An apartment in Hsinchuand the steam of the night market

Southwest of Taipei, in the northwest of Taiwan, I woke to a morning in Hsinchu. Signboards jutted out over the main street, with tall buildings in the distance. A short walk brought me to a street of old brick buildings.

The wall of a breakfast shop was covered in a yellow menu. In front of a shop with a blue awning, scooters rolled slowly past.

I came to buy a danbing, the classic Taiwanese breakfast egg crepe. At a vegetarian breakfast shop with a yellow sign, the batter was quickly cooked on the griddle.

Taiwan is full of shops that specialize in breakfast. Streets of colorful signboards, narrow alleys, the walls of old buildings: this really is a place of eating-out culture. I followed a stone wall back to the apartment where I was staying.

A white gate, a red mailbox, potted greenery. Somehow it felt nostalgic. Up the stairs, morning light fell on the landing and a red lantern swayed.

I had borrowed a room in a retro apartment: a chandelier, peach-blossom decorations, a leather sofa, a red door. Coming and going through the green lattice door, this is where I would have breakfast.

First, I lightly stir-fried dried shrimp and zha cai. Into a bowl went the fried bits and black vinegar, and over them I poured warm soy milk. This is xian doujiang, the classic Taiwanese breakfast soup.

A few drops of chili oil and a generous handful of coriander, and it was done. The danbing I had bought came in a paper box printed with cute drawings.

Time to eat. When warm soy milk meets vinegar, it curdles softly, like fresh tofu. Fluffy, silky and delicious.

The danbing was filled with tuna and corn. It tasted like something between okonomiyaki and a sandwich, and the soft, chewy wrapper could become a habit. A tiled kitchen, a white cabinet of teaware and a dial telephone. A Taiwanese breakfast that put me completely at ease.

Following the Dongqian Street sign, I went to Dongmen Market, said to be the oldest market in Hsinchu. It was established in 1900, under Japanese rule, and the present building dates from 1977.

Red lanterns hung in the passageways, and a glass roof covered the atrium. Signs in old lettering, rows of shutters, an escalator. Somehow nostalgic, like a film set.

On the ground floor, I stepped into a diner crowded with locals. A menu of photos hung out front. If you come to Taiwan, you have to try lu rou fan, braised pork over rice.

A pale blue bowl, with a slice of pickled radish on top. The meltingly soft pork and the sweet, savory sauce scented with five-spice were irresistible. Simple and delicious: a taste I could eat every day.

Lunch, part two: a snack from a popular pepper bun shop. Cheng Zu Pepper Bun on Beimen Street is an old shop whose sign says it was founded in 1941. Beyond a row of scooters, I was handed a piping hot bun in a paper bag.

The crust was covered in sesame seeds. The sesame aroma and the peppery filling were irresistible. I turned the corner past the signboards and walked on, admiring an ornate old building.

Shaved ice is another Taiwanese classic. A-Zhong Ice Shop, near the City God Temple, has a sign saying it was founded in 1963. What makes it special is that besides plain ice, it shaves milk-flavored ice too.

Out front, a big ice shaver was at work while steam rose from the pots beside it. I ordered the popular shaved ice with the shop's special pineapple syrup. The richness of condensed milk went beautifully with the pineapple, and inside were sweet red beans and chewy taro balls. It exceeded my expectations: deeply satisfying.

The station building of Hsinchu, built in 1913, is said to be the oldest station still in service in Taiwan. By day it stood beyond the palm trees; as the sun sank, the intersection in front of it and the signboard-lined streets turned the color of the sunset.

Unlike Taipei, Hsinchu has no big night market along a street; instead, the whole area around the City God Temple, Cheng Huang Miao, becomes one. Crowds streamed beneath the temple roof. Past a stone lion, stalls stretched on, steam rising in front of their menu boards. Hands filling paper boxes, hands working a griddle, a sign for taro balls and water-chestnut cakes.

The temple was completed in 1748 and was busy with local worshippers. A gilded statue glowing in the light, a candle burning in a red bowl, a ceiling full of lanterns, rabbit lanterns among them. A mix of solemnity and festivity, quite different from a temple in Japan.

For dinner, Hsinchu's specialties at a local eatery. I left the stalls behind, walked down an alley of closed shutters, and arrived at Rongji on Wuchang Street. Windy Hsinchu is famous for its rice vermicelli.

The noodles I lifted with my chopsticks had a firm, springy bite and were tremendously good. Gongwan tang, meatball soup, is another Hsinchu specialty: bouncy, juicy meatballs bursting with flavor. No wonder the place was full of locals. I had found a great restaurant. Under the glowing sign of a pawnshop, I walked back to the apartment.

I had heard that even instant Hsinchu rice vermicelli is good. I boiled a packet of the blended rice noodles, put them in a bowl, and added coriander to taste.

A toast with Gold Medal, Taiwan Beer's brand, in its alcohol-free version tonight. At a table beside a tiled wall and a vase of flowers, I looked back on the day. Close, delicious, and comfortable: Taiwan.

At the end of a night street of passing scooters, the clock tower of Hsinchu Station was glowing. I was so glad to have seen and experienced it all for myself.