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Taiwan’s First Canned Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice
I’m scrolling through TikTok at 3 AM, as one does when you’ve already accepted that your life is a train wreck fueled by insomnia and impulse buys. Suddenly, the algorithm that stalks me harder than my ex throws this at me: “Taiwan’s first Canned Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice!”
Me： 🤔… Wait， WHAT?
You’re telling me… my childhood Jingmei Night Market love — the sacred “Bamboo Tube Rice Pudding“ that I haven’t touched since moving out of Jingmei 18 years ago (yes, EIGHTEEN, basically two Kardashians ago) — now exists in a FREAKIN’ CAN??? Jingmei Night Market, the place where I spent countless evenings with my family, exploring the vibrant stalls and indulging in delicious street food. And not just anywhere, but at Quanlian (PX Mart), aka my new holy temple of survival since relocating to Tamsui? Excuse me, universe, but this is giving “The Secret” manifestation vibes. Oprah, is that you?
This Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice, a cylindrical form of sticky rice, is not just a dish; it’s a cultural icon, a symbol of the vibrant night markets and the communal dining experience in Taiwan.
I can feel my heart palpitating, as if I’ve just spotted BTS at FamilyMart. My inner 8-year-old banana self, that weird kid who landed in Taiwan in 2nd grade speaking zero Mandarin and eating Sticky Rice like it’s her only friend, is shaking. I’m sweating rice vinegar tears.
Cut to me in Quanlian:
Imagine a slightly unhinged woman in pyjamas (me) clutching a basket of toilet paper and toothpaste, and then — BAM — a gleaming cylinder of canned Rice Pudding, like the Holy Grail of carbs. I don’t walk. I don’t run. I GLIDE, possessed by the spirit of every Taiwanese grandma chanting 吃飯皇帝大 (chi fan huangdi da), a phrase that roughly translates to ‘eating makes one king (is the most important thing in life).’
I grab it like it’s the last discounted iPhone at Costco. Do I check the expiration date? No. Do I read the label? Absolutely not. I’m too busy ugly crying in aisle five, whispering: “We’re finally together again, my love.”
Fast forward: I pop open that can at home. Pshhh! The sound is more seductive than any man I’ve dated in the last 8 years (to be fair, the bar is low — like, Mariana Trench low). The steam caresses my face, and suddenly I’m back at Jingmei Night Market — 20 NT in hand, standing beside my mom, a foreigner in a strange land, finding comfort in this humble sticky rice cylinder.
The smell? Pure nostalgia, marinated in soy sauce and bad life decisions. The texture? Sticky AF — like my dating history, except this one actually satisfies. The Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice, a cylindrical form of sticky rice, is soft and chewy, with a slight sweetness from the soy sauce. The “Vegetarian Braised Pork Filling“? Bruh, it doesn’t even have real meat, but my brain is screaming: “YES, CHEF.” Every bite is like being hugged by my past, except instead of therapy bills, it’s just carbs.
I shovel it down like I’ve been on Survivor Tamsui edition. Am I ashamed? No. Am I moaning like it’s a Michelin-star dish? Absolutely. If neighbours call the cops, they’ll just find me in rice-induced euphoria on the floor, whispering, “This is better than sex.” (Again, bar: Mariana Trench).
Final verdict: 10/10 would risk gout again. Whoever invented canned Vegetarian Braised Pork Filling deserves a Nobel Prize, a Grammy, AND a free therapy session with me.
History Lessons vs. Reality Checks
As a banana kid, the only thing I ever learned about Taiwan in my elementary school history books abroad was basically this. Some Portuguese explorer sailed by, saw the island, and yelled “Formosa!” as if he’d just spotted a supermodel. Then, fast forward a few centuries, and the textbook proudly stamped: “Taiwan, one of the Four Asian Tigers.”
So naturally, my childish brain envisioned an island where everyone had flying cars, gold toilets, and perhaps even free bubble tea dispensers on the streets. I mean, Asian Tiger! That sounds fierce. That sounds futuristic. That sounds… like false advertising.
The ‘Four Asian Tigers’ era, a period of rapid economic growth and industrialization in the 20th century, was a source of national pride and a key part of Taiwan’s modern identity.
Because the second I actually set foot here in second grade, reality bitch-slapped me harder than puberty ever did. Roads clogged with scooters puffing exhaust into my face. Buses that may or may not ever come (運將 literally gambling with my time and soul). And worst of all, the locals strutting around with a superiority complex, still bragging about that “Four Asian Tigers” era like it wasn’t DECADES ago, while sneering at Mainland Chinese — blissfully ignorant of the fact that China now has trains that look like they belong in Star Trek, while we’re still arguing over who gets the MRT seat.
My Ignorance, Their Ignorance
I’ll admit, I was no better. As a foreign-born kid, I didn’t know jack squat about Taiwan beyond the half-page blurbs in my textbooks. I didn’t even know about Taiwan’s aboriginal people until I actually lived here. Like, hello? Whole cultures, traditions, and histories were just erased from the glossy “Asian Tiger” narrative.
It blew my mind when I learned that “Canned Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice“ — the sticky rice cylinder that had comforted my lonely little banana soul in Jingmei Night Market — wasn’t just cheap night market grub, but actually rooted in aboriginal food traditions. And me? I just inhaled it as comfort food without ever questioning its origins.
A Can of Humility
And that’s why this PX Mart Canned Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice-in-a-can hit me like a spiritual sucker punch. One crack of the lid and I wasn’t just eating carbs; I was eating crow. It reminded me how quick I’d been to hate everything about Taiwan — the inefficiencies, the hypocrisy, the cultural arrogance — without ever learning to appreciate the beauty that still exists here.
A simple, yet humble, sticky rice dish managed to teach me what years of overpriced international schooling never did: humility. The kind that says, “Stop acting like you’re above it all. You’re just as ignorant as the people you roll your eyes at.”
Because yes, Taiwan is messy, backward in some ways, and clinging to outdated titles like a faded beauty queen. But it’s also layered, resilient, and rich with flavours and histories I was too blind to see. And if it takes a can of Canned Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice from Quanlian to shove that lesson down my throat, then so be it.
Final verdict? This isn’t just food. It’s a bite-sized cultural awakening, disguised as carbs.
PX Mart Bamboo Tube Sticky Rice Pudding Can
