A sweet default at breakfast
Iced soy milk, known locally as bing doujiang, is the form that first appears when soy milk is ordered in a Taiwanese breakfast shop.
It arrives cold.
It is often unexpectedly sweet.
It has little in common with the plain soy milk imagined in Japan.
Here it is not treated as a health drink.
It is closer to a kind of bean juice.
Or a soft drink made from soy.
On a hot morning, when sweat has already settled on the skin, this cold and sweet liquid enters the body without argument.
Before logic, there is acceptance.
Cold, room temperature, hot
Some shops offer three temperatures.
Cold.
Room temperature.
Hot.
Visitors almost always choose the first.
Local customers sometimes choose the second, to avoid strain on the stomach.
The counter becomes a place where temperature is adjusted to the body.
A trace of scorch
In older shops in the Yonghe style, a faint burned note sometimes rises from the cup.
Because it is cold, the aroma is quiet.
After swallowing, a trace of smoke returns in the throat.
This is not an accident.
During boiling, the soybeans are allowed to catch slightly at the bottom of the pot.
The scent is part of the method.
Locals call this an old taste.
Some travelers hesitate.
When that faint bitterness begins to feel right, the palate has shifted a little toward this place.
Levels of sweetness
Cold soy milk has one hidden risk.
If nothing is specified, it arrives fully sweetened.
To adjust, one must ask.
Half sugar is often enough for someone from Japan.
No sugar is also possible, though it may come from a different container.
Sweetness is the default here.
Sealed cups
The drink usually comes in a plastic cup, sealed with film.
This is practical.
It does not spill.
It survives motorbikes.
It is made to be carried.
The sound of the straw breaking the seal marks the start of breakfast.
Savory soy milk comes in a bowl.
The cold version comes in a cup.
One is meant to be eaten seated.
The other is meant to move.
A liquid for oil
Taiwanese breakfast is rich in fat.
Egg pancakes.
Flatbreads with fried dough.
Rice wrapped around pork.
When the cold, sweet liquid follows, the mouth resets.
Hot soy milk dissolves oil.
Cold soy milk washes it away.
Water would not work.
Tea would not either.
Only this sweet plant milk can do it.
Sweetness as adaptation
The sweetness is not kindness.
It is a response to heat, humidity, oil, and speed.
To survive the morning, soy milk became cold and sweet.
When I finish the cup at a street stall, that logic moves into the body.
