Notes on Why Drink Shops Fill the Streets of Taipei

Walking along Fuxing South Road without looking for a drink, I pass another small shop at nearly every turn—different colors on the signs, nearly identical spaces beneath them. At the next red light, clear cups appear in a surprising number of hands, lifted between buses, crossings, and errands.

I notice a drink shop at every turn.

Red.
Green.
Yellow.

The signs are different, but the places are similar.

A ground-floor space facing the sidewalk.
A sliding door, or a half-open shutter.
One or two people standing in front.

I am not looking for them.
Still, I keep passing another one.

I walk along Fuxing South Road without a destination.
The number of these places begins to feel like a question.

People holding something

At a red light, I look at the hands around me.

Clear cups.
Ice shifting inside.
A habit of biting a straw.

Perhaps one in three is drinking something.

Few stop to drink.
Most walk, or wait for a bus, and lift the cup as part of moving.

The air is damp.
Even without strong sun, the throat dries after a short walk.

In this climate, liquid moves easily into daily life.

One more cup after lunch

Around noon, people come out of small restaurants.

Two or three eat together.
They do not separate right away.

They cross the street.

The destination is often a drink shop.

Eat.
Buy a cup.
Return to work.

This sequence repeats without ceremony.

Tea is not something prepared at home.
It is something bought on the street.

Drinking seems to belong more to the city than to the house.

Notes on the Taiwanese Drink Holder

In Taipei, a cold drink often hangs from someone’s wrist in a small fabric loop. The loop grips the cup halfway up, leaving its bottom completely exposed.

Eat in the Corner

A city that leaves small spaces

In the East District, similar-sized shops line the blocks.

Narrow fronts.
Shallow rooms.

Taipei is cut by many small streets.
Foot traffic is divided and slow.

Because the ground floor becomes a shop so easily,
a small business can slip into the gaps.

No fire.
No oil.
Little equipment.

The shape of the city and the lightness of this trade fit together.

Young people behind the counter

I shift my view to the inside.

Behind the counter are usually young workers.

A refrigerator.
A sealing machine.
Several containers.

The space is tight,
yet it feels like a small lab.

Opening a restaurant is heavy.
This seems lighter.

Easy to begin.
Easy to leave.

New shops appear.
Old ones fade.

The street changes slowly.

A quiet form of independence is visible in the number of signs.

Notes on Sealed Lids in Taiwan

A Taiwanese takeaway drink often leaves the counter with no opening at all: its top is a taut sheet of film, meant to be pierced by a straw and shaken before the first sip. It may then hang in a plastic bag from a moving scooter, still sealed.

Eat in the Corner

Many small reasons

There is no single cause.

Climate.
Habit.
Urban form.
The energy of people starting something.

Each makes sense.
None explains everything.

Together they produce this dense field of drink shops.

Notes on Counting Drink Shops Across Taiwan

On a walk through Taipei, the next drink shop often appears before the last one has left the frame—along office roads, beside MRT exits, and on residential corners. Students carry cups past delivery riders collecting more, while each storefront seems to feed the same daily traffic.

Eat in the Corner

Sounds of opening

Under the trees on Ren’ai Road,
someone carries a bag of ice to a half-closed storefront.

A dull thud.
The warm smell of a sealing machine.

Another shop is about to open.

These small preparations set the rhythm of the street.

— Detour —
a little further to walk

Related Notes

Notes on traditional Taiwanese Breakfast Shops

Before most storefronts open for the day, small breakfast shops are already sending out egg pancakes, flatbreads, and soy milk through narrow windows. By late morning, much of that activity has disappeared, leaving an unusually brief but steady burst of business along nearly every street.

Notes on the Evangelists of Bubble Milk Tea in Taiwan

The yellow-and-blue 50嵐 sign is familiar across Taiwan, but it disappears at the border: overseas, the same chain pours drinks under the name KOI Thé. Other Taiwanese bubble-tea brands carried their names, recipes, and store routines across oceans.

Notes on Ghost Chains in Taiwan

In Taipei, the same red Yonghe Doujiang sign can appear several times within a short walk, while each shop has a different owner and its own version of breakfast. The signs look like a chain’s network, but there is no visible organization holding them together.

Notes on Two ABC Bistros at KL Sentral

At the edge of KL Sentral, two ABC signs glow red and blue beside the road into Brickfields. A narrow alley separates the entrances, but from the station side they read almost as one brightly lit place.

Notes on the Optimal Placement of YouBike in Taiwan

At a Taipei station, the yellow-and-white bicycles are lined up beside a park, a station entrance, or an otherwise forgettable strip of sidewalk. More surprising than seeing bikes there is how rarely the next station is full when you need to return one.

Notes on Teh Tarik and the Logic of Pulling

In Malaysia, TARIK appears both on doors and on drink menus. One asks for a pull at the entrance; the other arrives as tea lifted between two cups, its surface held under a thin layer of foam.

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