The dish is inspired by one of his mentors Justin Quek. I suppose this is a play on coffee and doughnut but it is not as interesting as Thomas Keller’s version. The use of the truffle makes sense at my first dinner in January. But why insist on using truffle at my second dinner in May when the ingredient is not in season? 

The five snacks to start the meal are all expertly prepared, in fact they are a show of the technical prowess of the kitchen staff. At my first dinner, the flavors are not as distinctive as I would have liked as they are more on the sweet side. This flavor profile is made more pronounced with the juice pairing. I don’t like to start the meal with sweet flavors as they dull instead of wake up the palate. At my second dinner the flavors are engineered better, but I am not convinced I need five snacks. I would prefer less snacks and more courses. 

The first course is a cold dish: a seafood salad. At my first dinner it is an escabeche with sea urchin and duck ham. At my second dinner I am served a “borscht” with Botan shrimp and cranberry. Both times, the seafood salad is nice. I am just unsure about the sequence. Before eating this dish, I already had a salad for a snack. Then I had a warm wintery snack. Now I am back to a cold dish again. And after this first course, the next course is another salad. 

When the server brings the second course to the table, I am already a bit tired of being served another salad. At my first dinner, the salad is a black and white colored dish. The server says the dish is inspired by the black and white painting hanging in the lounge. In case we don't remember the painting, our server brings out an iPad with a picture to show us. This is frankly just annoying and unnecessarily didactic. The connection between the painting and the dish is at best superficial. Just because the painting and salad both use the same colors doesn’t mean much, certainly doesn’t turn the food into art. Forcing the customers to make these visual connections actually diminishes the power of the food because it limits the diners’ imagination. What the chef should strive for is to spark the diners’ curiosity and to inspire them to seek their own connections. 

After the cold salad, the next course is a hot soup. Maybe the chef is purposely oscillating between hot and cold dishes, but I don’t really understand the purpose. Both times the soup is sort of a half hearted one as the liquid portion is small and there is so much foam at the top. Nevertheless, the soup is nicely made with very good flavors. 

The fourth course is a seafood. At my first dinner I am served a consommé with scallop and daikon. The server points out that the scallop is threaded with black truffle. This is a recurring theme of the restaurant. The server is constantly trying to point out the effort that goes into all the dishes in case the diners don’t appreciate or admire the work properly. I enjoy the dish as the consommé is well-made. I would have preferred the scallop to be thinly sliced rather than diced. 

At my second dinner the dish is a mackerel with white asparagus. When the dish is served one cannot see the fish as there is so much stuff layered on top of the protein. The white asparagus on the side is also only partially visible. The mackerel and the white asparagus are both very well prepared and tasty. But the combination of these two main ingredients is not too interesting. The dish certainly doesn’t need all the little flowers, herbs, and condiments. I wish chef Huang would take a page from the three-Michelin-star chef Eric Ripert’s playbook - let the fish be the star of the plate instead of making the dish more complicated than it needs to be. 

Bread (focaccia) finally makes an appearance as the main course is served at my first dinner. I really would have preferred the bread to be served earlier. Moreover, the focaccia is just so-so. Strangely at my second dinner, the server doesn’t bring out the bread before the main course. The server says because the chef already served a rice dish before, they will not serve the bread. However, if my guest and I don't feel full in the stomach, she can can bring out some bread at an extra charge of NT$260 per person. I have never encountered this kind of situation at the restaurant before. I am already paying over NT$7,000 per person, does the restaurant really need to nickel and dime me over some focaccia? Moreover, bread is not made a la minute. The restaurant probably has baked enough for the diners prior to dinner service. Not serving the bread simply means the staff will eat it instead of the customers.

Restaurant A lacks a sense of generosity or even the impression of generosity. I feel the restaurant is constantly looking to shake more money out of me. The bread is just one of the instances. Halfway through one of my dinners, the server places a bottle of wine on our table and says this goes very well with the next dish. One would think this is part of the wine pairing that's already paid for, or perhaps the server just wants us to try. Instead this wine comes with a supplemental charge. A restaurant should be about hospitality, yet it is just the opposite. At least the restaurant doesn't charge for putting a candle on the dessert for my wife's birthday celebration. Being in a restaurant where every offer from the server is a transaction just isn't an enjoyable experience. 

The fifth course is the main course. At my first dinner the dish’s is a small piece of lamb with around six sauces and condiments on the plate. It is as if the kitchen is trying to tell the diner, see how much we can do. The main sauce is a tuna sauce, akin to the one in the Italian classic dish Vitello Tonnato. I am not convinced this is the best sauce for the lamb. Another sauce is a red pepper sauce, which works a little better. Overall, the lamb really doesn’t need that much sauce. The server also tells us that after we finish eating the lamb we can take a picture of our plates with the leftover sauces and condiment and post it on the social media as our art for the night. This partly explains why there’s excessive stuff on the plate. The chef doesn’t want the diner to clean the plate, but play with the food to make art. But I am at the restaurant to eat. if I want to make art, I would have gone to an art class with my kids. 

The sixth course is a pre-dessert, which is a combination of hard liquor (vodka or whisky) with fruit (soursop or apple). Both times the combinations and flavors are nice. I cannot say the same for the last course of the dinner: main dessert. At both of my dinners, the dessert is a bit disappointing. Dessert is an opportunity to deliver the final wow factor and leave the dinner on a high note. However, the ones at Restaurant A are just decorative objects that are not very interesting. 

The dessert at my first dinner is an ice cream with chocolate sauce topped with ginger tuile. This was a disappointing end as it was simply not very impressive. It is a bit strange that there isn’t any juice pairing with the dessert, considering this is the time where a sweet drink actually makes more sense.

The dessert at my recent dinner is more emblematic of the problem at Restaurant A. The dish is the classic French dessert, Île Flottante, a classic French dessert with meringue and crème anglaise. Similar to the other courses, the dish is expertly prepared. The texture of the meringue is good and sauce has a nice flavor. The dish is decorated with all sorts of dots and leaves done precisely with a tweezer and squeeze bottles. The dish looks complicated but is actually not very interesting and doesn’t really innovate on the classic. One can compare this Île Flottante with the one by Jean Francois Piège’s at Clover Bellavita in Taipei. Piège’s version doesn’t have any fussy decorations nor is it thematic. The dessert looks deceivingly simple yet is very innovative by turning classic recipe inside out. Rather than an innovator, the pasty chef at Restaurant A is more of a decorator. 

Like many other disciplines, food has components of art: color, composition, materiality…etc. The creation of food certainly can borrow ideas from art. However, taking visual cues from art or making the food pretty doesn’t make the food art-like or art. Chef Huang’s creations try to emulate the visual appearances of art, but this operating on a superficial level. Also, by doing so art simply becomes a theme to be grafted onto the food. Instead of trying to make food that looks like art through decorative means, Huang should emulate the process and ideas of artists, how they innovate art by redefining what is art. They ask the question what is painting or what is sculpture? If Huang follows the method of the great artists, the questions he poses should not be whether food is art but rather what is food? What is fine dining? How can one make a new Île Flottante? 

After the dessert, the server asks us to move to the lounge to have the mignardises and coffee. I am a little reluctant to move and as I like the dining room much better than the lounge. I don’t see a reason for doing so. Usually restaurants move the diners out to the lounge because they need the table back for the next seating. There’s no such problem at Restaurant A. 

As I settle into the sofa in the lounge, the server brings out four mignardises and coffee. The mignardises are all made very well. One of the mignardises is cannelé flavored with cardamon. I know the chef is trying to be different and creative, but I still prefer a simple cannelé. The pour over coffee has a very clean taste but I don’t like the small cups they are served in. The coffee is also not hot enough for my taste. I rather have an espresso instead. 

Dinner at Restaurant A is not cheap, NT$6,850 plus 10% service charge. The price includes a compulsory beverage pairing; this is one way to make people spend more money. There is a choice of five alcoholic or non-alcoholic drinks. For a bit more money, the alcoholic drinks can be upgraded to better wines. Given that the drinks are included and without any say from the diners, it is a bit strange for the server to present the full wine list at the beginning of the meal. I suppose we can order more bottles besides the 5 glasses, but the server doesn’t make this clear. Maybe the server just wants us to admire the wine list. Unfortunately the choices of wines in the alcoholic pairing are not that interesting. At my first dinner the first drink is not even a wine but a beer. The pour of each pairing is also small and stingy, just around 70ml. Based on the restaurant’s numbers, there are 16 courses but only 5 glasses. As the dinner progresses it is not clear which glass of wine is suppose to be good for more than one course. Furthermore, dessert doesn’t get any pairing, which is a missed opportunity. 

I have also tried the non-alcoholic pairing and it is more disappointing than the wines. Instead of serving juices made by reputable vineyards, the drinks are all house-made. Spending the time making these juices doesn’t seem to be worth the effort. The problem with the juices is they are all a bit on the sweet side and don’t do much for the food. 

At the end of the dinner, the hostess hands out a folder with the menu as the diners exit the restaurant. This reminds me of my meals at Thomas Keller’s Per Se. However, unlike Per Se, where the menu is on one page, Restaurant A’s folder has three sheets: two on the food and one on the drinks. For the different courses, there are around 45 different ingredients listed on the menu and none are repeated. The abundance is certainly quite impressive and again, the restaurant needs to make sure the diners know it. There is no real need to have the menu on multiple pages when one page will do. This is a bit like a job applicant with a multi-page resume. Restaurant A is technically very sound in the kitchen. And for the most part the service is also quite pleasant. But Restaurant A is not very interesting. For instance, the content and the sequence of the dishes don’t seem to have an overarching concept: one dish is about Chef Huang’s mentor, another dish is about his travel, and a few art inspired ones are thrown into the mix. The portions are small but overly complicated. At times, I feel the restaurant is making dishes for themselves to admire rather than for the diners to enjoy. 

Restaurant A would benefit from being more subtle. This is all the more ironic as one page of the menu has the word “Subtle” written largely at the top. Sometimes the problem with young chefs and designers is they have a tendency to show all the things they can do at once and a desire to make sure people see them. I wish Restaurant A will be more elegant and project a sense of effortlessness. I also wish the chef will trust his customers a bit more. Dinner doesn’t need to be didactic. Maybe many diners don’t understand everything that’s put into the dishes or don’t appreciate the effort, but that’s fine. This is no different than when we are confronted with a work of art that we don’t fully understand. We don’t need the artist to be there explaining every little detail or intentions to us. In fact it is better for the diners to enjoy the dishes on their own terms. If they are intrigued by the work, they will find out more about it. Give the diners some room for imagination and inquiry. 

The “A” in Restaurant A’s name doesn’t quite stand for art. Nor is it quite awesome yet though it has the potential to be. The quality of the ingredients and the cooking at Restaurant A are very nice. My dinners at Restaurant A have some nice moments. I want to like the restaurant but I can’t fully embrace it yet. I admire the aspirations but as of now, for me the “A” stands for ambivalent.

Clover Bellavita by Jean-Francois Piège

Jean-Francois Piège is a famous chef not only in his home country of France, but amongst the foodies in Taiwan. Piège was the mentor of the celebrity Taiwanese chef, Lanshu Chen, at the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris. He came to Taiwan twice in 2013 and 2018 as a guest chef at Chen’s restaurant, Le Moût, in Taichung. Piège has also been promoted by a Taiwanese journalist based in Paris. When rumors of Piège's arrival in Taipei started before the COVID pandemic, it was certainly exciting. And the fact that a space one-floor below L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon at Bellavita sat empty only added to the intrigue. However, the pandemic had seemed to stop everything.

To my surprise, seemingly out of nowhere in mid-November, 2022, Piège arrived in Taipei to open the doors of his first restaurant outside of France, Clover Bellavita. This is Piège's fourth restaurant under the Clover brand. The name is an English word but is pronounced in the French way. Each Clover restaurant in France is based on a different concept. They are not fine dining but a bistro, a grill, and a vegetarian restaurant, places to diversify Piège's portfolio. But what is Clover in Taiwan? While Piège hasn't officially declared his aspiration for Clover in Taipei, as he did when he opened his flagship fine dining restaurant in Paris in 2015, it is safe to say he and his investors are looking for a Michelin star.

Over the course of many months, I have been to Clover Bellavita four times for both lunch and dinner. Based on the food on the plate, the restaurant should easily get one Michelin star. I've tried many dishes on the winter and spring menus, and all of them are wonderful. In fact, the restaurant is only getting better with time. However, my sentiment runs contrary to some other diners.

When Clover Bellavita first opened, it was panned by many diners with unfavorable comments and one-star reviews on Google Maps. While the worthiness of the comments on Google Maps is debatable, some of the negative sentiments have been corroborated by a few of my discerning friends.

But if one examines the disappointing reviews, many were made based on meals in the first few weeks of the restaurant's opening. While paying customers certainly have the right to express their unhappiness, the early days of a restaurant is not the best time to render a judgement. All restaurants simply need time to work out the kinks in the operation with real customers. This is similar to professional sports as practice is never the same as the actual game. Furthermore in this current time, restaurants are most likely to be understaffed in the beginning. The odds of a great experience at a newly opened restaurant are usually not good.

Another problem with Clover Bellavita was due to expectation created by the marketing, which often touted Piège as a three-Michelin-star chef. Some people came to expect three-Michelin-star food and service, which the restaurant clearly was not intended to provide. Moreover, Piège is not a three-star chef.

Piège might be the most acclaimed chef in France who doesn't yet have three stars. He has received many accolades, including two Michelin stars for his current fine dining restaurant in Paris, Le Grand Restaurant. Prior to striking out on his own, he worked for Alain Ducasse as the Chef de Cuisine at Plaza Athénée and garnered three Michelin stars. Two of his subsequent fine dining restaurants, at Hôtel de Crillon and at Hôtel Thoumieux, both received two Michelin stars. In 2011, his colleagues named him the Chef of the Year after a secret vote organized by Le Chef magazine. From 2010 to 2019, he was a member of the jury in the French version of Top Chef. He has published numerous cookbooks. Not only is he a media savvy chef, he is one of the most accomplished chefs of his generation.

It is a mystery why the third Michelin star eludes Piège. There was the rumor of his feud with Alain Ducasse, but that seems to be ancient history. Ducasse has published a book by Piège under his imprint in 2011. One possible explanation is that prior to opening his Le Grand Restaurant, he has never stayed in a place for more than 5 years. Michelin is probably loathe to give a chef three stars and see the chef leave for another restaurant shortly after. In comparison, this year's three-Michelin-star winner, Alexandre Couillon, has been at his restaurant for 24 years; it took Couillon ten years to be elevated from two-star to three-star. Besides changing locales, Piège is also constantly changing his cuisine. He has adopted the motto: pour que rien ne change, il faut que tout change (for nothing to change, everything must change). Michelin probably prefers more stability and consistency. 

Since Clover Bellavita is not in Paris, Piège cannot be as hands on with the restaurant. To execute his vision and uphold his standard, he has asked Gildas Périn to be the Chef de Cuisine. Périn is young but highly experienced. He has worked for Piège in Paris before, and prior to opening Clover Bellavita worked in two restaurants in Taipei: STAY by Yannick Alléno and Orchid; he understands the tendencies of the local diners. Perin is also a very skillful chef. As his team gains more experience, I am confident the food will only get better.

Unlike Piège’s restaurants in France, Clover Bellavita is not located on the street with a storefront. Rather the restaurant is on the 4th floor of Bellavita, the fanciest shopping mall in downtown Taipei. The interior of the restaurant befits the image and characteristics of the mall: fancy and spacious. The reception is a generously sized sunlit space with a beautiful red wall. Strangely, the red color doesn't relate to anything else in the restaurant. The tent-like ceiling of the reception is interesting, but doesn’t seem to go with the rest of the space either. The reception leads to a curved bar with white countertop and orange bar chairs. In the center of the shelves behind the bar sits a big espresso machine. The shelves behind the bar are mostly filled with wine bottles and glasses. This bar isn’t really set up for cocktail making and doesn’t seem to get much use from the guests.

The bar forms one side of the main dining room. Two other sides of the room has large windows that allow ample natural light to come in, which is nice especially at lunch time. The space is structured spatially by two stone-clad circular columns, an off-centered circular step-down ceiling, and circular patterned flooring. The center of the space is a small table with a large floral piece that changes regularly; a very pleasant visual element that is probably costly to upkeep. Surrounding the center piece are tables with arm chairs and sofas that are nicely spaced apart. The chairs are comfortable but the sofa is a bit low in relation to the height of the table. The biggest eyesores are the electrical sockets for the floor lamps on the four corners. They are not flushed with floor nor under the sofa, thus are potential tripping hazards. There are a few floor-standing rattan screens in the space but they don't seem to relate to the furniture. While there doesn't seem to be a coherent idea about materials and colors, overall the space is still quite pleasant.

Piège certainly cares about aesthetics of the table setting. The black tabletops in the main dining room are shiny and reflective. In lieu of tablecloth, there are several types of round placemats by Chilewich in two different colors. The water glasses for the diners at the tables also come in different subtle colors. Every table has a small vase with flowers. I am also happy to see every table has a pair of salt and pepper mills. Some of the dinnerware is from the Ecume collection by Bernardaud and others are custom made; they are all very elegant. The silverware are also pretty and comfortable to use. The only thing I don’t like is the size of the napkin, which is too small for a fancy restaurant.

The restaurant has three private dining rooms. The large one can seat around 16 diners and has a view of the pastry station of the kitchen. The two smaller rooms, both with windows, can each seat around 8 people and each has its own private bathroom. However, the bathrooms are raised instead of being flushed with the floor; they are not wheelchair accessible. This is similar to the bathroom for the main dining room. The owner of the restaurant probably couldn't access the floor beneath so the drain pipes have to run above the slab. This is most unfortunate as one has be quite careful exiting the restrooms, especially after a few drinks. Since the ceiling in the restaurant is high, one wonders if the designer should have simply elevated the whole restaurant or large parts of the dining room. 

Clover Bellavita can seat up to 100 diners including the private rooms. In comparison, Piège’s fine dining flagship restaurant in Paris only serves 25 diners. Clover Bellavita is probably larger than necessary and it is not a haute cuisine restaurant. But it is certainly too fancy to be just a bistro. While Clover Bellavita has some dishes that are more bistro-like, they are all elevated in terms of presentation, number of components, and technique. For instance, the foie gras mousse is in the shape of a beautiful mandarin orange. The taste was wonderful, especially with a touch of acidity from the marmalade. The Pâté en croûte is well made with great ingredients and the presentation is elevated with the beautiful bouquet of vegetables on the side. The Steak au poivre is served with a tuile on top of the steak, and comes with a steak tartare on fried tendon topped with black pepper ice cream on the side.

The menu has a few large format dishes which I really appreciate. They bring the pleasure of sharing with friends at the table. These are especially nice to have when the weather is a bit colder because the food stays hot longer. One of the dishes is Poule au Pot, which is hearty and delicious. The diners are first served a foie gras caillette in broth, followed by a large pot of chicken and vegetables in broth. The chicken thighs and legs are very good. The breast meat is a bit tougher but that is to be expected. The vegetables are vibrant and cooked perfectly. The broth is simply wonderful. It is interesting to note that rice is not served on the side as Piège does in Paris. Instead a small portion of mashed potato with hazelnut is served on the side. The mashed potato is well made but it is problematic in relation to the chicken. Eating the whole chicken takes time. While the hot broth keeps the chicken parts warm, the mashed potato gets cold relatively quickly. Ideally the servers would bring out fresh servings of the mashed potato as one progresses with eating the chicken. My friends and I have also tried the Chou Farci (for four persons), a more refined version of a traditional French dish, and it is simply wonderful. Some fresh black truffle shaved table side only upped the luxuriousness. Having the large format dishes at Clover Bellavita is highly enjoyable. I wish more restaurants in Taipei would offer similar dishes. Why eat little dainty food of a tasting menu when you can have these glorious large dishes?

Besides the variations and modernizations of French classics, Clover Bellavita has some dishes that show Piège's imagination and creativity. The mark of a good chef is the ability to create his or her own combinations of ingredients and flavors and generating emotions from the diners. One of my favorites is the squid carbonara, a play on the Italian Pasta Carbonara. Instead of pasta, Piège uses thin slices of squid. This dish only has a few ingredients, but the combination, technique, and playfulness created something really magical. Another dish I enjoyed is a sticky corn soup with smoked eel and foie gras. Again, a dish with interesting combinations of ingredients with great flavors. There is also the langoustine with consommé. The langoustine is cooked table side on a heated Parisian granite paver. The use of stone brings a certain flair but it is more than just a gimmick. The stone’s porosity absorbs the fat used for the cooking. While the stone stays hot, it also cooks the langoustine slowly. For Piège, the technique is a modern variation of doing a stew.

There are five desserts on the menu at Clover Bellavita and the selections change periodically. I am particular fond of the Blanc à Manger, a truly wonderful creation that only has four ingredients: milk, egg, sugar, and vanilla. The dessert is a variation on Île Flottante. But instead of the meringue floating on the custard, Piège places the custard on the inside of a cylindrical meringue. The dessert looks so simple yet it is very technical. This is a signature dessert of Piège and is also served at his haute cuisine restaurant in Paris. The dessert connects Piège to his grandmother, who made an Île Flottante that formed Piege’s first memory of food. Île Flottante is a classic French dessert that everyone in France would know. To see Piège transforms the classic dessert into a very refined and new version is very exciting. The same can be said for another dessert on the menu, Raw Apple Tarte Tatin, which is a very interesting variation on the French classic Tarte Tatin. Recently, Clover Bellavita has been serving another classic, Crêpes Suzette with Grand Marnier and confit orange. I love the modern takes on these classics. The combination of ingredients are familiar but allows the diners to experience them anew. And they are delicious. Many classic French desserts are not to be found in restaurants in Taipei. So it is so wonderful to see references to them at Clover Bellavita. While Piège’s versions can certainly be enjoyed without the knowledge of the classics, the diners would probably appreciate the desserts a lot more if they do.

Some of the desserts, such as the Blanc à Manger, are very simply plated and not large in portion. They seem to be more suited as an ensemble and for the tasting menu format. For the diners who order à la carte and enjoy eating desserts, one dessert doesn’t seem quite enough. I almost wish I could order a set of desserts like at Pierre Gagnaire. After the dessert, a trio of mignardises are served, which are a nice way to end the meal.

The food at Clover Bellavita is consistently good. The main problem with Clover Bellavita is the service. On every one of my visits, there were problems with service. At a lunch with my family in the middle of January, no one took away the alcohol wipes after we used them; no one asked if we wanted more bread; no one, besides the Chef Périn, asked how was the lunch; no one asked if the sunlight was too bright and if the shades should be closed more; no one asked if we were still eating the soup with the chicken before taking the bowl away; no one asked if we wanted coffee or tea after the dessert; no one took away the salt and pepper mills before the desserts were served; no one asked if the alcohol in the chocolate petit four was okay for the kid; and no one paid attention to how our lunch was progressing. With the myriad of problems, the biggest one was the mignardises were brought to the table before I ordered the dessert. And instead of bringing three menus for the three of us to select the desserts, we shared one. The service at the end of the meal was just unprofessional. All this happened when the restaurant was not busy. I cannot imagine what happens when the restaurant is even half full.

The front of house team at Clover Bellavita is not well trained. Their movements in the dining room don't come naturally. They are stiff and not relaxed. When the servers seem tense, the diners don't feel as comfortable. While I can understand why the servers are all masked up, it doesn't help with engaging with the diners. You don't feel anyone is smiling behind the masks. The service team is also afraid to make mistakes which makes them more prone to making mistakes. At one of my dinners, the sommelier dropped a bottle of wine on the floor; luckily the bottle stayed intact and no one was hurt, but the wine was gone. The servers and managers lack experience and some of them are simply too young. As such, they don't have the abilities to read the diners and the situation. For instance, at one of my dinners, the server should have considered providing the bread before serving the cheese course; instead the diners had to ask for it. Good service is not just about bringing the food to the right person. Robots can do that and some restaurants are already using them. Service is about anticipating the diners’ needs and caring for them. At Clover Bellavita, I didn’t feel I was under the care of anyone. 

A diner expects good service at Clover Bellavita because the prices are not cheap. A three-course lunch costs NT$2,580 plus 10% service charge or around US$92. A full tasting menu is NT$5,980 plus 10% service charge or around US$215. Wines are prominently displayed in glass cabinets around the perimeter of the restaurant. The wine markup is not unreasonable, but it is certainly not a bargain. One of the wonderful things about Clover Bellavita is the diner can order à la carte. Very few western restaurants at this high level in Taipei offer the option of à la carte because it is more demanding on the kitchen and less economical. Appetizers are around NT$900 and main courses are around NT$1,300. The prices at Clover Bellavita is comparable to Piège‘s restaurants in Paris, besides Le Grand Restaurant. For instance, the Poule au Pot in Paris is 48 Euros per person, roughly NT$1,600, while in Taipei the dish is NT$1,639 per person. While the Poule au Pot in Paris is served in a bistro, the prices at Clover Bellavita make the restaurant more of a destination dining in Taipei. 

Clover Bellavita is a wonderful addition to the restaurant scene in Taipei. It is very nice to finally have another great French restaurant in Taipei besides L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon. In comparison to Robuchon, Clover Bellavita is actually more French. Robuchon has long adopted Asian ingredients and been influenced by Asian cuisine, especially Japanese. In contrast, Piège has said in the past that he is French, makes French food, and doesn’t use ingredients that don’t have a French identity such as Yuzu. Piège is more focused on modernizing French cuisine from within. 

I love having Piège‘s France in Taipei. We don’t really have anything remotely similar here. However, for a restaurant with an English name in an Asian city, one wonders how that will influence or change Piège‘s cooking in the future. What does it mean to use Taiwanese products to cook French food? Or for local servers to provide French service? The context for Piège‘s food in Taipei is completely different than in Paris. The typical diners in Taipei didn’t grow up with French food culture and are not as familiar with the classic dishes and the stories behind them. They won’t be able to connect with the food on an emotional level as Piège would have liked; there certainly won’t be any moment like the end of the movie Ratatouille. Nevertheless, Piège‘s food can certainly be enjoyed for their superb techniques, great flavors, and elegant presentations. Clover Bellavita is a great place to eat and It will be interesting to see how the restaurant develops as time goes on.