Mama’s Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup



This is my contribution to this month’s #LetsLunch, a virtual online potluck on Twitter.  This month’s theme is Birthday Favorites, or the food you’d request on your birthday.  This was an easy one for me; my mother knows that whenever she visits, the one dish that the entire family wants is her Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup.  Here’s the recipe, and a piece I wrote about it a few years back.  And Happy Birthday to Cheryl Tan, #LetsLunch’s food-loving founder who has just celebrated her birthday! Cheers, Cheryl!

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My mother doesn’t cook for us anymore.

Growing up, I always thought she enjoyed cooking because– well, she cooked every night. I have vivid and fond memories of her cooking- our nightly meals were a couple of stir-fried vegetable dishes, one meat or seafood dish, and always steamed white rice. I also remember long weekend afternoons spent cooking more complicated or special foods. My memories are multisensory: the savory scent of stir-fried rice noodles, which in the eighties were fortified with bacon drippings; my throat tickled by the vapors of making homemade chili oil; the air, humid from boiling homemade dumplings; the visual snapshots of her chopping, cutting, rolling, and stirring. I can still hear the crackling sounds of cold vegetables being fried in hot oil and remember the crunch of biting into a just fried egg roll. And of course, the flavors; I tasted umami long before learning the word. My mother never complained about cooking, and we rarely ate out, so I assumed cooking was a task she liked. In retrospect now, I wonder if she would have preferred going to the park with me and my brother, which is what we did with my father when she spent those hours cooking on those weekend afternoons.

She is still an excellent cook, and her food is the flavor of my memories. It wasn’t until I had my first child and she came to help that I realized she didn’t love cooking; in fact, she considered it a chore. She was still a great help– changing diapers, holding my newborn, doing random chores around the house. But I was in survival mode, the most basic of survival mode, and the one thing I really needed and indeed expected, making dinner, didn’t seem to be a priority to the new Grandma. Indeed, it fell to the bottom of her list, with sweeping the house and yard work an easy 1 and 2. Truly, my floors have never been so clean, and the garden never so carefully cultivated. Not a weed was left unpicked. No pebble was out of place. Don’t get me wrong– I can’t fault her for that– all help was (and is) appreciated.

It was an epiphany, though, that many of those wonderful home cooked meals were cooked out of a sense of obligation, rather than pleasure. There are a few dishes my mother makes which I either cannot and/or will not learn how to cook as well as she does. The Mandarin expression, “ma ma de wèi dào” or “Mama’s flavor,” is her humble excuse for how much better she cooks those dishes than I can, but I know she has a secret or two. Top of the list is her beef noodle soup. This is the dish by which a Taiwanese home cook (or food stall) is judged. In Taipei, there is a whole section of town where unnamed stalls are known for their variations on this theme, and competition and loyalty to them are fierce. I have seen this obsession with beef noodle soup in other families, too. My family friend and honorary Auntie may not have always had the best relationship with her daughter, but she always made a large pot of her beef noodle soup when her daughter came home from college to visit. Her daughter would slowly eat her way through it daily, usually without her mother’s company, until it was time to go back to school. Like their mother-daughter tensions, the flavors in the braise would only intensify as the week went on.

Of all the beef noodle soups I have had, no question, my favorite is my mother’s. It is the one thing I ask her to make when she visits, and the one thing I miss most about her cooking. I try to make it myself, but my little girls tell me, “It’s not as good as Ah-Ma’s.” I have asked her to teach me before, and I have all the right ingredients– stew beef, a tomato, a few carrots, some soy sauce, star anise, black peppercorns, Sichuan peppercorns, ginger, an onion, dried red chilies, and some sugar. But it never comes out right.




I have accepted that I do most of the cooking when my parents visit now. When I ask my mother why she doesn’t seem to enjoy cooking as much anymore, she answers tangentially, “You are such a good cook, so now I don’t have to.” But she doesn’t seem to understand that it is not flattery I am giving (or asking for) when I ask her to cook her beef noodle soup. There truly is nothing better to warm you, inside and out, on a cold winter’s night.

It is also much more than a bowl of noodles. It is a taste of my childhood. A mother myself now, sometimes, I still want my mother.

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Mama’s Taiwanese Beef Noodle Soup


3 lbs. Beef chuck roast, cut into 1 inch chunks and lightly salted seasoned with ground black pepper

1 tomato, halved

1/2 small onion, coarsely sliced

2-3 quarter sized slices of fresh ginger

6 whole black peppercorns

6 whole Sichuan peppercorns

6 whole cloves

1-6 dried red chilies, depending on your personal Scoville scale

6 whole star anise

1 cup soy sauce

1/4 cup sugar

peel of 1/2 orange or tangerine, or 1 clementine

2 large carrots, cut in 1 inch pieces

chinese dried wheat noodles or Fresh Japanese udon

bok choy, yu choy, napa cabbage, or other Chinese greens

Suggested condiments: chili sauce, preserved Chinese vegetables (such as Sichuan pickles), cilantro sprigs, sliced green onion, fried shallots.



1. Brown the beef chunks in a few tablespoons of canola or vegetable oil over medium heat in a heavy cooking pan, about 5 minutes.

2. After meat is browned, add in tomato and onion, and stir and cook for another 2-3 minutes.

3. Add and stir in all whole spices, soy sauce and sugar.

4. Add carrots and enough water to just cover the meat and vegetables.

6. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low to simmer for 2 hours or more, stirring occasionally, until meat is fork-tender.

7. Cook noodles until al dente and add cut greens for one minute.

8. Drain noodles and greens. Reserve the cooking liquid.

9. Serve noodles into soup bowls, and spoon beef stew and broth over the noodles. Add cooking liquid from noodles to make it soupier, if desired.

10. Serve with chili sauce and preserved Chinese vegetables, if desired. Garnish with sliced green onions and cilantro sprigs.




© Linda Shiue, 2010-2014

A version of this was published on on January 18, 2010.

Please also see other contributions to this month’s Let’s Lunch:

Anne Marie‘s Sans Rival Sandwich Bites at Sandwich Surprise

Betty Ann‘s Pancit Sotanghon (Cellophane Noodles) With Chicken & Tofu at Asian in America

Cheryl’s Chinese Tea Eggs at Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan

Karen‘s Teeny Tiny Cheesecakes at GeoFooding

16 responses

  1. Pingback: Chinese Tea Eggs: Lucky Birthday Treats | Cheryl Lu-Lien TanCheryl Lu-Lien Tan

  2. This was such a heartfelt essay that truly resonated with me. In the same way, my mom has always cooked for us (she still does for my siblings who live close). I never doubted it but now I’m tempted to ask her if she actually enjoys cooking. Thanks for sharing this story and your mom’s beef noodle recipe!

  3. Oh my goodness. I was just craving Taiwanese beef noodle soup the other day and had no idea where to get a good version in NYC! You read my mind, dear…now I can try to make it! This looks delicious and thanks for sharing your recipe and good wishes!! xx

  4. Pingback: Sans Rival Sandwich Bites | sandwich surprise!

  5. Pingback: Brooklyn Blackout Cakes and Truffles

  6. Linda, what a lovely heartwarming post. There’s nothing quite like a mother’s recipe, and it is always so wonderful to see how food tastes and smells can bring someone right back into your kitchen. Thanks for the great recipe – would love to try it one day.

  7. What a beautiful story Linda, thanks for sharing. The recipes sounds divine as well…will get to it one day! It’s so wonderful how food (memories, tastes, smells) can bring someone right into your kitchen xx

  8. Pingback: Anthony Bourdain’s Food Diplomacy | spicebox travels

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