Two kinds of steam in the morning
At a soy milk shop in the morning, there are always two kinds of presence.
One rises thick and white, heavy with heat.
The other sits behind glass, cold and still.
Both are soy milk.
Yet they line up like different drinks.
Hot and salty soy milk.
Cold and sweet soy milk.
In Taiwan’s mornings, this contrast exists without friction.
It feels ordinary enough to pass unnoticed.
I stop and think about why.
Salty soy milk is not a drink
鹹豆漿, salty soy milk, looks like a beverage.
In practice, it is not treated as one.
It is closer to a soup.
Hot soy milk meets vinegar.
Protein reacts and begins to curdle, slowly, inside the bowl.
Not tofu.
Not liquid soy milk.
Something half-set, white, and broken.
Fried dough sticks.
Dried shrimp.
Pickled greens.
A small trace of chili oil.
This is not flavored liquid meant to be swallowed.
It is warm and salted, meant to wake the body.
In another country, it might sit where miso soup does.
Sweet soy milk is clearly a drink
甜豆漿, sweet soy milk, has no such ambiguity.
It does not curdle.
It does not need stirring.
It exists to be drunk.
Sweet.
Dense with soy.
Strangely persistent.
It washes down flatbread, egg pancakes, fried dough.
A liquid that supports solid food.
In Taiwan’s mornings, this is not coffee.
It is more direct.
Closer to daily fuel.
The two serve different purposes
The difference is not taste.
It is use.
Sweet soy milk supports staples.
Bread. Rice. Wheat.
It acts as a mild lubricant, sweet and simple.
Salty soy milk stands on its own.
It can be a meal.
On mornings with no appetite.
On mornings after too much drink.
On mornings that only want warmth.
Then, salty soy milk appears.
Why they were never unified
It would be easy to choose one.
Only sweet would work.
Only salty could also survive.
Taiwan did not choose.
Perhaps because mornings here are not one thing.
Rushed mornings.
Slow mornings.
Hungry mornings.
Mornings that want nothing.
Instead of forcing a single answer, both remained.
So both are always there
At the counter, the question is always the same.
Sweet, or salty?
It is not a question of flavor.
It is a brief check of oneself.
Drink, or soup.
Sugar, or salt.
The body answers.
At a crossing in the morning, I pass two people.
One holds a cup of hot soy milk.
The other carries a cold one.
There is no argument between them.
Two kinds of soy milk stand side by side,
and continue to work.
