紅椅頭: Little Red Stool
plus, we're shipping mooncakes nationwide and you really don't want to miss these
This is Yun Hai Taiwan Stories, a newsletter about Taiwanese food and culture by Lisa Cheng Smith 鄭衍莉, founder of Yun Hai. If you aren’t yet a subscriber, sign up here.
I know you still have summer brain, but I’m here to let you know that Mid-Autumn Festival is fast approaching. That means its time to think about that ultra-filling, somewhat-controversial (which kind do you like best), tone-setting pastry that is the glorious mooncake. We’ve had Taiwanese-style mooncakes at our Brooklyn shop since we opened in 2022. But this year, by popular request (yes we do mean it when we say “someday”), we are shipping nationwide. We’ve teamed up with The Foundry Bakery, a Taiwanese powerhouse in St. Louis, to offer an assorted box of six. Don’t miss out.
This week, I’ve written a slightly overstuffed but entirely earnest homage to the little red stool, a foundational element of the Taiwanese streetscape. It’s a year-round urban fixture, but especially in this season of the Mid-Autumn BBQ when Taiwanese take to the streets with their plastic stools and light it up. As a symbol of the season, we’re launching a miniature red stool collectible, made in Yingge 鶯歌, the ceramics capital of Taiwan.
Stay tuned for forthcoming fall events, including a mid-Autumn celebration in Brooklyn.
One of my favorite texts about architecture is called “Jig” by Atelier Bow-Wow, a Tokyo-based architecture firm known for their explorations of the micro- and the ad-hoc. The essay, included in Echo of Space/Space of Echo, explores the concept of jigs, or tools made specifically as modifiers of other tools. It was a formative text for me when I was studying design.
If you aren’t familiar with the concept of a jig, here’s an example: when trying to cut a perfect circle, you might attach one side of a long length of wood to a cutting tool. Then, you’d fasten the wood to your material with a nail at the center point, allowing for radial movement and the precise cutting of a circle. In fabrication parlance, this improvised tool is called a jig.
Bow-Wow applies this idea to architecture, positing that our built environment contains many so-called “jigs,” or tools that hold Thing A in a specific relationship to Thing B. Meaning, order, drama, and chaos follow these relationships to become our lived experience.
Tables and chairs are described as jigs that facilitate face-to-face conversation and connection. Taking this idea even further, placing tables and chairs outside a cafe can activate the street, creating an occupiable connection between the interior of the cafe and the landscape of the sidewalk. And so on.
When I read this text, I immediately pictured the little red plastic stools so ubiquitous in Taiwan (and throughout Asia, in many colors). These stools are more than seating; they are agents of urbanism, transforming the street into a night market; a small corner of an alleyway to a snack shop; an apartment into an event venue; and even an opera hall to a canteen. It’s an invitation to stop and pass time, a deliberate space for things done better seated.
The lowly all-plastic chair was once a darling of radical design. In post-war Europe, young designers were exploring plastics, a new material that seemed to point towards a split with a difficult past and the democratization of design. During that time, designers and manufacturers invented many versions of the all plastic chair, which they largely viewed as robust, practical designs for the people. Nowadays, plastics are the opposite of glorified, but some element of this hopeful legacy remains in the streetscape of Taiwan, where this easy-to-come-by furniture is a symbol of flexibility and hospitality.
To me, they represent Taiwan’s anything-goes urbanism. One length of sidewalk might be a fan tuan 飯糰 spot in the morning, a black pepper bun place at lunch, and a noodle stand at night. This is all enabled by movable furniture: lightweight, stackable, affordable, robust, and reliable. The red (and blue, and green) plastic stool is a ubiquitous accessory to this flexible way of engaging street life.
The plastic stool is the unofficial jack-of-all-trades of Taiwan street equipment, used as a support or surface for any manner of activities: setting up an outdoor dining area, creating a surface for distributing goods, turning the street into an impromptu entertainment venue, or even as a sawhorse to support work surfaces. It’s a tool for improvisation, to hack everyday urban life. We use them in our store, too, to elevate bamboo baskets full of merchandise. During events, we unstack them outside, which more than doubles the size of our shop.
A Really Little Red Stool
I’m not the only one that gets all misty-eyed when confronted with an unassuming red stool (or a red and green mailbox or a technicolor tote bag). Maji Treats—one of our favorite purveyors of artisanal Taiwanese foods, seasonal produce, and artisanal crafts in Taiwan—partnered with ceramic artist Chen Mu-Ren 陳牧仁 to create a talismanic miniature, channeling all that positive street energy into a pocket-sized sculpture. We’ve sold it in our shop on and off, and have promised to “someday” launch it online. Someday has arrived. Let your Everyday Life Street Diorama Reflex fly.
Chen Mu-Ren, an elementary school teacher, is known for recreating traditional market scenes in ceramic and mixed media. His most recent ceramics exhibition「敢動 桿動 感動」explored the facets and features of everyday Taiwanese life. Below is an example of one of his animatronic sculptures. Find more on his YouTube channel, or check out his drawings here.
Chen molded and carved the original red stool by hand, with meticulous attention to detail, from the grooves in the legs to the hole in the seat. Chen and Maji then partnered with craftsmen in Yingge 鶯歌 to create a mold of the original sculpture to produce them in multiples, which still requires quite a bit of hand work to cast, round off, and glaze.
Yingge District in New Taipei City has been a ceramics production hub in Taiwan since the Qing dynasty. Though the old street is bit overrun by tourist pottery shops, the area is still characterized by potters’ studios and ceramics production facilities that make beautiful things from locally sourced earth. The district is in renewal, with a new MRT line on the way and the recent addition of the New Taipei City Art Museum. For more on pottery, I recommend checking out the Yingge Ceramics Museum, which covers 200+ years of Taiwanese works in clay.
It’s meaningful that Maji chose to produce there instead of a more mechanized shop (or dare we say it, across the strait). This piece represents not just Taiwanese street vernacular, but also Taiwanese heritage craft. To learn more, read this article about the project, shared by Maji.
Taiwanese Mooncakes by The Foundry Bakery
It’s that time of year again: street bbq, pomelo hats, full moon, good beer (ok, optional), and, of course, mooncakes.
This seasonal pastry ushers in the Autumn season; they are chock-full of gifts from the earth (beans! eggs! seeds! roots!), but formed in the shape of the moon. The humblest ingredients are transformed into a silky assemblage of sweet, rich, and hearty flavors. In other words, these don’t taste like beans, eggs, and roots. They taste like heaven.
We typically offer mooncakes in-store only, but this year, we're teaming up with The Foundry Bakery, a Taiwanese bakery in St. Louis, to ship them nationwide.
Founders Ray and Leah Yeh are doing so much to deliver Taiwanese culture to their local community in the form of pineapple cakes, mooncakes, egg tarts, and more. Their baked goods channel the traditional Taiwanese style, but with a twist unique to their backgrounds. I went there for the first time last winter, and featured them in my roundup of inspiring Taiwanese-American businesses.
Ray, a Taiwan native, was studying genetics at Wash U when he met Leah, who grew up in Ho Chi Minh City and was working on her MBA there. Though he loved the precise and iterative nature of science and research, he longed to do something that would bring people immediate joy. On a mission to share Taiwanese flavors with St. Louis, Ray applied his science background to baking. His wife Leah joined him, applying her MBA knowledge to running the business, securing great ingredients, and bakery operations.
All the Taiwanese baked goods they offer are made from scratch daily, including 100-layer laminated egg tarts and sourdough bread with smoked longan and goji berries. I think I cried when I was there.
Ordering Details
The short story: we’re taking orders for assorted mooncake boxes made by The Foundry Bakery, delivered directly to you. Each box will contain six mooncakes, two of each flavor described below. The pastries are baked fresh everyday and will arrive within 1-4 days of baking, depending on distance from St Louis, MO.
Orders are open for two delivery windows: one the week of September 2nd and the other the week of September 9th. Cut off dates for ordering are September 1st and September 8th, respectively. More details on the ordering page.
If you happen to miss the cutoff, we plan to have them in our brick-and-mortar shop from September 13th. Quantities will be limited.
Taro Chestnut Globe Mooncake 栗子芋頭酥
Made from fresh, hand-mashed taro, this monochromatic mooncake is simple and decadent at the same time. The pillowy texture of the taro contrasts with the structure of the impressively laminated crust, and the earthy, almost bitter, notes of the chestnut offset the sweetness just enough. The color reminds us of that silvery evening light in deep autumn; and the chestnut, of the moon.
Red Bean Egg Yolk 蛋黃酥
This one's a classic, made from whole organic red beans pureed into a rich, nutty, and sustaining filling. Cushioned within, like a treasure, is a salted egg yolk. No, not the dry crumbly kind, the decadent, savory, sunny kind. The laminated crust is thin, light, and holds it altogether. Shiny from its egg wash and topped with black sesame seeds, the cake makes a striking and familiar visual on the table.
Mung Bean and Black Sesame 黑芝麻綠豆椪
This is The Foundry Bakery's take on a Taiwanese-style mung bean mooncake. It features a pale (lunar) crust; delicately prepared bean paste; and a soft middle of sweet-savory black sesame. The many laminations in the crust speak volumes about the sophistication of the interior. And, the contrast between the sandy texture of the sugared black sesame and the smooth texture of the bean paste is almost cosmic, like a planet's crust to its core.
It seems that only yesterday I was extolling the virtues of summer jelly desserts, and now autumn is upon us. Oh wait, it pretty much was only yesterday. And so the seasons smash.
A few more updates before I go:
We are actively working on the production our Taiwanese cooking mini-series. Please sign up for our cooking show mailing list to be the first to know when we drop a sneak preview.
And we quietly, very quietly, launched a Tatung with a minimalist stainless steel exterior, for those of you who (gasp) are not into red or green. Find those here.
We partnered with one of our favorite creators, @daywithmei, who published this very amazing recipe to make boba flan using the Tatung.
If you’re in NYC, save September 17th for our now-annual mid-autumn party, hosted at the store. Featuring a mural by artist Jeremy Leung, food by Bay Area favorite Mama Liang’s, mooncakes by The Foundry Bakery, snowflake nougat candy by Chicago-based Sweet Bean Bakery, and more.
Slightly overstuffed but entirely earnest,
Lisa Cheng Smith 鄭衍莉
From the Archive
If you liked this newsletter, here are a few more in the same vein:
Written with editorial support by Amalissa Uytingco, Jasmine Huang, and Lillian Lin. If you enjoyed this newsletter, please share it with friends and subscribe if you haven’t already. I email once a month, sometimes more, sometimes less. For more Taiwanese food, head to yunhai.shop, follow us on instagram and twitter, or view the newsletter archives.