Selling Nostalgia

How much do Taiwanese love railway biandang? Enough that for many years, the number-one complaint to the Taiwan Railways Administration (TRA) was that “the biandang keep selling out before I can get one!”

Upon opening the octagonal wooden bian­dang box, one is immediately greeted by a big slab of soy-stewed pork cutlet surrounded by cauliflower, carrots, water bamboo shoots, a soy-stewed egg, some kelp, a piece of fried fish, and the irreplaceable pickled cucumber. Available for just NT$80 at places like Tai­pei Railway Station, they truly are a big meal for a little money.

Even as they open their doors at 11 a.m., the TRA Bian­dang Store already has long lines of hungry customers. One older woman from Wan­hua District excitedly explains that what makes railway bian­dang different isn’t just the stewed cutlet, but more the tofu skin and pickled vegetables, which give them a real nostalgic, down-home flavor.

While for adults, biandang call to mind memories of days gone by, for children they add a little extra color to complement the thrill of a train ride.

Some 500,000 people pass through Taiwan’s railway stations every day, buying as many as 24,000 bian­dang, with Tai­pei Railway Station accounting for the greatest percentage. “A lot of those bian­dang are being bought by high-speed rail passengers,” laughs director of TRA’s Catering Service Department Dennis Ju, “which makes them the only aspect in which the traditional rail business is actually beating the HSR.”

What makes so many Taiwanese nostalgic for railway bian­dang is the close connection with many people’s childhoods.

To those born in the 1950s and 60s, when times were tight in Taiwan, railway bian­dang came to represent those rare occasions when they got to go traveling, whether for leisure or for family gatherings. The combination of the scents of the bian­dang and the anticipation of travel and family occasions have left such a deep impression on many that these simple boxed lunches are valued more than any exotic delicacy.

To make sure they keep the flavors the way people remember, the Taiwan Railways Administration even asked retired master chefs to teach and supervise the new guard.

Another way in which the TRA has tapped into that nostalgia was the 2000 relaunch of the old round, stainless-steel bian­dang boxes. Ever since, the TRA has released different old-fashioned bian­dang boxes to satisfy the nostalgic cravings of their public, selling them in annual limited editions of just 40–50,000.

This nostalgia comes despite the TRA only having used the stainless-steel boxes between 1961 and 1979, before changing to other materials that did away with the hassle of collecting and cleaning the used boxes. Dennis Ju explains that in the early days, they used thin wooden boxes, changing to stainless steel in 1961, and then later to aluminum foil, cardboard, and polypropylene, before finally moving back to cardboard and wood in 2003 when plastic boxes were banned.

The 2004 retro-styled porcelain railway biandang box.

Just like the wheels of the trains, the wheels of time have kept on turning, and where a basic railway bian­dang once cost only NT$20, by 1990 that had risen to NT$60, or NT$80 for the deluxe version. Since then, the price of a pork cutlet bian­dang has remained the same.

In 2011, the TRA worked with nutritionists from Mackay Memorial Hospital to create new bian­dang that meet modern expectations for healthy food, including roast salmon, roast chicken drumstick, and vegetarian risotto. But in terms of sales, the classic pork cutlet bian­dang is still the champion.

Today the TRA produces its bian­dang at five stations—Tai­pei, Tai­chung, Kao­hsiung, Hua­lien, and Qidu—supplying the many trains that run up and down the island, as well as the TRA Bian­dang Stores located at some TRA and HSR stations.

The bian­dang produced at the five stations are prepared in essentially the same way, but true bian­dang connoisseurs can, surprisingly, still tell them apart.

In late October 2012, the TRA organized a competition between the five stations, pitting their stewed pork cutlet bian­dang against each other, with Qidu Station ultimately taking the gong.

For a while, the TRA intended to then “unify” the pork bian­dang of the various stations to match the flavor of ­Qidu’s winning recipe, but they hadn’t counted on the opposition that the suggestion sparked. Bowing to public pressure, the TRA walked back the idea, sticking to the various original recipes.

While all the stations that produce the pork bian­dang stew their pork in a soy-sauce-based concoction, the ­Qidu Station ones add a little something extra.

“It’s scallions,” says head chef Xie Bing­hong. By adding scallions to the stew, they give the meal a touch of old-fashioned flavor. “Whenever someone cracks one of these bian­dang open, the people around them basically can’t help but go buy one themselves,” Xie jokes.

The folks at Qidu Station produce some 4,000 bian­dang a day, with most being sold on trains running the eastern and western trunk lines. The day after Qidu’s bian­dang won the TRA competition, demand skyrocketed, with sales from a stand outside the station itself shooting up from 100 to 800; for a while, the kitchen just couldn’t keep up with demand. While the craze has died down somewhat now, even today they still sell some 400–500 bian­dang a day.

Having already won over Taiwan, the Taiwan Railways Administration’s bian­dang are going international, making their debut in Japan.

There’s a good reason why the stewed pork has remained for so long the star of the bian­dang show.

“There are a lot of environmental factors to take into account when putting together a bian­dang,” says Xie. The pork used in TRA bian­dang is marinated, fried, and stewed, with the aim being to produce a pork cutlet that stays mouth-watering even at room temperature.

The recipe for TRA stewed pork cutlets is basically this: after tenderizing, the cutlet is steeped for two hours or more in a marinade containing scallions, ginger, garlic, salt, sugar, sesame oil, rice wine, white pepper, and five-spice powder; next, it is dredged in sweet potato starch and shallow-fried at about 160°C; and finally, it is stewed for 20 minutes, completing the process.

Of course, the side dishes are also no place for carelessness. Xie Bing­hong explains that when picking side dishes, he looks to things with lower water content like cauliflower, mustard greens, pickled vegetables, and cabbage. The reason is that vegetables that contain too much water tend to make the rice overly moist, giving the whole biandang an unappealing mouthfeel.

Today, TRA’s biandang business pulls in almost NT$400 million a year. Sales long ago expanded out from the trains and train stations to include anywhere within three kilometers of the five producing stations, with any purchase of NT$1000 or more also enjoying free delivery. According to Dennis Ju, the TRA is now considering setting up a chain of retail outlets, and plans are underway to take the bian­dang international this year.

In March 2013, Ju says, the TRA will begin selling a seafood and pork cutlet bian­dang in Hok­kaido, Japan, in cooperation with Japan Railways; this new combination will also be sold in Taiwan.

The plan is to have long, rectangular boxes that are one half TRA bian­dang and one half Japanese ­bento; the Taiwanese half will be headlined by a pork cutlet, while the Japanese half will be salmon and fried egg. Excitement among the train-taking public erupted almost immediately on the announcement of the plan, and many people have already begun calling the TRA to ask when they’ll finally go on sale.

The TRA stewed pork cutlet bian­dang has been a local favorite for more than half a century, going from train carriages to full-fledged stores, and now to another country. Truly the story of the TRA bian­dang is one not only of fond remembrance of times past, but also of innovating for the future.