Taïrroir: How do you say "Pourquoi" in Taiwanese?

Above my head was a cloud of copper panels. At first glance the shimmering effects of the sheets of metal above my table at Taïrroir was quite impressive. But upon closer inspection, questions began to arise in my mind. Why was there a light fixture in the shape of four squares hanging below the ceiling? Why was the light fixture hung so haphazardly that it intersected with another type of light fixture? As the Chinese idiom says, why add feet to the drawing of a snake? Dining at the new restaurant Taïrroir was a frustrating experience. Every nice moment triggered a number of questions that undermined the intended pleasure.

Taïrroir is the latest entrant to Taipei's difficult western fine-dining market. The restaurant is led by the Taiwanese chef, Kai Ho, who trained at the now-defunct Guy Savoy Restaurant in Singapore. Taïrroir aims to be a Michelin-star quality restaurant and I admire the restaurant's ambition. When my friend asked if I wanted to try the new restaurant three months after its opening, I eagerly agreed.

When I called to make the reservation I was told the restaurant doesn't allow shorts, tank tops and slippers. I wished the restaurant would require a jacket for men, but since this is Taipei the bar is set low to begin with. Nevertheless, I was happy to learn the existence of a dress code. I certainly didn't want to sit next to someone in a tank top as I once did at Mandarin Oriental Taipei. Two days before my dinner, the restaurant called to reconfirm the reservation and to remind me about the dress code.

Given the restaurant's emphasis on the appearance of its guests, one would think a certain degree of care would go into the restaurant's own look. But, this was not the case with my initial physical encounter with the restaurant. I arrived at the ground floor lobby of the building that houses Taïrroir only to find a space devoid of any interesting characteristics. One could have mistaken this to any small office building. The only indication and decoration in the lobby was the too-bright back-lit signs on the left wall. The elevator that took me to the sixth floor was also quite bare, not quite the equivalent of a tank top, but clearly very little money was spent on its interior.

When the elevator door opened I was greeted by a female server in a black dress. At first glance the dress seemed simple. But as the server turned around, the back of the dress featured two open slits along the shoulder blades and an exposed zipper down the center. The design was another example of over-complication. The same can be said for the outfit of the male server, a double-layer two-color vest, that just looked cheap. Instead of worrying about the guests' clothes, the restaurant should give more thought to its own appearance.

The front part of the restaurant consists of a curvilinear bar counter and a window on the left side with a nice view of the adjacent Marriott Hotel. Both things don't seem to get much use. I arrived quite a bit early before the time of my reservation and the appearance of my friend. However, I was not asked if I wanted to wait at the bar to have a drink first. Instead, I was led directly to my table. Why have the bar if the guests are not invited to use it? Since the tables in the dining rooms are placed far from the windows, the diners don't really have views of the outside.

The main dining space is small with two rows of tables split by a central isle. The grey upholstered chairs are comfortable and the table with white tablecloth is of a nice size. The table setting is sparse in a nice way with a pleasant small flower arrangement. But one wonders if the table setting can be even more minimal? The black rectangular block at the center of the table seemed mysterious and heavy, yet have no purpose other than as a placement for two small wet hand towels. The choice of the rustic Opinel butter knife doesn't quite go with the mirror finish of the fork and the cloche for the butter. The prominent Opinel label on the wood handle is distracting as if Opinel is a sponsor of the restaurant.

The views from the table across the room is wanting; On one side is a view of the stainless steel elevator doors that I came through. Even more disconcerting is the prominent fire hydrant next to the elevators. Why didn't the restaurant took more care in designing the foyer? The view to the back side is of the kitchen which is separated from the dining room by a floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Unfortunately, the view is partially blocked by a service cabinet that seemed like an afterthought, and render the large expense of glass slightly pointless. Why not just have a window into the kitchen, which would have framed the view better?

At dinner Taïrroir offers only two set menus priced at NT$3,000 and NT$4,200. Both menus have the same number of courses and share some of the dishes. The main difference seems to be the main savory course: duck for the cheaper menu and beef for the more expensive one. Since it was our first time at the restaurant, both of us opted for the cheaper set menu.

The dinner started with a trio of amuse bouches but they neither amused nor awaken the palate. The flavors were rather bland. It was not a good start. I wished the restaurant would focus its effort on making one good canapé instead of three boring ones.

The first course was a sponge gourd velouté with mushroom "pot stickers". The cup was topped with some foam, which obscured the beautiful green color underneath. The soup was delicious, smooth, and full of flavor. The mushroom tortellini topped with a cheese crisp next to to the soup were dry, lukewarm. and unnecessary. It felt like the chef was forcing the Chinese idea of soup and dumplings onto the diners.

The second course was a house-made gravlax with Avruga caviar. The word caviar on the menu ought to be in quotes, because Avruga "caviar" is not made with fish roe, but with herring water, salt, corn starch, lemon juice, citric acid, xanthan gum, sodium benzoate, and squid ink. Why does a chef who trained with the three-Michelin star chef wants to use such a cheap and synthetic ingredient? The little dollops of "caviar" didn't add much taste and seemed to be used only to provide some contrasting colors. The salmon was adequate but the sauce, made from charred scallion, was a bit too strong. The look of the sauce could only be described with the French word, déguelasse. I suspected the chef knew it and partially hid the sauce under a chip. The plating of the salmon felt strange as well. The slender filet was laid across the plate intersecting the rim of the circular plate. The raised edge of the rim made cutting the salmon a bit awkward.

The third course was a salad, a dish that looked better than it tasted. I didn't really enjoy the raw asparagus. The yellow and red watermelons didn't go with the vinaigrette. The different components simply didn't come together.

The fourth course was the chef's signature dish: 65°C Egg, Yilan “Ya shang”, Taro, Sakura Shrimp. I don't like taro and the the server said the chef could substitute with potato. I felt the lack of taro would alter the dish too much and asked if I could simply have another dish. The answer was a resounding no. Since the chef insisted, I dutifully said, "Oui Chef". When the dish arrived, mine didn't have diced potato as my friend's taro version came with diced taro. Was this my punishment for asking the chef to substitute an ingredient? The menu listed the temperature of the egg, which was strange. Given the menu doesn't say 55°C steak why list the temperature of the egg? It is as if the chef wants me to know that he has an immersion calculator and can cook the egg at a very precise temperature; I can do that at home as well. The temperature only elicits the question, why not cook the egg at another temperature, let's say 63.5°C as Joël Robuchon likes to do? Despite the questions, I enjoyed eating the dish. The potato purée was smooth. The cured duck and the shrimp packed a lot of flavors.

The fifth course was Japanese Dorade. For a restaurant that wants to emphasize Taiwanese ingredients, one wonders why use a Japanese fish? Taiwan has an abundance of seafood. Nonetheless, the fish was cooked perfectly with a crispy skin and moist interior. The fillet was served with a carrot purée, which was also nicely made. However, since the previous course was a purée of root vegetable, why serve another purée of root vegetable? I wished the chef chose something else to pair with the fish.

The main savory course was a duck breast. After already eating some duck in the fourth course,  I preferred another protein. I am always a little annoyed when ingredients repeat in a tasting menu. If the chef doesn't allow the diners to choose, then he should be more considerate with the use of the ingredients. At least the duck wasn't served with yet more purée of vegetables. The duck was well cooked with a texture firmer than I expected. The sauce was well made with a nice sheen, but I didn't really enjoy the taste with the chocolate undertone.

My friend doesn't eat dessert so she ordered an off the menu cheese course. I asked the server if the cheese course could replace the desserts. The answer as expected was no. I fail to understand the restaurant's inflexibility. I ended up eating two portions of desserts. The first sweet course was a guava sorbet with Hendrick's gelée, which was refreshing with just enough acidity.

The second dessert was listed on the menu as a Tearamisu. The reference to the Italian classic was meaningless. The dessert was more of a study of contrasting texture. The sponge cake was probably made in the Albert Adria manner with a microwave. The tea flavor ice cream had a nice flavor. Overall I enjoyed the dessert. I only wish the color was more vibrant.

While I was eating the dessert, a single file of cooks paraded down the central isle of the dining room from the kitchen to the bar at the front of the restaurant. As I watched them lined up at the bar, they were taking turns swiping their cards through a machine. I realized that "office hour" was over and the cooks were carding out for the night. Afterwards they marched back to the kitchen in a single file. I wondered if this was intended to be like the end of a fashion show where all the models come out and the audience claps? But I haven't finished my dinner yet.

After the dessert, the server rolled over the cart of mignardises. The cart did not get replenished during the dinner service. In other words, it operated with the early bird gets the worm principle. Since my dinner reservation was on the late side, by the time the cart rolled to our table, there wasn't any canelé left. The server said each guest was allowed three choices from the cart. I wondered why was the restaurant so stingy? The shelf life of some of the items, such as the mini-madeleines is short, why not be more generous and offered them to the guests? Since my friend didn't want any, the server allowed me to pick more than three. The mignardises were fine. What was disappointing was the lack of selection for teas to accompany them. For a restaurant that emphasizes Taiwan, why was there so little consideration for teas? Even restaurants in New York City have better selection of teas.

I also expected Taïrroir to have a more decent wine list. Prior from leaving for the restaurant my friend called to ask if she should bring some wines from home. Out of my own principle and respect for the restaurant, I told her let's just drink the restaurant's wines. She grudgingly agreed. When we asked for the wine list after looking at the menu, we were handed a single A4-size sheet of paper. The wines listed barely filled half of the sheet. Worse, there was no wine by the glass on the list. My friend gave me the "I told you so" stare, which was probably accompanied by a tinge of schadenfreude. 

After inquiring, the sommelier said they do have wine by the glass. She could bring the bottles to the table for us to choose. We started with a white wine and there were two bottles to choose from, both from older vintages. The server used Coravin to extract the wines, which was a bit messy when the liquid shot into the stemware. Notwithstanding, the wines were pleasant. Later in the dinner my friend asked the sommelier to recommend a red wine to accompany her cheese course. This time there was only one bottle to choose from: 2000 Château Pontet Canet. After a small taste, my friend was happy and asked for a glass to be poured. At least I was spared from more friendly death stare. While the wine was nice we were not informed of the price. We only found out the glass of wine cost NT$1,400 when we asked for the check at the end of the night. Since the bottle retails for around US$150 in the United States, the price charged by the restaurant was not a highway robbery. But not giving the customer any choice of bottles nor information on price left a bad taste in our mouths. 

The name of the restaurant Taïrroir is an invented word that combines the French words, Taïwan and terroir. I like fusion, maybe because I am a combination of different countries myself. Fusion is wonderful when the best parts of the different cultures merge to generate something new. Unfortunately, that's not always the case. Instead of the best of both worlds, there's always the risk of getting the worst of both worlds. Instead of harmonizing the different elements to achieve something new, there's always the possibility of getting contradictions. Dining at Taïrroir makes me wonder whether I'm getting the former or the latter, perhaps it oscillates between the two.

All the dishes on the menu has a Chinese name that is a cheesy worldplay and not translatable to another language: jokey yet meaningless to anyone who doesn't speak Chinese. Is the idea merely to get a cheap laugh from the local diners? Assuming the restaurant has larger ambitions such as transmitting its ideas to foreigner diners, the names of the dishes seem downright silly.

The chef and his brigade seem very serious about their food, but are they merely cooking to impress themselves and other chefs or are they cooking for the customers' enjoyment? Each dish is a display of various techniques, many of which were done well. Yet, there's little flexibility in adapting the menu to the desire of the diners and scant consideration for the diner's interest in variations. The food is enthusiastic with multiple components for every dish, yet many of them seemed unnecessary. More isn't always better. For instance, instead of a large selection of banal mignardises, why not just make one good one, such as freshly baked mini-madeleines as Daniel Boulud does in his restaurants? I know the chef and his brigade work very hard, but instead of making the difficult look easy, the impression is just the opposite. Based on the effort that went into the interior design, the cost of the menu, and the pedigree of the chef, the restaurant appears to be a serious proposition. Yet, the wine service, the disregard for the ambiance, and the lack of generosity make the restaurant feels amateurish.

Taïrroir is a work in progress. The restaurant certainly has potential. Will the restaurant change and improve? In general chefs and restaurateurs can be quite stubborn. I hope Taïrroir will evolve, but I don't plan to spend more money to find out.

Ciao! Chef Angelo Aglianò: The Despair of Western Fine Dining in Taipei

After a little less than three years, chef Angelo Aglianò has decided to close his eponymous restaurant in Taipei permanently. I still remember when Aglianò gave me a tour of his kitchen just days before the opening; both of us were filled with such excitement and promise. Since then I have visited the restaurant regularly with friends and family. I never thought the last day of July this year would be the last day of service at the restaurant. Needless to say, I am deeply saddened by this turn of event since Aglianò's restaurant is one of my favorites in the city.

The closing of a restaurant is a fact of life. It has been said that in New York City, three out of five restaurants cease within three years of operation. Even the best chef in the world, Aglianò's mentor, Joël Robuchon, is not immune. In April of this year, Robuchon closed his restaurant in Bordeaux after only around 16 months. The quality of the food and service seemed impeccable, yet the restaurant lost money. There doesn't seem to be a market in Bordeaux for Robuchon's food and prices. Similarly, there doesn't seem to be a market in Taipei for Aglianò's restaurant.

Whenever a restaurant fails, one cannot help but ponder about the reasons. Did Aglianò charge too little or too much for the food? Did the restaurant do enough marketing? Did the investors incur more expenses by being open seven days a week? I won't pretend to know nor understand the commercial side of a restaurant. In the end, the restaurant didn't make enough money to sustain the operation. But it takes two to tango, and sometimes the closing of a restaurant says more about the clientele and the city it resides in than the business itself.

Western fine dining in Taipei, especially stand-alone restaurants not associated with hotels, is a difficult proposition for several reasons. First of all, for many people, western fine dining means fancy steakhouse. The popularity of steakhouse in Taipei always strikes me as strange. Unlike the U.S., we are a nation that grew up eating pork, poultry, and seafood. Whenever we host a banquet, as in a wedding, we have to ask the guests beforehand if they eat beef. Maybe because the expensive beef is mostly imported from the U.S. and Australia and is diametrically opposite of Chinese cuisine that it has become the hallmark of western fine dining.

Restaurateurs and hoteliers in Taipei are only too happy to meet the simple demand of the local diners. During the time that Aglianò was in operation, around a dozen steakhouses opened in Taipei including: Morton's, Alexander's, 168 Prime, Le Blanc, Just Grill, TK...etc. Steakhouses are easy and they make money. This is not just a phenomenon in Taipei, but in the U.S. as well. It is not a coincidence that both Gordon Ramsay and Jean Georges Vongericten did not open fine dining restaurants in Las Vegas but steakhouses. I once wondered out loud about the preponderance of steakhouse in Taipei and their viability to one of my friends. My friend retorted, do you know of any steakhouse in Taipei that went out of business?

I like steak but steakhouses are not interesting places to dine. The menus at steakhouses almost never change and have very little to do with locale and seasons. The chef doesn't need much imagination nor techniques. Furthermore, a meal at a steakhouse is expensive. A dinner at Morton's or Alexander's can easily be around NT$3,000 per person not including drinks. For approximately the same amount of money, one can have a seasonal five-course tasting menu at Aglianò: starter, pasta/risotto, seafood, meat, and dessert, plus amuse bouche, unlimited house made bread, mignardises, and coffee. One would think the choice between beef (delivered to the restaurant in a plastic bag drowning in its own blood) versus local and fresh ingredients is clear. However, the majority of the diners in Taipei think otherwise.

Most people in Taipei who dine out don't buy wine at the restaurant. They either don't drink or they bring their own bottles. The ingrained habit of bringing outside wine is partly due to the fact that most restaurants in Taipei (Chinese and western) don't have much of a wine list. This is similar to the situation with most Chinese restaurants in the U.S. Most Chinese people didn't grow up with drinking wine with their meals thus don't see the need.

The other reason for bringing wines to the restaurant is to save money by avoiding the restaurants' markups on wines. Unlike restaurants in New York City, where fine dining restaurant either don't allow outside wine (Daniel and Le Bernardin) or charge a very high corkage fee (US$150 per bottle at Per Se), restaurants in Taipei either don't charge corkage fee or charge too little. Hence, many diners have made a habit of bringing their own wines and haggling with the restaurants over corkage fees.

Bringing outside wine may not matter much to most restaurants in Taipei, but it is a big financial problem for fine dining restaurants like Aglianò, which operates like a fine dining restaurant in other international cities such as New York or Hong Kong. These restaurants rely on drinks to contribute a significant amount to the overall revenue, because the profit margin on food is simply too little. A fine dining restaurant in the US can count on drinks to be about 30% of the revenue, yet in Taipei the figure is around 8%.

Given the relatively small amount of revenue generated by wine it would make more business sense to cut cost by reducing the wine inventory and not having a sommelier. Yet since Aglianò opened, the restaurant always had a good wine list and a dedicated sommelier, in fact three successive ones: Kenny Lee, Alessandro Albanese, and Kimi Li. All three sommeliers at Aglianò were friendly and professional and their goal was always to make the customer happy. 

When I was dining at Aglianò I always preferred to have the sommelier recommend a wine to me, whether to complement the food or to match the occasion. Since I know little about wine, I enjoy a surprise and the conversation with the sommelier. With countless wines in the world I rather learn something new about a region, varietal, or vineyard, than drink what I know. Unfortunately most diners in Taipei think differently and often times cannot get over the restaurants' need to have markups and corkage fee to cover wine storage, beautiful stemware, and professional service. 

The market in Taipei is small, therefore fine dining restaurants are competing for customers not just with each other but with other restaurants such as the buffets in high-end hotels. These buffets are not some cheap eats, but rather elaborate and fancy affairs. Just about every high-end hotel in Taipei, except for Mandarin Oriental, offers a buffet (a major source of revenue). The W Hotel in Taipei doesn't have a proper western restaurant, instead a place that just serves buffet. The popularity of the buffet in Taipei is a phenomenon unlike any other cities in the world that I've visited.

A lunch at the Kitchen Table at W Hotel Taipei on the weekend costs $1,680. In comparison a five-course lunch at Aglianò costs $1,380. Yet for many diners in Taipei the buffet represents the better choice because the buffet has a high cost-performance (C/P) ratio, which is really about how much food the money buys. Given the fixed cost of a buffet one can eat until as if one made money while the restaurant lost money.

I don't know when the local diners started to evaluate restaurants based on C/P ratio. While the term consists of letters from the alphabet, you will be hard pressed to find a diner in the U.S. that knows the term. I certainly never heard of the term being used to describe restaurants when I was living in New York. While C/P sounds scientific it is pretty much meaningless because it doesn't really account for the quality of the product. Imagine an inedible plate of food that costs next to nothing, in theory the C/P ratio would be close to infinity. 

Nevertheless, because of the potential volume of food, people in Taipei rather scoop mediocre food out of a lukewarm hotel pan than eat cook-to-order dishes at Aglianò. Besides the food, at a buffet there's practically no service yet there's the ubiquitous 10% service charge. Moreover the diners use the same set of utensils for the entire duration of the meal. In contrast, at Aglianò the servers will carefully lay down dish-specific silverware for each course. Furthermore, the different dishes at the table would always be laid down simultaneously, as one would expect at a fine dining restaurant. The service team, led by the General Manager York Liao, was always professional yet warm. However, most diners in Taipei rather spend money and walk around in the restaurant to find their own food. 

Similar to his mentor Robuchon, Aglianò likes to cook with carefully sourced products and expensive ingredients. At the restaurant you will always find beautiful local seafood, poultry, and pork. Depending on the season, there would be white asparagus, white truffle in the fall, and black truffle in the winter. Aglianò never compromised on ingredients and always strived to have the best. He insisted on using year-old Acquerello rice from Piedmont, Italy for his risotto. At first when Acquerello wasn't available in Taipei, he found a supplier to import the product. Before it was completely legal to import jamon Iberico, Aglianò always had a whole leg sitting near the pass of the kitchen. He acquired the jamon from Joselito because it was the best. These products are expensive and Aglianò probably didn't have enough customers who appreciated or could afford them. Perhaps he should have just cooked with less expensive ingredients like at André Chiang's RAW across town, but then the restaurant wouldn't be fine dining anymore. 

I always assumed Aglianò wanted his restaurant to be as good as L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, where he worked prior. Besides the aforementioned ingredients used for the different dishes, just look at the number of staff in the open kitchen and the front of house; the beautiful kitchen had all the fancy equipment, including rotisserie, immersion circulator for sous vide cooking, and Pacojet for sorbet; and the glass enclosed cellar and the Riedel glassware for the wines. Any meal, even a simple three-course lunch (priced at NT$880 when the restaurant first opened) came with an amuse bouche, three types of bread, and four different kinds of cookies after the dessert. Aglianò aimed for the quality of a Michelin-starred restaurant similar to ones in international cities like New York, London, or Hong Kong. 

Unfortunately, Taipei is not like these other cities. Aglianò will lament the fact that he couldn't continue to operate his restaurant in Taipei, a city he grew to love. Nevertheless he will find another investor in another city. The loss for me, as a resident of Taipei, a friend, and a diner is much greater. I am uncertain if the void can be filled. The closing of Aglianò restaurant is a stark reminder that while Taipei is a great city, it doesn't have enough of a market for fine dining western restaurant. 

Three years is too short, but I'm grateful that Aglianò restaurant was in Taipei. The restaurant was where I proudly took my guests from abroad for an experience on par with the best restaurants from their home countries; where I celebrated holidays and special occasions with friends and family; and where my daughter discovered the magic of truffle and fell in love with the risotto. I felt lucky to have dined at Aglianò and the memories will always stay with me. 

Imagining Alsace

I like Alsace. I think I do, though I'm not entirely certain since I have never been to Alsace. Is it possible to like a place without ever setting foot there?

Alsace is on the eastern border of France next to Germany. Places on the edge always appeal to me since they are usually a confluence of cultures and languages. I like fusion.

The wines from Alsace has influences from Germany. I like the fact that French wines have long tapered green bottles that are like the wines in Germany. But unlike the wines in Germany, the wines are not sweet but more dry. I especially enjoy the Riesling and Gewürztraminer for their floral and fruity smells right out of the bottle.

I like the food from Alsace, especially the tarte flambée. The combination of cheese, bacon and oninion on bread dough is just perfect. I used to always order the tarte when I went to the Bar Room at the Modern in New York City, where the chef was from Alsace. One of my favorite Michelin three-star restaurants in New York is also helmed by a chef from Alsace, who successfully fuses French and Asian cuisines to create his own style.

One of my favorite things to make at home is the Alsatian Apple Tart, a recipe from Dorie Greenspan's book, Baking: From My Home to Yours. The tart was the first recipe I tried from the book. The reason for picking this tart is Greenspan wrote this was one of the first French pastries that she learned.

The recipe is simple: start with a partially baked pâte sablée, place slices of apple in a single layer, and add a vanilla flavored mix of eggs, cream and sugar. Bake in 375 F degree oven for almost an hour. Afterwards I like to glaze the tart with some apple jelly or sometimes with apricot jam. The first time I baked the tart was a success and thereafter I have made it many times.

However, I can never quite figure out the geometry of the apple slices – how to lay the apples in perfect circular rings. I can also never get the apples to look right in the middle of the tart. The appearance of the apples used to bother me quite a bit. As an architect I always thought I should be able to do better. But now I no longer fuss over it or attempt to make it "perfect". I have accepted the fact that a more "homey" look is fine.

I love the taste of the Alsatian apple tart. Greenspan wrote in the book that as a beginner baker in New York City, it was remarkable that the flavor and texture could transport her to France. I don't have the experience and memory that Greenspan has to draw on. Yet, making and eating the tart connect me to an Alsace of my imagination that's just as comforting and elegant as the tart.

The Presence of Absence: Dinner at the Residence with Michel Roux

The Chinese has a saying, "Monks who come from afar know the scriptures better (外來的和尚會念經)." Hotels and restaurants in Taiwan have fully embraced this idea. These days one cannot open the local newspapers without reading about a foreign chef coming to Taiwan to cook for a few days. Usually the invited chefs are decorated with Michelin stars. Maybe because Taiwan doesn't have a Michelin Red Guide, the residents here are eager to engage the jet-set star chefs. In this day and age, chefs are like rock stars and there is apparently no limit to their rise in popularity and status.

The best hotel in Taipei, Mandarin Oriental, has introduced a parade of guest chefs. Since last May the hotel has invited Yoshiaki Takazawa from Tokyo, Oliver Dabbous from London, Peter Gilmore from Sydney, Thierry Marx from Paris, and Bruno Menard from Singapore. Less than three months into this year, Mandarin has already been visited by Nicola Portinari from Lonigo, Italy, and Michel Roux from Bray, England. There seems to be a guest chef at Mandarin every other month.

The idea of inviting star chefs to Taipei to cook special dinners is not new. Back in 1998, the relatively new local hotel, Sherwood, invited Michelin three-star chef Alain Ducasse. In the following year, Sherwood invited the Michelin three-star Pourcel brothers. It was during that visit the young cook at the hotel, Andre Chiang, met the brothers and subsequently decided to leave home and go work for them in France. The rest, as the saying goes, is history (in the making). Without the fateful encounter with the brothers, Chiang's career would be completely different. Clearly, inviting foreign chefs to demonstrate their ideas and skills is a good thing for the local hospitality industry.

Overseas events are beneficial for the visiting chefs as well. They get to see new places and explore unfamiliar cuisines. Beside the financial reward for the events, they can promote their brands and develop new customer base for their ever expanding business. The trips are also a form of reward for the staff who travel with the chefs, a chance to expand their knowledge and experience.

However, can the same be said for the paying customers? What do customers get out of the experience with the guest chef besides a nice meal and a selfie? Meals with the guest chefs are usually more expensive than meals at their restaurants back home. For instance, at Peter Gilmore's Quay in Sidney, the tasting menu plus wine pairing is 340 Australian Dollar or around NT$8,300. When Gilmore was visiting the Mandarin Oriental in Taipei, the eight-course dinner with wine pairing was NT$16,500 ($15,000+10% service charge), almost double the price. The premium partly has to do with the extra cost of transportation and logistics. Some hotels and restaurateurs have stated in public that while the prices are high, the costs are also high. Let's just assume that people in the hospitality industry are all generous and would never gouge the customers. The customers are still paying a premium. The only justification is the premium is still cheaper than the airline tickets to fly to the chef's own restaurant. But can the guest chefs replicate their restaurants away from home for the customers? Does money buy the same experience of a Michelin three-star restaurant that's "worth a special journey" without the journey?

A few nights ago I was invited by my friends to a dinner with Michelin three-star chef Michel Roux at the Mandarin Oriental. Of all the guest chefs that Mandarin has invited so far, Roux is by far the most accomplished. In England, there is no bigger name than the Roux family. Michel Roux and his brother Albert established the standards for fine dining in England and many of the Michelin three-star chefs in London, Pierre Koffman, Marco Pierre White, and Gordon Ramsay, passed through their kitchen. Michel Roux's restaurant, The Waterside Inn, has maintained the unbroken status of Michelin three-star since 1985. The Waterside Inn is said to be the Queen of England's favorite restaurant, where she and her husband celebrated their birthdays. Besides the restaurant, Roux attained the coveted Meilleur Ouvrier de France (MOF) for patisserie in 1976. He also wrote a number of cookbooks, all of which aim to pass on his knowledge. Roux is simply a legend in the industry.

I have a cookbook by Roux in my library that I purchased more than ten years ago. I have watched Roux numerous times on Youtube, mostly to learn his techniques for pastry. While I have never been to the Waterside Inn nor met Roux, I feel a sense of familiarity. His baritone French accented English is especially memorable. Needless to say I was very eager to meet Roux and to taste his signature dishes.

The Roux dinner was held at the Chairman's Residence of Mandarin Oriental. The Residence may sound like a home with two main rooms called the Living Room and the Library, but it is essentially a private event space under the auspices of the owner of the hotel. The Residence is located on the seventh floor of the hotel. The doors of the elevators open to a rectangular foyer with bookshelves tastefully decorated with books and objects. The design of the interior is nicely done and I assume by Tony Chi, who also designed the other three restaurants at the hotel. Some of the design and decorative elements of the Residence are the same as the restaurants on the lower floors. For example, one of the walls at the sitting area consists of a grid of tilting mirrored planes, a design Chi used for the ceiling at Café Un Deux Trois on the fifth floor of the hotel. It is interesting to note that particular design idea was actually recycled from Chi's earlier project: the South Gate Restaurant in New York City.

For the Roux dinner both the Living Room and the Library were set up with 8-person square tables. The tables look nice except they are not weighted properly. If one pushes down on one corner the table has a tendency to tip a little. My table was in the Library which was more intimate but not necessarily in a good way. The room had two adjacent tables for two parties, but only one set of sitting area. Realistically the room only works well if there's a single party. Instead we shared the cozy space awkwardly with total strangers. I arrived early to an eerie empty room and took a seat on the sofa instead of the table. Seeing I'm alone, the sommelier kindly invited me to go visit the open kitchen on the other side of the floor. However, when I returned I had lost my seat at the sofa. The other party inside the room took over the entire sitting area. Someone even removed my personal belonging (Michel Roux book) from the coffee table to another table. I suppose this is no different from being on the subway at rush hour in New York City. If you stand up from your seat, don't expect to get it back, and make sure you take your belongings with you. Since the Residence doesn't have a dress code, there's nothing from preventing people from dressing sloppily. While one would think dinner with an elder Michelin three-star chef demands a little respect in terms of wardrobe, sadly not everyone thinks the same way; certainly not the people from the other party in our room.

The visual discomfort was further exacerbated by the LED TV screens on two of the four walls of the room. As we were eating, the TV showed the direct marketing material for dinner. Since I'm sold and present already, why do someone need to remind me that I am at a Michel Roux dinner? After finishing the first course I couldn't stand it anymore and asked the staff if the TV could be turned off. He acquiesced but only turned off the screen facing me but not the one behind me. The server just didn't get it or perhaps having the TV on is the standard operating procedure of the Residence. But who in their right minds at the hotel think the guests want to eat while looking at a still image on a bright TV screen? The atmosphere felt more like a high end karaoke room than a Michelin three-star dinner.

The Chairman's Residence feels strange in other ways. The atmosphere appears very exclusive and private, yet not quite enough. For instance the private rooms of Ya Ge, the Chinese restaurant three flights down, have private bathroom inside. At the Chairman's Residence, the public bathroom is on the other side of the floor. The walk from my room is long enough to feel that one is at another restaurant. The way to the bathroom passes through the open kitchen, which is similar in design to the kitchen at Bencotto (Italian restaurant one floor below) but at a smaller scale. At the front there's a stone countertop with large rectangular lampshade above. But unlike the light fixture at Bencotto, the one at the Residence is without a glass enclosure, which actually makes it less opulent. The kitchen of the Residence is confined to a separate small space with no direct visual connections to the diners' tables. If diners cannot see the cooks preparing the food, why have an open kitchen at all?

When I walked by the front of the kitchen, the cooks were busy preparing the canapés. All of them were superb. I was particularly happy to see the anchovy straws because I've seen the recipe for them in the book that I own. The sommelier poured each of us a glass of Ruinart champagne and we were off to a great start.

The first course was a duo of ceviches with salmon and tuna marinated in olive oil and yuzu juice. Also on the plate was a slightly spicy guacamole with chips and lamb's lettuce. I like to start a meal with some raw fish that's light but flavorful. Paired with a glass of 2012 Riesling Heissenberg from Domaine Ostertag, this was a nice dish.

The second course was a warm escalope of foie gras with a slice of caramelized orange. The foie was cooked perfectly and simply delicious. The fruit and the fried capers provided a nice balance to the flavors. The wine pairing was a classic one with Sauternes, in this instance from Château Suduiraut 2008. I would have preferred a wine that's less sweet but it was fine.

The third course was a piece of sautéed scallop with slices of octopus. A touch of coriander provided an elegant flavor profile. The use of the tamarind sauce and the coconut emulsion gave the dish a south Asian twist that was refreshing. The wine selected to go with the dish was a 2012 Burgundy produced by Louis Jadot from the Chassangne Montrachet appellation.

The fourth course was Roux's signature dish, pan fried lobster with white port sauce and ginger flavored vegetable julienne. I was fascinated by this dish because, besides the port sauce, the technique and the use of ginger seem to have some affinities with Chinese cooking. As the waiter placed the dish on the table, it looked beautiful with the different shades of red. The lobster was cooked a little more than I preferred but it was still very good. The sauce was simply divine. The ginger provided a little heat that was just great. A glass from Domaine de Chevalier Blanc from 2012 was poured to accompany the dish.

For the final savory course there was a choice between beef tournedos Zingara style or roasted local duck with fondant potatoes. I asked our server what is Zingara style and he didn't know. I suppose we should have just googled the word together. Since no one seems to know, I chose the duck. The duck was first presented whole on a platter and then expertly carved tableside by Roux's manager. Each plate has a few thin slices of duck breast, a piece of the skin, braised baby fennel, and potato fondant. This was served with a wonderful truffle jus. The breast was tender and the skin with a little fat underneath was especially flavorful. The wine was a glass of Le Clos Saint Jacques 2008 from Louis Jadot. This was a great way to end the savory part of the dinner. The only downside was six of our party ordered the duck and there was only one person carving the two ducks. Hence, four of us were served first instead of everyone together. I also find it strange that Roux decided to serve the duck on plates with Restaurant Ya Ge's name on them. Why not use a more neutral plate? It felt like the Residence ran out of plates and had to borrow from the restaurant three-flights below. At the Waterside Inn I don't believe they would use plates with the name "Fat Duck" emblazoned on them. Even more bizarre was Roux would use the same Ya Ge plate for the dessert later on.

After a short break Roux came to our room with the pre-dessert, coffee creme brûlée. Roux explained that they roasted the coffee beans themselves and then infused the milk with the grounded powder. The flavor was very elegant and I thoroughly enjoyed this simple concoction. The dessert was paired with 1998 Gewurztraminer Selection de Grains Nobles from Hugel & Fils.

The last course was a yogurt dessert with raspberry and lime marshmallow and yogurt ice cream. This was the biggest disappointment of the night. Of all the desserts in the repertoire, I don't understand why Roux decided to serve this one. While he was in our room he actually said he couldn't serve the soufflé but he didn't explain why. It's probably not hard to guess. The soufflé is cooked a la minute and less predictable. The yogurt dessert can be made ahead of time and is easy to do. I had hopes of eating his famous raspberry soufflé, the favorite of the Queen of England. I'm not a royalty but my friends were spending a king's ransom on this meal. Moreover, Roux served soufflé as the dessert when he was a guest chef at the Mandarin Oriental in Bangkok and the Four Seasons in Hong Kong. So why not let the people in Taipei have soufflé as well?

In Roux's guest appearances elsewhere, he always served different desserts for lunch and dinner. Part of the reason was lunch was usually much cheaper and a little simpler. In Taipei, the lunch was half the price of dinner. But, inexplicably the desserts for both lunch and dinner were essentially the same. At lunch the yogurt dessert was served together with the creme brûlée as a set on a rectangular plate. At dinner the two were served sequentially with perhaps a slightly bigger portion.

I respect Roux's decision for not making a soufflé, but I would have preferred to see more effort put into making different desserts for dinner. For instance, since all the tables at dinner were parties of eight, why not make some large format desserts that could be cut table side? Better yet, why not go old-school and make an omelette à la norvégienne and flambé it table side. If it was another chef, perhaps my disappointment wouldn't be as great. But Roux is a pastry MOF and dessert is a major part of the meal at his Waterside Inn.

Besides the choice of dessert, my disappointment was extended to the appearance of the dish. When the server placed the dessert in front of me, the ice cream had slipped off from the setting. I surmised someone forgot to put a piece of cookie under the ice cream. The server didn't notice the error, and I didn't want to cause a fuss by sending it back. The pistachio marshmallow was also placed slightly off the center of the cookie. The dessert was just a plate of sloppiness. I can't imagine that Roux would ever allow this to happen at his restaurant back home.

At Roux's Waterside Inn, meals would end with a dazzling array of mignardises: palmier, custard tart, canelé, nougat, madeleine, and chocolate. In Taipei, Roux simply didn't bother with making the mignardises and just served ready-made chocolates and treats from the hotel's Cake Shop on the ground floor. The dinner started so nicely with the wonderful canapés, yet ended in a dissatisfying manner.

At the beginning of the dinner, Roux came to our room to introduce himself. He said for this dinner he brought four senior people from the Waterside Inn and assured us that it was the A team. Instead of being assured, I actually thought it was a bit strange. With the cost of the dinner being much higher than at the Waterside Inn, I expected nothing less. I didn't doubt Roux's word. In fact, in my brief encounter with Roux's manager I can attest that he was top notch – professional yet relaxed and warm. Perhaps Roux brought his A-team but did he bring his A-game? For the savory dishes, yes, but for the dessert, it was a resounding no. 

Besides the dessert the night was also slightly marred by the service. For instance, the server laid down the utensils for the last savory course very early on; it was just strange. As the night progressed, whenever a new dish was served the server would lay down another set of knife and fork outside of them. In other words for several courses I had two sets of utensils. In another instance, I asked for an espresso and was instead served a double espresso with no crema on top. Finally, at the end of the night the server laid down the plate of mignardises, but he mysteriously didn't explain the flavors of the chocolates. Perhaps it was meant as a test? Was one of them whiskey? These were perhaps minor infractions but I am sure they wouldn't meet the exacting standards of a Michelin three-star restaurant.

From the onset it was obvious that a Michel Roux dinner at the Mandarin Oriental would be very different from the one at his Waterside Inn. Sitting in an enclosed private dining room with a party of strangers was never going to be the same as enjoying the view of River Thames. Setting aside the physical constraints, I still had hopes that Roux and Mandarin Oriental would deliver a Michelin three-star experience. Sadly, this did not happen. In one of Roux's visits to our room during dinner, he talked about the idea of perfection as a goal and the impossibility of reaching it. I heard this idea expressed by other Michelin three-star chefs. I just didn't realize on this night, perfection was that far away.

Instead of a Michelin three-star dinner, I felt like I was participating in a promotional event under the watchful eyes of Mandarin's marketing team. Roux now carries the title of the Global Ambassador of the Waterside Inn. This event was certainly a promotion of the Roux brand. The dinner was interspersed with several talks by Michel Roux with a translator. Not once did Roux nor anyone else asked how we like the food or how we were enjoying the night. I supposed everyone just assumed we would be in awe. Besides the aforementioned promotional material on the TV screen, the console table in our room was lined with cookbooks written by Roux. At one point, Roux and a staff of the hotel made a soft sell of Roux's cookbooks. I didn't buy a book because I brought my own; Roux gladly signed the book after dinner. My friends had their pictures taken with the chef. During the dinner we all took enough photographs of the food to fill a weekend worth of our Instagram feed – proof of our presence at the event.

But what exactly did we experience? Michel Roux is one of the world's greatest living chefs and Mandarin Oriental is the best hotel in town, yet even they delivered a weak facsimile of a Michelin three-star meal. I have come to the realization that events with guest chefs are simply not worth the significant premium over the prices at the chef's restaurant at home; paying more but getting less. The irony is if one travels to the Waterside Inn to eat, one actually might not see Michel Roux. He lives in Switzerland and is only in England less than three months a year. His son Alain and his long time maitre d'hotel run the three-star restaurant. It is actually rare to see Roux running the kitchen, but he can't replicate his restaurant elsewhere. As Roux said at the dinner, he relies on a team to produce his best work. Unfortunately most members of the team are back home. In Taipei, he didn't do his best work. Roux may be present himself but we only saw the shadow of the Waterside Inn. 

Michelin defines a three-star restaurant as "exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey." To experience the real thing, one needs to leave home and visit the chef's restaurant. The customers and the chef cannot both be the guests at the same time. The journey to visit the chef might be far and costly in terms of time and money, yet there are no short cuts. As the Chinese proverb says, "True scripture is hard to find (真經難取)."

The Sweet Side Awakens

"Hi, I am Julien Perrinet and I am the pastry chef at the Grand Hyatt Taipei." Last October, by chance I found myself sitting next to the friendly French chef at the counter of L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon Taipei during dinner. As Perrinet introduced himself, I thought to myself: Grand Hyatt? The only times I step into the Hyatt are for weddings or the annual Ivy Ball. The food at these events are at best harmless. Besides the tickets to the Ivy Ball (not really Ivy nor a Ball), it has been years, perhaps decades, since I spent any hard earned money in the Hyatt.

To be fair, people often forget that the Grand Hyatt is the first large international hotel in Taipei. When the hotel opened over twenty-five years ago, it represented the standard of excellence in the city. Not only was the Hyatt the place to go for a fancy meal or event, it was also the premier training ground for the people in the hospitality industry. For instance, across the counter at L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon where I sat, many senior managers had stints at the Grand Hyatt. However, in recent years the Hyatt seems to have fallen off the radar. The hotel is still grand but there doesn't seem to be any excitement that warrants a visit.

"I moved from Singapore to Taipei in May. I was part of the Robuchon team when the restaurants in Singapore opened." This explains why Perrinet was friendly with the visiting Robuchon team. As our dinner in October progressed, I asked Perrinet whether he would make any special pastries for the upcoming Christmas holidays. The question was answered with series of resounding yeses: Bûche de Noël? Yes; Galette des Rois? Yes. With the féve? Yes, of course.

The questions probably struck Perrinet as strange since he wouldn't think otherwise. I asked because Christmas is not an official holiday in Taiwan and there isn't a strong sense of the Christmas spirit in Taipei. Some of the good pastry shops in town, such as Sweet Tea by Yannick Alleno at Taipei 101, don't make any holiday items anymore. As I departed from the L'Atelier after another lovely meal, I told Perrinet that I would visit him at the Hyatt when the holiday arrives.

"I considered several places before deciding to join the Grand Hyatt. The hotel gives me a lot of responsibilities and I also have a pastry shop in the lobby to play with." Since around March of 2015, the hotel replaced its souvenir shop on the ground floor with a pastry shop/bakery called the Baguette. I wonder if this new shop is a response to Mandarin Oriental's Cake Shop on the other side of town.

The choice of "Baguette" as the name for the shop is very odd since the French bread is just one of the many items for sale. The name suggests the importance of the bakery. Hence at my first visit to the shop I bought a croissant to try. The croissant was not good at all. The shell was not crisp nor brittle and didn't shatter when one bit into it – a real disappointment. In a subsequent visit I asked the salesperson if Perrinet was in charge of the Viennoiseries, and she said no. The bakery and the pastry are produced by two different departments. Furthermore, the main attraction of the shop seems to be Perrinet's creations in the glass display case, which are the first things one sees.

"We have four kinds of Bûche de Noël for you to choose from." The salesperson at the Baguette responded when I called to ask and order the Christmas log cake in December. While other shops made one signature Bûche de Noël, Perrinet made Mosaic (chocolate praliné), Firework (pineapple-coco), Red Noël (raspberry litchee rose), and Chestnut (with pear and cinnamon). Over the phone I asked for the Red Noël and was told I had to pay first. Taken aback, I said, "you don't trust that I will pick up the cake later today? You have my name and mobile number and that's not enough?" In response, she said, "There were a few instances where customers ordered and didn't show up. The cakes are perishable and we need preorder to be prepaid by fax." I can't help but think the Cake Shop at the Mandarin Oriental doesn't ask me to prepay. Annoyed, I almost hung up the phone. Perhaps she sensed my unhappiness, and said I don't have to prepay if I pick up the cake within the next three hours.

The weather in last December didn't feel like winter at all, and as usual there weren't too many Christmas decorations around town. But as I walked inside the Hyatt to pick up the Christmas cake, I saw the Baguette was decked out in probably the most impressive gingerbread house in Taipei. With four types of Bûche de Noël, multiple Christmas themed pastries, and a gingerbread house big enough to walk through, Perrinet may be the most enthusiastic pastry chef in Taipei. Perrinet is also a very skilled pastry chef. The Red Noël cake was large and attractive – well suited for a party. The taste was very good, with the sweetness balanced by a bit of acidity from the fruits.

"Did you order the Galette des Rois?" My kids knew that I always buy one for the Epiphany; I don't know the verses in Matthew 2:11 well, but I know pithivier. They were also eager to try their luck again to see if they can add another fève to their collection. Maybe because I'm not a believer, in the years that I bought the Galette, I have never gotten the fève and the chance to wear the crown. 

The Galette des Rois at the Grand Hyatt was made with Isigny butter. The 7-inch version was NT$520 plus $100 for the porcelain fève. The price seemed very reasonable. I love puff pastry and frangipane thus the Galette des Rois is one of my favorite things to eat. Perrinet made the Galette with care and in the traditional manner. It was just delicious. Our family quickly devoured the cake. Similar to previous years, I didn't get the piece with the fève inside. My Catholic wife was the queen this year; as Psalm 37:18 states: The Lord takes care of those who obey him.

"The Canelé at the Hyatt was one of the reasons that I decided to join the hotel. During my job interview I saw that they made the Canelé in the traditional manner with the beeswax and copper mold. I knew there was a good foundation to build upon." Perrinet told me during our dinner last October. Indeed, the Canelé at the Hyatt is very good with a crunchy and well caramelized exterior with a chewy and soft interior. At NT$50 the large Canelé is a very nice treat. 

Perrinet changes the contents in the glass display case frequently in response to the seasons. Since strawberry is in season now he has made a few new pastries. They are not only good to eat but will surely bring a smile to anyone who sees them.

There has been an awakening in the sweet side of the Grand Hyatt. Anyone who visits the shop at the hotel lobby will definitely feel it. I love Perrinet's enthusiasm and passion, and I hope they won't diminish as he familiarizes with the local customers. I am eager to see how Perrinet's creation will evolve as he spends more time in Taipei. Furthermore, will the rise of the sweet side lead to a renewal of the bakery? Will the Grand Hyatt return to the forefront of the dining scene in Taipei? Hopefully more episodes await. 

Caramelized Mango with Rum

The season for mango is coming to an end in Taiwan. Some of the mangos on the market are no longer so great to eat. Recently we found ourselves with a few average tasting mangos. Instead of enjoying them raw, I decided to broil them and make a dessert.

The recipe I used was from the three-Michelin-star chef Eric Ripert. A few years ago, Ripert did a series of videos to show how one can use a toaster oven to make meals for the family. One of them was Caramelized Mango with Rum.

The recipe is quite simple. Prepare the roasting tray by covering it with aluminum foil and brushing it with soft butter. Peel the mango and slice the ends off. Dice the end pieces of mango. Cut the rest of the mango into slices, place them on the tray, and brush with more soft butter. Dust the mango with some brown sugar and place the tray under the broiler in the toaster oven for 5 minutes. Drizzle the mangos with some rum and top with diced fresh mango. Plate and serve with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

ACHOI

"Have you been to ACHOI?" In the past few months, this was the question I posed to my relatives and friends. If their answer was no, I would immediately encourage them to go. The reason is simple: ACHOI is this year's best new western restaurant in Taipei.

On the surface, Taipei seems to have a vibrant western dining scene with new restaurants opening up monthly at every corner. This is perhaps due to the Taiwanese spirit of wanting to be the boss, the low barrier to entry, and the media's constant need for fresh faces. Unfortunately, most of the new restaurants are simply not worth their salt. They are usually owned and operated by young cooks and restaurateurs who simply don't have enough experience in operating restaurants; graduating from a cooking school or cooking at a three-Michelin-star restaurant for a year or two does not make one a good chef. While a discerning diner can choose to ignore them, they are like noises and pollution that fill the mediascape thus diverting attention from the few that are truly doing good work.

Hong Kong native Lam Ming Kin is the chef of ACHOI. He has worked in the three-Michelin-star Jean Georges Vongerichten's group for over ten years. Just prior to coming to Taipei, Lam was the chef de cuisine at Jean Georges Shanghai. He comes with a wealth of worldly experience, which is very rare for a chef in a new restaurant in Taipei. Lam's new venture is backed by the Ambassador Hotel Group.

ACHOI is located on the ground floor of the Group's new mid-priced hotel amba Zhongshan. Setback from the tree-lined Zhongshan North Road by the building's arcade, ACHOI is enclosed in floor-to-ceiling glass on two sides. While the restaurant has its own glass door entrance, it is not obvious; usually I enter through the adjacent hotel front door. During the day time, the restaurant takes full advantage of the glass exterior and makes the trees on Zhongshan Road and the plantings along the small side street be part of the interior. During lunch time, the space is very pleasant with indirect daylight coming through the glass walls. With views beyond the space, the dining room seems larger than it really is. Unfortunately, at night the glass exterior impairs the ambiance of the interior. As the outside gets dark, one sees less of the trees and more of the bright street lights, plus the uncontrolled reflections from the interior lighting. The biggest annoyance to the diners at night is with the bright headlights coming from cars traveling down the side alley. ACHOI should learn from the design of Jean Georges Restaurant in New York City and install some shear curtains at the windows. This will reduce the effect from the outside, refocus the diners' attention to the inside, and help improve the acoustics of the space.

With the clear glass exterior, the designer smartly kept the ceiling and the walls simply in white, including the tiles in the open kitchen. On the other hand, the floor is a little complicated with two types of finishes. Most of the area are finished with beige-colored large tiles. However, one area is inexplicably done with wood in herringbone pattern. I wish the whole floor is done in wood which would conceptually bring the exterior landscape into interior. With the hardwood floor, sheet rock ceiling, glass exterior wall, and no tablecloth, every surface is hard and does not absorb sound. Therefore, the noise level in the restaurant is well above the comfort level.

There are less than twenty tables and a counter, yet there are four types of surfaces for the tabletop: wood for the rectangular tables near the banquettes, marble for the circular tables near the window, tile for communal table, and synthetic stone for the counter by the open kitchen. Since the restaurant does not use any placemats, the different materials for the table are even more pronounced; as if a restaurant uses four different color tablecloths at the same time. This is overly complicated. Moreover, the tile surface of the communal table is too rustic, as eating and looking at the grout between the tiles is unpleasant. The synthetic stone for the kitchen counter is too simple and feels more like a home kitchen than a restaurant. Another design flaw with the counter is the height: instead of using a normal bar height of around 90cm, it is set at a normal table height of 70cm. The problem is the customers end up always looking uncomfortably up at the cooks inside the open kitchen. It is understandable if the designer is simply against sitting on bar stool in a restaurant or has the desire to make every seat wheelchair friendly. However, the long communal table adjacent to the wine refrigerator is set at a normal bar height. Usually I like to sit at the counter and see the food being prepared. Sadly, the design of counter seats at ACHOI discourages me from doing so.

Besides the tables, the design of the other parts of the restaurant is also fussy. In the middle of the dining room are back-to-back banquettes built with wood. The backs of the banquettes have cushions of varying geometrical shapes and different color shades of grey which seem unnecessarily complicated. There are also a variety of light fixtures at different heights that seem to have little to do with the tables below. A lot of efforts are spent adding varieties into a space that doesn't really need it. This is similar to the extra ingredients on a plate of food that only complicates the appearance but has no real intrinsic value to add.

Since I am an architect, I am more sensitive to the design of the space than most people. I get bothered by little things that other people simply do not notice. For example, I don't know why the restaurant has a cash register with a vertical display sticking above the counter like at a supermarket. The space, ambiance, and furnishings of the restaurant have a major impact on the dining experience. Conceptually this is not any different from the importance of the tableware. In theory, the food is just what's on the plate. However, a serious chef will not serve the food on paper plates, nor will a sommelier serve the wine in plastic cups. Therefore, why should the restaurant serve food and wine in a cluttered and noisy space?

I don't know how much input Lam had in the design of the room but he seems to have the free rein to devise the menu with his partner Amy Chen. After all, the most important part of a restaurant is still the food. So far I had three meals at ACHOI and enjoyed most of the dishes.

Prior to dining at ACHOI I expected Lam's food to be in the similar vein as his old boss Jean Georges Vongerichten: the pairing of Asian flavors and ingredients with French techniques and traditions. Since I love Vongerichten's food, I had high expectations for Lam. The first time I was at ACHOI I sat at the counter and saw the kitchen prepare a special uni on toast with yuzu and black truffle. I couldn't help but remarked to Lam that the dish reminded me of the uni on toast served at Jean Georges in New York City. Lam smiled gently and replied, it is similar but he does it differently. Indeed, while there are hints of Vongericten's style, Lam is certainly expressing his own views. In comparison to Vongerichten, in a very general sense, I find Lam's food to be less acidic and doesn't have as much of a spicy kick. Nevertheless, many aspects of Vongerichten's food that I am very fond of can also be seen in Lam's cuisine.

Lam's food is a fusion of east and west. Because of Lam's experience, fusion is not confusion, rather it offers novel ways to look at the classic recipes. On the menu is a reinterpretation of the classic Salade Lyonnaise. Typically the salad is made with frisée and pan fried lardons topped with a poached egg. In a reference to Chinese cooking, Lam uses braised pork belly instead. Furthermore, he adds some locally grown baby swiss chard to the mix, which provides a little sweetness to the more bitter frisée. For the sautéed foie gras, just as Vongerichten made the novel pairing of foie gras with mango long time ago, Lam does it with coconut and lychee. The foie gras was cooked perfectly and the contrast with the Asian fruit was wonderful.

Besides the Asian elements, Lam allows local Taiwanese flavors to be part of his food as well. When he got to Taipei he noticed at the night markets that the locals like to eat fried chicken in one stall and cold noodles at another. So he thought why not make his version and serve them together. The result is a lightly battered but crusty chicken which was very tender and juicy: just delicious. The cold house-made spaghetti has the right texture and is lightly tossed with a sesame dressing. Not only do I like the dish very much, my daughters talked about the fried chicken for a few days after their meal as well.

Lam takes the local influences one step further by doing his version of the Three-Cup dish. Normally done with chicken in Taiwan, Lam uses abalone instead. The abalone is cooked sous vide and has a very tender texture. The Thai basil pesto adds a nice floral kick.

Lam's food is light but flavorful. In Taipei, people tend to want to eat "light" but often times the restaurants and diners confuse light with bland. While it is important to let the original tastes of the ingredients show through, it is equally important to enhance, elevate, and balance the flavors. For the honeydew melon gazpacho, Lam balances the sweetness of the fruit by adding some salty French Bayonne ham and lifts the coolness of the dish with slices of mint – just a very fresh tasting dish that is well suited to the hot weather outside.

The shrimp sliders are slathered with a sriracha and citrus mayo that is light but extremely flavorful. The sesame bun added an extra fragrance to the dish. I gulped down the two sliders in minutes.

The fillet of snapper is seasoned nicely and cooked perfectly, first sous vide and then the skin is crisped in the pan. The sauce is a sabayon that has just enough acidity to lighten up the dish. The chayote shoots provide a slightly crunchy texture which contrasts well with the flaky fish.

Lam's cooking is simple but complex. Simple in the sense that the dishes do not have superfluous items and the diners get the essential flavors. Like any good chef, a lot of effort goes into sourcing the ingredients. With good ingredients, the key is not to overcomplicate the cooking. When Lam talks about the good ingredients he is able to find, you can visibly see his excitement, like the shrimp he gets daily or the locally grown fig.

The shrimps are cooked lightly and served with a yuzu mayonnaise and a dusting of house-made spice mix. The dish looks simple and clear, yet the flavors are complex and delicious.

The fig sits on house made ricotta and is topped with a little port and lemon juice. Again, simply made and just a delight.

Based on my three meals at ACHOI, I have very little to complain about the food. There are only a couple of dishes that I thought was just good but not great. For the duck breast, Lam's presentation seems to refer to the Peking Duck. The dollops of dark sauce are made with cherry, and a stalk of tuberose in lieu of scallion. While the duck is cooked well, I prefer the meat to be a bit more rare and bloody. While Lam cooks some of the seafood dishes sous vide, he prefers to cook the meat in the traditional method. It is interesting to note that at Angelo Aglianò Restaurant, it is just the reverse: some meats are cooked sous vide while the fish are always cooked in the traditional manner. I understand Lam's preference and reasoning, and agree that some meats are better cooked in the traditional manner; Lam's Iberico pork chop was just grilled and it was juicy and delectable. But with the duck breast, I prefer the method that Robuchon uses: sear, sous vide at 60 degrees Celsius, and sear again before serving.

The other dish that I thought was just okay is the grilled beef sirloin wrapped with betel nut leaves, and served with mango, peanut, cherry tomatoes, and fish sauce dressing. The vegetables are fresh and the sauce has just the right amount of acidity. The beef is cooked well, but doesn't seem as flavorful as it can be.

ACHOI has a very nice dessert menu, all of which are priced at NT$220. Many of them are variations on the classics, some with Asian inflections. I am particularly fond of the Peach Melba, a classic from the late 19th century. Lam serves his version as a trifle with granite on the top. The chocolate mouse with mint sorbet is also wonderful.

The only dessert that doesn't quite work is the praline ravioli with chilled citrus soup and lemon sorbet. The sorbet and the soups are great, fresh with a nice sweetness and hints of acidity. The colors in the bowl are vibrant and beautiful. However, the chilled wonton wrapper with the praline inside was just a bit dense. It was probably the most interesting dessert on the menu, yet the one I liked the least.

Most of the people I know who have been to ACHOI agree with me that the quality of the food is high, but many of them feel the price is high as well. While I share their sentiments that ACHOI is not cheap, the restaurant is certainly not price gouging either. ACHOI has a 3-course set lunch menu for NT$680 and 4-course set lunch for $780, which includes coffee or tea. This seems very reasonable. Unfortunately, this is only served from Tuesday to Friday (the restaurant is closed on Monday). Given ACHOI is located far from my office, I probably will never get to try the set lunch. All three times that I was at ACHOI I ordered à la carte. The soups are priced around NT$220, the vegetable dishes are around NT$300, and the poultry and meat dishes range from around NT$400 to NT$800. While the dishes are all in tasting menu portions, given the quality of the ingredients, the prices seem fair. My problem with the pricing at ACHOI is not with the individual dishes, but the overall experience. A proper meal at ACHOI requires four courses, which will end up costing around NT$1,600 to NT$2,000, not including drinks. For this price, I expect the restaurant will serve some bread instead of having to order it like a course at NT$140. I realize everything has a price, but I prefer the restaurant pads the prices of the dishes instead of charging for bread. I also expect the restaurant will serve some mignardises with the NT$180 coffee or tea. Since there is an amuse bouche to start the meal, how about something to end the meal as well? Why not serve some marshmallows like at Jean Georges in New York; potato starch, sugar, and egg white will not dent the profit by much. For the price I am paying, I expect a bit more illusion of generosity.

The food at ACHOI is served to be shared – the dishes do not come at once and are placed in the middle of the table. Each diner has an empty plate to eat the food. I dislike this format. First, the portion of the dishes are small, therefore, any form of sharing allows for only a couple of bites of the food. For instance I don't see how a party of four can share the two pieces of toast with uni in a satisfying manner. Second, when I order à la carte, I like to plan out the sequence of the dishes to not repeat certain types of ingredients or flavors. The sharing of the dishes disrupt any form of progression. Third, when the dishes don't come at once, some of the diners simply end up waiting for a long time and stare at their companions eating. At my third meal at ACHOI I had to tell the server to bring all the diner's dishes at the same time.

ACHOI uses a wine refrigerator by EuroCave that allows the customers to order wine by the glass, half glass, or just a small taste. Since people in Taipei don't drink as much as people in Europe and the U.S., the wine program should encourage people to order some wine with the food. Also, in theory, the sommelier will be able to pair a wine to each course. Sadly in practice it doesn't quite work. In my three meals I was offered very little advice on wine. ACHOI's wines are marked up around 3 times the U.S. retail prices or 1.6 times the Taiwan retail prices. For example, a bottle of Trimbach Gewurztraminer retails for around NT$650 in New York and NT$1,250 in Taipei (the wine prices in Taiwan are ridiculous but that's a separate story), and ACHOI sells the bottle for NT$2,000. These prices are not unreasonable. However, I want a bit more service from the sommelier. At one of my dinners, instead of ordering different glasses of wine I ordered a bottle. After the sommelier poured the initial glass of wine, all the subsequent refills were done by myself. I also want a wider selection of wines with more expensive and interesting choices. For instance, it will be nice to have more than three sparkling wines to choose from. I wonder why ACHOI cannot utilize its sister restaurant A-Cut's more extensive wine inventory in the Ambassador Hotel. Furthermore, I find it very strange that ACHOI's wine list does not display the vintage of the wines. I realize selling wine in a restaurant in Taipei is difficult, but ACHOI cannot be this casual about their wine program.

While I have misgivings about some aspects of ACHOI, they can be improved upon should the restaurant choose to. In terms of just the food on the plate, I am very delighted with Lam's arrival in Taipei. The city finally has a restaurant that does fusion in a convincing manner. Lam's experience and knowledge in cooking allow him to play with traditional recipes and familiar tastes; one has to know the rules to break the rules. Another difference between a seasoned chef and a young chef is the confidence in their abilities. Young chefs, especially in Taipei, have a tendency to use too many ingredients in a dish, thus making the food more complicated than it needs to be. They fail to understand the difference between complicated and complex. Moreover, the young chefs tend to first cook for themselves and to impress their peers, rather than for the guests. In contrast, Lam's food at first glance seems simple and one can identify the ingredients and the flavors. Yet, the flavors are complex. Not only is there a nice after taste, some dishes make one ponder about them in the days after.

In a few brief conversations I had with Lam, he strikes me as a very affable person. There is a sense of fun and playfulness in his cooking. He is also confident and eager to look for new ideas. As the seasons change and as Lam starts to discover more local ingredients and customs, I am sure his cooking and ideas will evolve. In turn I am happy to keep going back to ACHOI for more.