Carnitas — arguably the most decadent taco meat in existence — is made by frying every part of the pig you can imagine in its own lard for two-four hours. Read on for a brief history of this indulgent dish and a roundup of the best carnitas tacos we ate in Mexico City.

Ahhh, carnitas. Pork in its most perfect form. Every part of the pig you can imagine braised or simmered in oil — ideally its own lard — for anywhere from two to four hours. The fat between the meat dissolves during the cooking process so when you eat it, it melts in your mouth in a burst of savory goodness.

You can really play with texture when assembling a carnitas taco, and a good carnitas joint should provide you with options. At Carnitas El Charro in the Coyoacan market, we salivated over the creaminess of pig mouth balanced by chewy-yet-tender pieces of rib meat. Skin from the pig’s forearm rewards you with a fatty, sticky sweetness. A small handful of chicharron adds a satisfying crunch.

Mix and match these textures, add some raw onion, cilantro, salsa, and a pickled vegetable or two and you may just find yourself with the perfect taco. I’m finally starting to understand Anthony Bourdain’s obsession with the

Carnitas Origin, History & Folklore

Fun fact: Pigs are not native to the Americas. Between 1492-1504, Christopher Columbus brought pigs and other farm animals from Spain to the islands of the West Indies. They eventually make their way to Mexico via Hernan Cortes, who transports them from the West Indies to the “New World”.

As folklore goes, in 1521, Hernan Cortes hosts a banquet at his palace in Coyoacan to celebrate the fall of Tenochtitlan and the Aztec Empire. He butchers a pig and cooks it with what’s available — its own lard — then serves it to guests with Tlaxcalan cornbread.

And so carnitas was said to be born. (One more fun fact: Frying as a cooking technique was also unknown in Mexico prior to the arrival of the pinche conquistadors.)

Though this origin story is greeted with skepticism by some historians, it’s undeniable that introducing pork to traditional Mexican corn culture led to some delicious synergies. This theme of Mexican cuisine evolving with the rise and fall of empires — and with the introduction of new ingredients and techniques — is one that we see repeatedly throughout Mexican food history.

Fat as a cooking medium was not known amongst pre-Hispanic groups. Lard from pigs, followed by tallow and butter from bovine and ovine herds, and vegetable oils (such as olive), were introduced to the New World, and that is when the mestizaje of the Spanish and Mexican cuisines embraced frying with a passion.

— MySliceofMexico.ca

Modern Carnitas & Its Michoacan Roots

If we are to believe that carnitas was invented by Hernan Cortes in Mexico City, then it was certainly perfected in the Mexican state of Michoacan. Michoacan is famous across Mexico for its carnitas, and people there have been preparing the dish in their traditional way for generations. When traveling across Mexico, it’s common to see restaurants and street stalls advertising their carnitas with large Michoacan signage. It’s a stamp of authenticity that ensures that “the carnitas here are the real deal.”

The Michoacan technique for cooking carnitas starts with a copper pot, said to better conduct heat for even cooking, ultimately giving the carnitas a more intense flavor. There are ongoing arguments amongst chefs over the merits of cooking carnitas in a copper pot vs. a steel pot. Copper pots represent tradition, while steel represents modernity.

The ingredients to Michoacan carnitas are surprisingly simple — all you need is fresh pork, lard, salt, and water. The complexity of the dish comes from the chefs’ mastery of heat and the order in which pig parts are cooked. Different temperatures are used at different stages of cooking, and leaner, tougher parts of the meat are cooked first to ensure the perfect consistency.

The final product is golden-brown chunks of pork that are crispy on the outside and moist and tender inside.

“For those of us who live in Michoacan, eating a carnitas taco means indulging in a sinful pleasure. And it’s comforting. That sweet flavor of carnitas, the pork’s juicy texture, is something we really like.”

— Owner of Carnitas Cortes in Michoacan for Netflix series Taco Chronicles

The Best Carnitas Tacos We Ate in Mexico City

If you can’t make it to Michoacan on your trip to Mexico, these Mexico City carnitas joints will help curb your cravings.

Carnitas “El Charro” in Coyoacan Market

Location
Neighborhood: Coyoacan

Carnitas El Charro is a family-run business that has been serving carnitas since 1956. During the week, you can eat delicious carnitas tacos at their humble stall within Coyoacán Market. On the weekends, the operation expands into a full-on carnitas fiesta involving the whole family.

If you can, check out Carnitas “El Charro” on a Saturday or Sunday. We had one of our most fun (and tasty!) meals there during our two weeks in Mexico City.

Carnitas Meche y Rafael in Mercado Medellin

Location
Neighborhood: La Roma

Carnitas Meche y Rafael serves up scrumptious carnitas in Mercado Medellin. Not only is the meat tender and flavorful, the stall uses a mix of onion and epazote (an herb native to Latin America that tastes like a slightly bitter mint) in their fluffy tortillas. A unique combination I have not seen anywhere else.

Rincon Tarasco

Location
Neighborhood: Escandón

Rincon Tarasco is a popular, no-frills joint serving traditional carnitas in the Escandón neighborhood. Make sure to get here early! We tried going at 3 PM and they were all sold out.

Carnitas Quiroga

Location
Neighborhood: La Condesa

Carnitas Quiroga is the definition of a delicious hole-in-the-wall. The tacos here — at 20 pesos ($1) apiece — are extremely generous and filling. I tried a costilla (rib meat) taco and it was stuffed to the brim. An affordable gem in the otherwise pricey Condesa neighborhood.

Carnitas Garcia

Location
City: Tlalnepantla de Baz, 30 minutes north of Mexico City’s historic center

Carnitas Garcia is a recommendation from our friend Luis, a Mexico City native, who has never led us astray when it comes to delicious food. It is not a restaurant, but a street stall near his mother’s house that has been there for 50 years at least. It is only open on the weekends, and the best time to go is at noon. Otherwise, it’s likely that the carnitas will already be finished.

Carnitas Luna Park

Location
Neighborhood: Juarez

Carnitas Luna Park is another recommendation from our friend Miguel who has been living in Mexico City for 13 years. Carnitas Luna Park has been in the Juarez neighborhood since 1938, and the restaurant is always crowded with locals looking for rich, fried pork bits. They also have a tasty selection of salsa and sauces.

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For more food recommendations in Mexico City, check out my Mexico City food guide.

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Shenkeng Old Street has all the characteristics of a classic tourist trap except for one minor difference: most storefronts sell stinky tofu, and stinky tofu only. Its outskirts offer a looking glass into traditional Taiwanese folklore and culture.

It’s an overcast day in Taipei, and our group is on the hunt for one of the pride and joys of Taiwanese cuisine: stinky tofu, or 臭豆腐 chou dou fu. The dish, made by fermenting tofu in brine and spices, is notorious for its pungent aroma and the mixed emotions it inspires. I, for one, genuinely think stinky tofu smells and tastes good. Lenza, on the other hand, has a very different opinion. “It tastes like it’s rotten,” he sputtered after his first time trying it, looking confused and distressed as I cackled maniacally.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who you talk to), much of Taiwan shares my opinion. There are stinky tofu street stalls on every corner in most Taiwanese cities. To find one, all you have to do is visit a Taiwanese night market and follow your nose. The smell is hard to miss — that at least everyone can agree on.

Like many iconic foods in Taiwan and China, there are differing opinions on how stinky tofu came to be. Some are stories of accidental discovery, like food vendors forgetting about their tofu inventory for a while then resurfacing it to much fanfare. Others are more colorful, like a Shaoxing myth that details one imprisoned king of Yue, one royal stool of the enemy Wu king, and an unthinkable act necessary to earn one’s freedom. (For all the gory details, click here.) With a history that many believe traces back to the Qing dynasty, established in 1636, it’s understandable why details surrounding stinky tofu’s origins are murky.

In Taipei’s Shenkeng district, otherwise known as the “Tofu Capital of Taiwan,” we didn’t just find gold at the end of the rainbow, we discovered the entire mine. Located on the eastern edges of Taipei, Shenkeng Old Street, the district’s historic center, has all the characteristics of a classic tourist trap except for one minor difference: most storefronts sell stinky tofu, and stinky tofu only.

According to local vendors, the tofu served on Shenkeng Old Street is “the best in the world,” a truth made possible by the area’s sweet, natural mountain water, perfect for grinding soybeans with. And it seems that Taiwanese people agree. People flock in from all over the country specifically for this fragrant delicacy. I like to call it “stinky tofu tourism.”

Stinky tofu is cooked in many ways. Most frequently, it is fried and served on skewers with a lovely accompaniment of pickled cabbage. Sometimes it is boiled in a deep pot of fragrant broth or featured as the star attraction of an individual-sized hot pot. It can be braised, stir-fried, or even eaten raw. This last trip to Taiwan, I discovered a new reincarnation of the familiar dish: stinky tofu french fries served with a variety of dipping sauces. (They are really good, by the way).

The version we settle into at a small restaurant on Shenkeng Old Street is ma la stinky tofu and duck blood soup 麻辣鸭血臭豆腐, an ingredient pairing far more common than you may think.

The porous pieces of tofu act as a sponge, releasing a flood of savory broth into your mouth with each bite. The cubes of duck blood are the texture of soft jello, silky-smooth and melt in your mouth good. A garnish of chopped cilantro adds a crisp freshness that balances the numbing spice of chili oil. The stinky tofu barely packs a punch in this context — it merely provides a light, fermented flavor that adds a pleasant acidity to the soup.

Our friends Sonia and Elliot considered it the best thing they ate over their 5-day trip in Taiwan.

After finishing our meal, we decide to wander outside Shenkeng’s main touristic area for a glimpse of local life beyond tofu. Unlike its bustling old street, the rest of Shenkeng looks more like a humble Taiwanese town, with multi-story cement and brick buildings that appear much older than they are, worn by the unyielding tropical humidity.

The name Shenkeng, which literally translates to “deep pit,” is inspired by local geography. Shenkeng is fully surrounded by mountain ranges, and they encircle the town so it resembles the shape of a…deep pit (it sounds more poetic in Chinese, I promise).

Way past Shenkeng Old Street, up a lush green hill, we end up stumbling upon a beautiful temple overlooking views of the city below.

The predominant religions in Taiwan are Taoism and Buddhism, and colorful, ornate temples of all sizes seem to be everywhere. They add a pop of color between grey concrete buildings in Taiwanese cities, stand alone in the middle of green rice fields, or balance precariously on the edge of a cliff high in the mountains. As a kid, I would go to the small temple behind my grandparent’s house to burn incense and watch live performances of Taiwanese opera — they are very much part of everyday Taiwanese life.

This particular temple, we find out, is dedicated to Mazu, a Taoist and Chinese Buddhist sea goddess widely worshipped in Taiwan, southern China, and parts of Southeast Asia. If you are to believe local Shenkeng legend, you may come to the conclusion that this patron saint of sailors and fishermen is a highly sensitive woman, or at the very least has a cruel sense of humor.

According to a local worshipper, a hundred years ago, a local boy felt an urge to pee while watching cattle and decided to do so on a nearby rock. Shortly after, he lost the ability to move his legs, becoming paralyzed from the waist down. The rock, it turns out, was a naturally formed statue of Mazu, and she was immensely angered by his carelessness. The boy was rushed back to the rock by his parents to beg for forgiveness, and they constructed a straw hut around it to honor Mazu, promising to build a proper structure once they had the money to do so.

And so the majestic temple that exists today came to be. The stone the unfortunate boy relieved himself on has since been carved in the shape of Mazu and is displayed prominently in the main shrine.

We walk back towards Shenkeng Old Street feeling amused by this imaginative piece of folklore. Taiwan, a country that I spent my youth in and thought I knew so much about, continues to surprise me with its quirky layers and pique my curiosity even deeper.

And to think that stinky tofu was the catalyst of all this adventure!

How to Get to Shenkeng Old Street

There are several ways to get to Shenkeng Old Street in Taipei:

• By MRT: Take the MRT to Muzha Station (Brown Line), then transfer to the bus 0 (red 31) at the station exit. Get off at Shenkeng Old Street Stop.
• By Bus: You can take the bus from Taipei City Hall Bus Station or from Taipei Zoo Bus Station. Take the 236, 237, 282, 282 Shuttle, 306, 306 Shuttle, 666, or 795, then get off at Shenkeng Old Street Stop.
• By Taxi: You can take a taxi directly to Shenkeng Old Street. Make sure to tell the driver to take you to “Shenkeng Laojie” (深坑老街) or show them the Chinese characters.
• By Car or Scooter: If you are driving, you can take the National Freeway No. 3 or No. 5, then exit at Nangang or Xizhi Interchange. Follow the signs to Shenkeng Old Street.

Tips for Visiting Shenkeng Old Street

• Wear comfortable shoes: Shenkeng Old Street is a pedestrian street with uneven terrain, so comfortable shoes are essential for walking around.
• Bring cash: Most shops and food vendors on Shenkeng Old Street only accept cash, so it’s a good idea to bring some Taiwanese currency with you.
• Try the stinky tofu: This should go without saying. Just do it
• Watch out for crowds: Shenkeng Old Street can get very crowded, especially on weekends and holidays. Try to visit during weekdays or early in the morning.
• Explore the alleys and neighborhoods: While the main street is where most of the vendors are located, take the time to explore the alleys and side streets. You might discover interesting sights, like we did, and experience how locals live.
• Bring an umbrella or raincoat: Taiwan’s weather can be unpredictable, so it’s a good idea to bring an umbrella or raincoat just in case.

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Taiwanese beef noodle soup was created by Chinese Civil War refugees who missed the taste of home. The warm concoction of flour noodles, braised beef, and slow-simmered broth is now the comfort food of an entire nation.

The dishes of our childhood embed themselves into our memories, earning the status as “comfort food” that become our go-to cravings. When consumed, they transcend the usual experience of eating, transporting us back to particular moments in time. For immigrants, bicultural folk, and others far away from home, these dishes become the sole connection we have with our former lives.

My comfort food of choice is Taiwanese beef noodle soup, a warm concoction of flour noodles, braised beef, and slow-simmered broth. A single bite brings me back to happy childhood years spent in Taiwan surrounded by extended family. My parents and I didn’t eat out very often, and walking around the corner to my favorite beef noodle shop was always something I looked forward to.  

Fast-forward to today, and my love of beef noodle soup has become somewhat of an obsession. In the States, I seek out this dish wherever I can and tinker with variations of the recipe in my own kitchen. And as I learn more about the dish that shaped my formative years — the product of a melting pot of culture and history — it seems natural to bring this love to my blog and share it with the world.

Table of Contents

• What is Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup?
• A Brief History of Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup
• Beef Noodle Broth Variations
• Key Ingredients
• The Best Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup Recipes

But First, What is Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup?

Taiwanese beef noodle soup, 台湾牛肉面 (tai wan niu rou mian), is an iconic Taiwanese dish featuring rich simmered beef broth, slow-braised stew beef and beef tendon, and hand-pulled noodles. Think of it as the comfort food of an entire nation. A variety of ingredients are used as toppings, the most common being pickled mustard greens, blanched bok choy, and a generous spoonful of chili sauce.

A Brief History of Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup

Taiwanese beef noodle soup first surfaced after 1949 when the Kuomintang party lost the Chinese Civil War and retreated to Taiwan. As one article puts it, “every Taiwanese person has that one bowl of beef noodle soup from a specific vendor that they can’t forget; it holds a special place in their hearts and memories.”

These days, Taiwanese beef noodle soup is to Taiwan as burgers are to America, but, surprisingly, beef consumption in Taiwan is still a relatively new thing.

Until the second half of the nineteenth century, eating beef was considered deeply taboo, a mindset tracing back to ancient China where laws prohibited the killing of cattle. In traditional Taiwanese society, bovines were essential for converting land into rice paddies and farmers formed special relationships with their “loyal coworkers.”

As the A Culinary History of Taipei notes, cattle feature prominently in traditional Chinese folklore:

Literature and folk songs from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries celebrate cattle that are admirably loyal to their masters, even saving their lives by warning of impending earthquakes or other disasters. Eating an animal after it has labored in your service would be to invite karmic retribution; in stories where an ox is butchered for food, the farmer often suffers nightmares in which the animal takes revenge on him.

There is even an old Taiwanese saying, “毋食牛犬，功名袂顯；食了牛犬，地獄難免,” that roughly translates to “don’t eat beef and dog and prosperity follows; eat beef and dog and hell is inevitable.” 

The perception of cattle as food vs. friend started to change after Japan’s takeover of Taiwan in 1895. Japanese immigrants and their families brought their eating habits with them and began to normalize beef consumption in the country.

Interestingly, meat-eating was also frowned upon in traditional Japanese society until recently, a mindset influenced by the predominant Shinto and Buddhist religions. However, by the Meiji Period, the meat-loving Western diet was beginning to infiltrate Japan. In 1872, a sighting of the emperor eating meat caused a trickle-down effect in Japanese society, and beef has been a fixture in Japanese cuisine ever since.

In the second half of the Japanese colonial area, Taiwan began exporting canned beef. By the 1930s, levels of beef production suggest that the Taiwanese were beginning to gradually overcome their previous compunctions.

In 1949, an estimated 2 million Chinese Nationalist soldiers and their families relocated to Taiwan following their defeat by the communists in the Chinese Civil War. Taiwanese beef noodle soup was created by these refugees who missed the taste of home. Impoverished gastronomers among these veterans sold noodles as street food to support themselves, spreading the phenomenon to the nation.

Though it is widely acknowledged that beef noodle soup was created by Nationalist veterans, there are contradictory opinions on the dish’s Chinese province of origin. Some credit the dish to the wheat-growing, noodle- and dumpling-making Northern Chinese, others to the bold culinary traditions of the Sichuanese. Veterans hailing from different regions introduced their own takes on beef noodle soup, blending and evolving into the many variations that exist today. Even now, beef noodle soup’s origin story is a subject of much debate among the Taiwanese.

In the early days, different parts of [Taipei] were associated with particular flavors. Certain streets near the Taipei Main Station were dominated by families originally from Shandong, so beef noodles sold hereabouts tended to come in a semi-clear qing dun stew…Gastrophiles looking for Sichuan-style beef noodles headed to Yongkang Street or Taoyuan Street, between the Presidential Office and Ximending.

Source: History of Beef as a Food for Taiwanese

These days, beef noodle soup is a cultural treasure, lauded as a source of national pride enjoying expansive global recognition.

Since Michelin awards arrived in Taiwan in 2018, eight beef noodle soup shops—from celebrated chain restaurants to humble night market stalls—were recognized on the Bib Gourmand list. Up until a few years ago, there was an international beef noodle soup festival held annually in Taipei featuring recipe competitions, best beef noodle shop awards, and more activities for beef noodle soup makers and enthusiasts. 

Taiwanese beef noodle soup can be found at restaurants and small eateries absolutely everywhere in Taiwan. It’s not uncommon to find five or more options on one commercial block. And while you can obviously make beef noodle soup in your own kitchen, my experience is that Taiwanese families tend to grab a quick bowl at a restaurant or bring it home as takeout since it is affordable and widely available. 

Variations of Taiwanese Beef Noodle Broth

Red-Braised Beef Noodle Soup, 红烧牛肉面 (hong shao niu rou main)

Red-braised beef noodle soup was likely inspired by 小碗红汤牛肉 (xiao wan hong tang niu rou), “small-bowl red broth beef,” a street food originating in Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan. Fermented bean paste, for example, one of the core ingredients in red-braised beef noodle soup, is a staple of Sichuan cuisine and speaks to the region’s influence on the dish. 

The broth of red-braised beef noodle soup is a deep, rich brown color, slow-cooked with the staple fermented bean paste, soy sauce, and aromatic spices like star anise, clove, cassia bark, cinnamon, cumin, fennel, ginger, garlic, and scallion.  

Red-braised beef noodle soup is the most “mainstream” type of beef noodle soup across Taiwan and what you usually find at night markets, restaurants, and small eateries.

Clear Broth Beef Noodle Soup, 清炖牛肉面 (qing dun niu rou mian)

Qiing dun niu rou mian is a variation of beef noodle soup pioneered by the Northern Chinese veterans from Shandong Province and beyond, including those with a Muslim-Chinese background. The qing dun broth is transparent, as you may guess by the name, and delicately enhanced with the flowery twang of Sichuan peppercorn and white pepper.

The beef used in clear broth beef noodle soup is supposed to be slaughtered on the day of cooking. I’m not sure how many restaurants actually adhere to this, but I’m sure the result is delicious at the ones that do. 

The Building Blocks of Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup

Beef

As the name suggests, beef is the main ingredient of Taiwanese beef noodle soup. When ordering at a traditional Taiwanese beef noodle shop, you are often given the option to choose between an all-beef bowl or a beef and tendon combo. Sometimes, there are more exotic choices like tripe.

For the stock, a variety of beef bones (neck, leg, knuckle) are first blanched with ginger, scallions, and other aromatics to get rid of the gaminess, or 腥味 (xin wei), of the meat, then slow-cooked with spices to coax out natural flavors.

For the large chunks of meat served alongside noodles and broth, beef shank and tendon are popular choices. Since the meat stews over an extended period of time, expensive cuts are at best unnecessary and at worst suboptimal, losing all flavor and texture during the cooking process.

Noodles

Beef noodle soup is served with wheat, not rice, noodles. Thick, thin, knife-cut, hand-pulled, or factory-made, all noodles are good noodles to me. Personally, I prefer a nice, thick noodle with a chewy texture, but everyone has different preferences!

Toppings

Toppings are the delicious final touch to a piping hot bowl of beef noodles. Spinach and bok choy are blanched and added to the soup, along with a small handful of raw, chopped scallions. Gotta get your vegetables in, right? Less frequently, shops may add boiled daikon radish into the mix.

In Taiwan, pickled mustard greens are included as a condiment next to soy sauce and chili at most beef noodle shops. A few scoops add a tangy acidity that balances the savoriness of a red-braised beef broth.

The Best Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup Recipes

Lady and Pups Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup Recipe

Lady and Pups is a Taiwanese-Canadian food blogger who does not take shortcuts with her recipes. This one is no different. Try making her Taiwanese beef noodle soup if you “got nothing but time” (an actual category on her blog) and have access to well-stocked Chinese markets—it will be well worth the effort.

Vice’s Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup Recipe

I’ve recently discovered Munchies by Vice and have been thoroughly impressed by their recipes and reporting on Chinese food in general. Though I have not tried this recipe, the ingredients are highly authentic and the final product looks like something a skilled Taiwanese home cook might whip up in their own kitchen. 

Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup from 美食台foodvideo

Whenever I try cooking a new Chinese dish, I like to use recipe videos made by Chinese chefs and home cooks. Many of these videos are in Chinese and mostly useless to non-Chinese speakers, but I did find a step-by-step Taiwanese beef noodle soup recipe with English subtitles! Unfortunately, the recipe is not precise—you’ll need to feel comfortable eyeballing some ingredients and have at least a basic grasp on traditional Chinese spices to make use of the video. If you don’t know anything about Chinese food, I recommend following the Vice recipe above. 

For bicultural folk and those of us who move far away from home, comfort food transports us to a different time and place. As Ketu Katrak so beautifully puts it, we develop a need for the foods of our childhood as an essential connection with our past lives.

Taiwanese beef noodle soup is my connection to the seven years I spent living in Taiwan. But, even without its nostalgic value, it is a masterful dish that the world deserves to know more about. Help me spread the word!

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