Sometimes you find yourself walking around the streets of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) late at night trying to find a restaurant that tourists wouldn’t go to. What we found was Le La Quan, a place so local that the people who worked in the restaurant barely spoke a word of English and the menu was only available in Vietnamese.

Yet, through it all we managed to place some orders. While I was really only there for a beer, one of my companions ordered some chicken. But not just any chicken – chicken ovaries. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to eat these, so I dug in.

The first thing you notice is that they look like Satan’s egg yolks. In that I mean they were yellow, but veiny in an intimidating way. Yet, I dug in and found that it was more like a combination of hard boiled egg yolk and egg white in one. It had the flavor of egg yolk, but was much more rubbery in texture. And yet still not quite as rubbery as egg whites.

Of course, I probably could have guessed that chicken ovaries would taste a lot like chicken “pre-eggs,” but you never know until you try and now that I’ve tried, you probably don’t have to.

The scallion pancake may be one of the greatest culinary creations of the Far East. It comes in different forms, but is delicious on its own and also makes up the base of the beef rolls that are super popular in authentic Chinese restaurants around LA. But perhaps the greatest take on the scallion pancake can be found at the Shilin Night Market in Taipei, Taiwan.

Here, the scallion pancake is the more flaky variety, but starts like all others on a griddle with some oil. After that, it takes a turn towards greatness by adding a fried egg. In itself this is not so revolutionary because scallion pancakes with eggs have existed for about as long as scallion pancakes. What’s big here is the addition of a slice of cheese. Yes, cheese!

As with nearly every dish, cheese can always make it better, but what is more significant is that cheese is simply not an ingredient in really any traditional Asian dishes. Therefore, embracing cheese as a complement to something traditional as opposed to relegating it to Western-style food is pretty fantastic. With a touch of spicy sauce, this was truly a transcendent bit of street food.

Oysters are weirdly popular in Taipei. Or so I think. All I know is that in two nights there I ate more oysters than I ever intended to in my whole life. One of those was in the form of some oyster noodle soup (also known as oyster vermicelli) at the Shilin Night Market, which happens every night and presumably the soup is always there being served by the same lady out of a cart as well.

So what is oyster noodle soup? It’s literally a thick broth with salty flavor, stringy vermicelli noodles and chunks of oyster. The trouble is that I really don’t understand oyster. It tastes like pretty much nothing and has the texture of something that would come out of my nose. Therefore, it’s gotta be surrounded by some really good stuff. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t feeling the soup as really good stuff. Maybe it was because it was the middle of summer and I usually feel like soup is better for cold weather or because it’s just better as a drunk food. Or…because there was just too much other good stuff at the Shilin Night Market. Whatever the case, this is one street food I could have walked by with no issue.

I often find it amazing how universal sausage is. It seems like every culture has its own version of tube meat, like all humans have some sort of collective conscience that led us to grind up meat and stuff it inside of an intestine. And while you might think that Taiwanese sausage would basically be the same as Chinese Sausage, you would be wrong.

Like all the rest of the street food I ate in Taipei, I had Taiwanese Sausage at the Shilin Night Market. I was shocked to find the sausage looked more like a kielbasa than a shriveled up log. It was cooked on a charcoal grill like I would have cooked up bratwurst back at home. It was juicy and not nearly as sweet as I would have guessed, and both were probably due to it not being dried out like Chinese Sausage is.

Like Chinese Sausage, it was all sliced up for you, but instead of being served as a part of a larger dish, the Taiwanese Sausage is meant to stand on its own. Well, almost. You see, in the bag of sliced up sausages was also slices of raw garlic. The idea is that you take a slice of each in each bite, which is insane because raw garlic is weirdly spicy and expectedly intense. And yet, somehow it all just works in a delicious way. A visit to Taiwan would be incomplete without some of this sausage.

You may recall that a few years back I paid a visit to Shanghai and had some of their stinky tofu (aka chou doufu in Mandarin). At that time it was pretty much the only variety of stinky tofu I really knew of because I had spent a year living in that city. Stinky tofu, however, seems to come in as many flavors as bread or pasta, with Taiwan claiming one of its own.

I tracked down Taiwanese stinky tofu at the Shilin Night Market in Taipei, which happens literally every night. It’s immediately apparent why the stinky tofu here is different from that of Shanghai. First off, you don’t smell if from nearly a mile away. This is probably due to a different fermentation process, but also because it is cooked by deep frying. It’s then tossed into a bag for eating purposes with a semi-sweet sauce, allowing the tofu to soak up the sauce flavor, while also changing the texture of the tofu.

The result is something entirely different, with a distinct sponge-like texture and more complex overall flavor than that of Shanghai. I can’t say which is better, especially considering how long it has been since I have had the Shanghai variety, but each is very distinct and absolutely worth trying. That may sound crazy coming from an unvegan, but I couldn’t be more confident in stating it.

The first time I laid my eyes on natto was while studying abroad in Japan. To me it was nothing short of disgusting. Fermented soybeans? A raw egg? A simple stir with the chopsticks that made strands that looked like spiderwebs? For breakfast? It was not a pleasant experience, but it was certainly an experience to be remembered.

And despite the sordid memories, I was reunited with natto at a sushi restaurant and decided that after 9 years it deserved another try. Now, to be sure I must make it clear that natto is usually served in a bowl and not wrapped in seaweed. Nonetheless, I didn’t know the next time I would have the opportunity to eat it in bowl form.

The result? Still just as bad as I remember. I like to think that my tastes have evolved, but when it comes to natto I’m not sure they ever will. There is a distinctly sour taste to go along with the beans and the gelatinous texture is difficult to get over. I’d like to say there is something redeeming about natto, but I just can’t find it. Perhaps the most redeeming thing is that I’ve now tried it so you don’t have to.

For my birthday, my lovely girlfriend got me something called a beer class at L’Epicerie Market [EDIT: Now Closed] in Culver City. This was exciting as it turned out to be a multi-course set meal with a glass of beer per dish. Yet, as exciting and delicious as the beer and meals were, there was a particular course worth its own blog. It was one of the strangest meats I had ever eaten: frog legs.

First off, I should say that on this set meal, I had no clue what kinds of foods and beers I would be getting, so when a plate full of three fried legs appeared in front of me, I was in shock. But not necessarily bad shock. In fact, the most shocking part was that the chef had taken the time to cross the legs after cooking. How dainty. I always say any legs worth crossing are legs worth eating. Okay, so I’ve never said that before, but the crossed legs certainly added to the intrigue.

Although I know frog legs aren’t that crazy in France, I have to wonder who looked at a frog and decided they wanted to eat it. There doesn’t seem to be much meat, the color is the same as rancid meat and the sound it makes is a synonym for dying.

Yet, when I began to tear apart my frog legs I not only found that all the joints still worked and I could make the legs dance (froggeteering), but also found the look and feel to be quite similar to chicken wings. Inside, the meat was white and nothing like the green of frog skin. I bit in and was not nearly as repulsed as I expected to be. The meat was chewier than chicken, but mostly took its flavor from what it had been cooked in. There was something a little funny about the taste, though, and that was a slight fishiness. I know frogs aren’t fish, but there was no denying a sort of fishy taste to the legs.

I don’t know if this was due to preparation or because frog legs just always happen to taste that way, but the taste turned me off of the legs. I’m not exactly a fish guy and when I do like fish it is because it is fresh and lacking that classic fishy smell. And to back myself up, the halibut L’Epicerie served later in the meal was awesome.

So while I’m glad I tried frog legs, I know that I don’t need to eat them again. Despite this, I felt they were a great gateway amphibian meat and I can’t wait to get my hands on a salamander next. Protein is an essential nutrient that helps build and maintain tissues, regulate hormones, release energy, and fight infection. Organ meats are high in protein. The frog’s meat can be consumed in a number of ways.

And now that I know what frog legs taste like, I just have to wonder what happens to the rest of the frog. Does it get ground up into frog sausages? Fed to the family dog? Or does it simply wait to be served in the lesser-known dish of frog torso?

After Shanghai, we headed to Xi’an to see the Terracotta Warriors. We landed at night and although it was pretty late, I was a hungry unvegan. I remembered Xi’an having some great late-night street food, but after four years so much had changed in China and I hoped this was not one of them. I took a quick stroll just south of the Bell Tower and found just what I was looking for. While Shanghai had some good street skewer food (none of which I actually had on this trip), it was nothing compared to what could be found in Xi’an.

On a mobile table, I found an impressive display of skewers. There were all sorts of meats, some potatoes and even veggies for those who are into that. You can grab a plate from the table and start serving yourself some skewers. Once finished, you hand the plate of skewers to the cook, who fries them up just for you. You can even get some bread to make yourself a skewer sandwich. If you want to learn how to prepare Plank Grilled Salmon Sandwhich visit notwithoutsalt.com.

I told the guy I wanted bread in advance so I wouldn’t he could get it cooked and ready for me. Then I started grabbing skewers. As usual, this was to be one meaty sandwich. I picked up some chicken, lamb Chinese sausage and potatoes. I even grabbed a little tofu because hey, when in Rome…

As my man cooked, he dusted my meats with spice and sauce.

When everything was good and cooked, he pulled the meats from the skewer using the bread in a similar way that you would pull a marshmallow with graham crackers for a s’more. The end result was a beautiful skewer sandwich.  Each bite was entirely different from the last, but all delicious. In one bite I got a mix of chicken and sausage, in another was potato and lamb. And all of the combinations danced on my tongue like a happy Terracotta Warrior.

This was definitely some of the best late-night street skewers I’ve ever had and just thinking of all the different kinds of sandwiches I could have made with those skewer options almost makes me wish I had had more time in Xi’an.

Just what is chou doufu (pronounced cho dough-foo)? If you don’t know Mandarin, you might think it sounds pleasant. The words roll off the tongue pretty cleanly and it sounds like it could be some sort of doughy deliciousness. Like a doughnut or something. But if you know Mandarin, then you know the true meaning of the words and they are nothing at all like a doughnut. Chou doufu means, quite literally, stinky tofu. And the name is certainly appropriate. As with much of the rest of Chinese cuisine, chou doufu comes in many forms, but the form I know best can be found on the street.

Chou doufu begins its life just like most other tofu, but then it gets fermented and something goes terribly stinky. I don’t really bother with how the tofu gets fermented, but why. Like why would anyone think it would be a good idea to ferment tofu? I suppose it has historical reasons similar to pickling and other forms of fermentation, which means it was just a method of preservation before the fridge came about. But however it happened, it happened and China has been smelling it ever since.

Now you know that chou doufu can be found on the street, but you might be wondering on which streets in particular. The truth is that you don’t need to “look” for chou doufu, because if you have a decent olfactory sense, your nose will lead you there. Most recently, my olfactory sense led me to a chou doufu stand near the Yu Garden in Shanghai. It’s really hard to explain the smell of chou doufu, but rest assured it has earned its name. The Shanghai street-style of chou doufu is prepared with deep-fried rectangular cubes. Frying the tofu this way makes it easy to pick up with chopsticks or toothpicks and really if I can’t pick up tofu in this way, I probably won’t eat it. The result of frying it makes the tofu crispy on the inside, but somewhat spongy and juicy on the inside. The tofu is most often topped with a vinegar, sweet brown sauce or hot chili sauce. After the saucing, all you really have to do is hold your nose and dig in.

You’ll find a taste that is far better than the smell, but it is not for everyone. In fact, the chou doufu I found near the Yu Garden disappointed me. Perhaps it had been fermented differently than I was used to, but I think it was because there wasn’t any hot chili sauce to put on it. Instead I was stuck with the sweet brown sauce, which did nothing to cover up the smell or enhance the flavor. Either way, it didn’t invoke the happy memories I thought it would.

So whether it ends up being your type of thing or not, chou doufu is certainly something every visitor to China should try. You may not like it, but you will sure as hell like the taste better than the smell.

In my experience, I’ve learned that some of the best food in the world can be found on the street. No, not literally on the street (although the 10 second rule certainly applies for some of this food), but food that is sold on the street rather than from some brick and mortar building. A major part of the allure is the tracking down of the street food. There’s no address, so you really just have to stumble upon it. Plus, since it’s mobile and there are no hours, there’s no guarantee the food will be there again the next time you look for it. The biggest part of the allure, though, is the taste. It takes someone with an iron will to seek out this kind of food, but when you find something great, the payoff is huge.

Some of the best breakfast street food can be found in the form of bing (Chinese flatbread). Little carts and literal hole-in-the-wall places can be found all over Shanghai hawking bing in the mornings. Bing has a wide range of thickness, circumference, add-ons and more. Fortunately, just outside of our hotel (Manhattan Business Hotel) in the Huangpu District of Shanghai, we found ourselves a bing cart in an alley. This cart cooked up cong you bing (pronounced tsong yo bing), also known as a scallion pancake for only 3 rmb each. This cart even had a twist on the typical cong you bing by frying an egg on it. Cooking the bing begins when a lump of dough is tossed on the portable griddle with a generous amount of oil. The cook then flattens out the dough to the desired size with an iron, sprinkles some scallions and salt on the dough and cracks an egg onto the thing. But that’s not all.

After the cooking is finished, you get to throw some toppings on. First and foremost is the thick, sweet brown sauce. I have no idea what it actually is, other than the fact that it’s thick, sweet and brown, but it goes great with the otherwise savory bing. Other toppings include some tiny pickled veggies, cilantro, a spicy chili sauce and then more scallions. Put it all together and you get one hell of a breakfast. Although the high dose of scallions and pickled somethings don’t fit in with my unvegan diet too well, I am certainly not a picky eater while traveling. After all, I would hate to miss out on something as tasty as this.

Some even claim that this might have been the inspiration for pizza via Marco Polo, and although the history major in me tells me that’s wrong, it’s not hard to draw the comparison.

While cong you bing makes a great breakfast, there are many varieties of bing to be found outside the major tourist areas of Shanghai. If you don’t mind the risk of getting lost in a big foreign city, you might just stumble upon some of the best breakfast street food the world has to offer.