If anyone has said being vegan in Taipei is easy, they’re either lying or loaded. Night markets can become a sad affair of grilled mushrooms and sweet potato balls. Yes, Taiwanese eateries will offer vegetable side dishes, but be sure to hold the pork, and at cafes, asking for oat milk is a roll of the dice.
Vegetarian-only eateries range from the basic Buddhist buffet to the expensive Western bistro, but rarely offer something in between. Enter Chao.
Everything about Chao (炒炒新亞洲蔬食) mirrors the conventional stir-fry experience, known locally as rechao (熱炒). Dim lights and rowdy crowds, the chinking of beer glasses and chopstick battles for the last shrimp ball. Diners dig into steamed chili cod, Taiwanese sausages and Teppanyaki beef platters. But here’s the catch: none of the food at Chao contains any animal products.
Photo: Hollie Younger
I’ll be the first to admit, Taiwan has reawakened my inner carnivore. But my circle of friends keeps me flexitarian-curious and I’ll forever be fascinated by vegan creations: how does modern alchemy recreate flaky fish from fungus?
Sometimes the innovative flair of a vegan restaurant can elevate the food to that next level, and Chao is the city’s best example of how vegan eateries can be exciting to everyone, while affordable, authentic and accessible to non-vegans.
I gather a six-strong crowd of locals and foreigners, meat-eaters and meat haters alike, for a Monday night feast. Reservations are required in advance, even on weeknights.
Photo: Hollie Younger
Tucked behind the busy streets of Zhongxiao East Road, red lights guide us down a quieter alleyway to an up-scale rechao spot with the iconic chao (炒) in neon lights.
We get started with a round of Taiwan Gold Medal beers and opt for the four person set menu with an extra order of rice. The menu may look intimidatingly broad but the top 10 dishes are advertised for easy ordering.
First up, the crispy fried “oysters” (NT$200) win the award for most realistic mock meat. Served classic Taiwanese style with a peppery seasoning and fried basil leaves, the interior, perhaps comparable to a chewy dough, almost had me fooled.
Photo: Hollie Younger
The pineapple shrimp balls (NT$350) are also almost unidentifiably vegan. A classic yet confusingly sweet stir-fry dish of crispy battered balls with condensed milk coating and, if lucky, a smattering of birthday cake sprinkles. Not only the texture but the shrimp flavor could fool even the best of us.
My personal favorite would be the Nyonya “fish” curry (NT$350). How they create such realistic hunks of glistening, flaky white fish is a mystery to me. Chao has their imitation seafood down pat. This Chinese-Malay fusion curry was creamy and cooling enough to balance our red-hot side dishes — the pickled Sichuan pepper and tofu (NT$200) has brought tears to our eyes.
But it’s the Teppanyaki sizzling beef (NT$280) that finishes the night with a touch of drama; a roaring hot plate of steaming “beef” medallions and caramelized onions with a strong hit of black pepper. The beef texture had chewy and tender layers just like the real deal, with the punchy sauce just masking the inevitable mushroom flavor of most mock meats.
Photo: Hollie Younger
Overall, nothing in my carnivorous soul craved the original. We shared dishes family-style, enjoying local flavors and laughter until 11pm when the last beer was empty. My vegan and vegetarian friends were truly grateful for an experience that felt authentic and inclusive.
In a city where meat is king, Chao proves that even the most dedicated carnivores can find joy in plant-based dining, a health and environmentally conscious choice for us all.
Now watch this space for my next review, featuring Taiwan’s award-winning beef noodle soup.
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If anyone has said being vegan in Taipei is easy, they’re either lying or loaded. Night markets can become a sad affair of grilled mushrooms and sweet potato balls. Yes, Taiwanese eateries will offer vegetable side dishes, but be sure to hold the pork, and at cafes, asking for oat milk is a roll of the dice. Vegetarian-only eateries range from the basic Buddhist buffet to the expensive Western bistro, but rarely offer something in between. Enter Chao. Everything about Chao (炒炒新亞洲蔬食) mirrors the conventional stir-fry experience, known locally as rechao (熱炒). Dim lights and rowdy crowds, the chinking of