The smell of oil at daybreak
In a Taiwanese breakfast shop,
the smell of oil always rises from somewhere.
At the center of it is youtiao.
At first glance, it looks like nothing more than fried bread.
But when its lightness, hollow interior, and use are observed,
it begins to feel less like food
and more like a structural component that allows breakfast to function.
Designing heat and emptiness
Youtiao is made by stretching wheat dough into long strips
and dropping them at once into hot oil.
Its origins lie in northern China,
and it is one of the oldest forms of fried dough still eaten daily.
The surface is firm.
Tapped lightly, it gives off a dry sound.
Inside is a large hollow space, unexpectedly light.
Unlike filled fried bread or doughnuts,
it does not trap oil.
It carries only the aroma of oil, thinly layered over air.
In early-morning soy milk shops,
hands pull the dough, then release it into the fryer.
The heat and sound that rise at that moment
signal the start of the day.
The legend of frying Qin Hui
Youtiao carries a well-known origin story.
It is said to represent Qin Hui, a traitor of the Southern Song, and his wife,
fried in oil so that the people could symbolically consume them.
Whether this is historically accurate is beside the point.
What the story suggests is that youtiao was once
a symbol of satire and resistance,
not merely a food.
Today, few people eat it with that meaning in mind.
Still, taking a piece of fresh youtiao in the morning
is a habit that has survived across long stretches of time.
Completed only when paired with liquid
Youtiao is not complete on its own.
Its purpose appears only when it meets liquid.
Dipped into sweet soy milk,
oil absorbs sugar,
and the texture shifts from crisp to soft.
Dipped into savory soy milk,
it draws in partially set soy milk and toppings.
The youtiao becomes a substitute for a spoon.
Youtiao is not the main actor.
It functions as a medium,
carrying the temperature and flavor of soy milk to the mouth.
Surviving through transformation
Within breakfast, youtiao changes form.
Pressed into fan tuan,
it adds dryness to a dense mass of glutinous rice.
Placed inside shaobing,
it becomes part of a Taiwanese staple,
bread held within bread.
In every form, its role is consistent.
Through lightness and emptiness,
it adjusts the balance of the whole.
The rule of eating it hot
Youtiao is sensitive to time.
Once cooled, oil returns,
and it becomes heavy.
The best moment is to order it just before
soy milk or egg pancakes are ready,
and receive everything together.
While heat remains,
lower it into soy milk.
That is how the hollow space is used fully.
Youtiao is not a loud presence.
But remove it from the Taiwanese morning,
and the structure quietly collapses.
Inside its emptiness,
the logic of the morning is held.
