Minyoli was imagined as a traditional Taiwanese noodle shop in Chicago, but has become a creative cultural exploration, where popcorn fried chicken meets street food waffles. Chef and owner Rich Wang opened his debut restaurant in Andersonville last May. Born in Taipei and raised in a juancun, or military dependents’ village, Wang immigrated to Chicago at age 16 with his family in 2000. He became an attorney, but resigned at age 29 to change his life’s work. Wang attended culinary school at Kendall College, and trained in Lanzhou, the city in China famous for its hand-pulled noodle schools. He worked at Boka and Fat Rice in Chicago, and spent three years in Macao at the Michelin two-starred Wing Lei Palace under chef Tam Kwok Fung. It’s no wonder that Minyoli is more than a noodle shop, with Wang more than a first-time chef. His fragrant Taiwanese beef noodle soup, or niu rou mian, starts with an eight-hour bone broth, he said. The chef finishes what he considers his signature dish, and what’s widely considered the national dish of Taiwan, with long and vibrant noodles, house-made daily. You can choose to top your bowl with tender beef or translucent tendon, or both, all red braised with Taiwanese black bean soy sauce and delicately spicy broad bean sauce. “There’s two kinds of beef noodle soup,” Wang said about his menu at Minyoli. He also makes a clear consommé variation, but red braised is best known, and by far most ordered at the restaurant. Unlike many other noodle soups, he added, Taiwanese beef noodle soup has a lot of protein. “I didn’t come up with that,” the chef said laughing. “Like, if you go to Taiwan, and have beef noodle soup, there’s hella beef or tendon in it. That’s just part of its culture, and we want to represent that.” There are also pops of pickled mustard greens, or suan cai, which they buy from Taiwan. “We cut it and stir fry it to our own palate,” Wang said. “The decision not to ferment that in-house is not of labor. We are not afraid of labor.” It was licensing, which is expensive for that kind of fermentation in-house, the former attorney said. Even though it’s a noodle restaurant, he said, the bestselling item is actually the fried chicken. The Taiwanese fried chicken rice bowl, specifically, with crunchy nuggets, seasoned with a distinctive dusting of sour plum powder, or li hing mui powder. The chicken chunks are nestled against a scented tea egg, with more fermented pickles, over a coveted bowl of Koshihikari short-grain rice. The Taiwanese fried chicken bowl is on the lunch and dinner menu at Minyoli. (John J. Kim/Chicago Tribune) It was a dish created by popular demand, according to general manager X Wang. They were my server on the first of two visits, and said that since Taiwan is a democracy, so is Minyoli. X Wang is also the bar director and first cousin to the chef. I would still like to vote for the typical feathery fried basil leaf garnish, even though it’s understandable, and admirable, as to why the restaurant uses fresh leaves. “In Taiwan, fried basil leaves are usually not just fried,” Rich Wang said. “You fry it and then you stir-fry it so it’s less greasy.” He doesn’t have a wok in the restaurant’s kitchen, because it’s small, but he tried the single fry and didn’t like it. “And you lose the effervescence of basil,” the chef said. “Taiwanese basil is actually the same species as Thai basil, so it’s a little bit mintier, it’s a little spicier and it’s less sweet.” His zhajiangmian, the noodle dish with regional Chinese, Korean and Taiwanese styles, swaps minced pork for chunky beef and firm tofu, intensely infused with tianmian sauce, or sweet bean sauce, and is finished with fresh cucumber slivers. It’s a dish that can be deep, dark and murky, but Wang makes a clear and composed statement on his cultural influences served in a bowl. “Minyoli is actually the village I grew up in, in Taiwan,” the chef said. “The type of village is called juancun.” General manger X Wang, left, and chef-owner Rich Wang, who are cousins, stand at the entrance to Minyoli. (John J. Kim/Chicago Tribune) The Taiwanese government built what became known as military dependents’ villages to house Chinese refugees after the decadeslong Chinese Civil War, which ended in 1949. People from all over China, crammed into makeshift housing in small neighborhoods, he added, but they also made ways for interesting foods and combinations. “The kind of restaurant I opened, like I had in my imagination, is a noodle restaurant in a juancun neighborhood,” Wang said. “Those kinds of restaurants are usually quite small, with a very small focused menu, very much like street food in that part of Asia in general. And we started with that kind of menu.” That’s not the kind of menu Minyoli makes now. Their lu wei, aromatic braised starters, may be most traditional, the street food snacks translated as lovely little dishes piled high with Phoenix Bean firm tofu, silky soft daikon and kombu ribbons, all served chilled. The tropical pineapple tart à la mode began with an aunt’s Taiwanese pineapple cake recipe, X Wang said, though the family elder disapproves of their adaptation. But I love it, with its glorious golden shortbread crust filled with house-made amber pineapple jam. You can choose your ice cream flavor, including Alishan oolong and coconut, but really there’s no better scoop than the nutty black sesame. Pineapple tart à la mode with black sesame ice cream is on the dessert menu at Minyoli. (John J. Kim/Chicago Tribune) There’s room in this world for another breakfast sandwich, but it’s only available Sundays at brunch. The shaobing sandwich wraps the thinnest house-made sesame flatbread I’ve ever seen around your choice of fillings or a set of recommendations. The Juancun Classic is stuffed with a hilariously huge youtiao, or savory deep-fried dough, and a scallion egg crepe. Crispy and chewy and shattering, you will get wonderful crumbs all over your face, and the table for that matter. “You’re supposed to just go for it,” the chef said. “It’s kind of like Italian beef, there’s no pretty way to eat that dish.” The ShaoBing sandwich with youtiao, a fried dough stick, center, with savory soy milk, left, and chile oil at Minyoli. (John J. Kim/Chicago Tribune) The traditional way of eating shaobing and youtiao is to dip it into soy milk, Wang said. They have Phoenix Bean soy milk on the menu, and use it to make savory soy milk. “Both are perfect for dipping that hunk of a sandwich into,” he added. Savory soy milk is not a drink, but a dish at Minyoli, served in a bowl and similar in texture to egg drop soup. It’s spiked with hidden memories unlocked by a jolt of rice vinegar, seasoned with soy sauce and presented with preserved daikon and youtiao croutons. “I like the vinegar flavor, and so does X,” Wang said. “And that’s something that our grandma used to make. So that kind of vinegar and soy flavor, to me, is very nostalgic.” The fantuan, luminous breakfast rice rolls in classic plastic wrap, neatly hold sticky rice and fried youtiao around fillings including the elemental pork floss, tea egg and preserved daikon, all enhanced with a side of house-made chile oil, like a chile crisp with gentle heat. Chilled sesame noodles, however, topped with a tangle of fried enoki mushrooms, were a bit overpowered by bitter garlic. Danbing, or Taiwanese egg crepe, filled with pristine plump tiger prawns, definitely needed dips into the accompanying pair of house-made sauces, sweet soy and haishan, or soy paste, as they were otherwise bland. Aiyu fig jelly, refreshingly jiggly with a traditional lime slice garnish, seemed like a small portion at $8, compared with the rest of the generous menu. And the oolong bubble tea with fresh milk suspended perfectly chewy black sugar tapioca boba pearls, but too much ice by default, though you can adjust the ice and sweetness. A full bar mixes creative cocktails, from a Taiwanese old-fashioned to a passion fruit mimosa at brunch. Oolong bubble fresh milk tea with Taiwan black sugar tapioca pearls. (John J. Kim/Chicago Tribune) Also at brunch, the Taiwanese fried chicken meets that airy street food-inspired waffle for a Sunday-only rendezvous, with a stunning side of Taiwanese basil and scallion compound butter, plus a house-made mandarin peel, five spice syrup, which I wish could be worn as a perfume. “I don’t just want to serve food to make money,” Wang said. “I want to serve food to make myself happy too.” And creativity is part of that. “I wanted to create something that represents me, as Taiwanese American, and chicken and waffles is very American,” he added. “If you look at that dish, the chicken is obviously Taiwanese. But for the waffle, we actually use the batter of cartwheel cake, which is the Taiwanese version of Japanese imagawayaki.” The pancake-like snack is typically filled with sweet red bean paste. “Taiwan was a colony of Japan, and there’s a lot of aspects of Japanese cuisine in Taiwanese food,” the chef said. “So even though it is an American-inspired dish, I do think all elements are very Taiwanese.” The Taiwanese chicken and waffles with five-spice syrup and Taiwanese basil compound butter at Minyoli. (John J. Kim/Chicago Tribune) But the ethereal five spice sugar youtiao, served with ice cream made from earthy mijiang, or roasted peanut and rice milk, is extraordinary and very Minyoli. Wang elevates the common youtiao into the realm of the heavens with his quality of dough and technique in the fry. That’s one of the reasons they only do brunch one day a week, he said, because it’s so much labor. “Sunday service is a labor of love from me,” the chef said. “For that youtiao to happen, that’s proofed overnight, then I get up at five in the morning to roll it out, let it temper in room temperature and then fry it. And the Taiwanese youtiao is different from Chinese youtiao in that we double fry it.” I was interested to see that my fellow diners seemed to be a mix of younger Andersonville neighbors and older Chinese-speaking customers. The restaurant’s excellent staff welcomed everyone into the warmth of the exposed brick and blond wood dining room, with an entryway painted in the restaurant’s signature juancun green, shades once found on doorways and window frames throughout the disappearing villages. I wondered how Wang’s dual mission to preserve his culinary culture and explore personal identity was going. “People always ask me, ‘Are you authentic? Are you traditional?’” he said. “I don’t know if I can represent the country, the cuisine and the culture. That is such an awesome and impossible responsibility.” But in general, it’s going well, he added. “I hope our restaurant becomes people’s neighborhood joint or their choice when they want something comforting, whether it be Taiwanese or not.” Minyoli 5420 N. Clark St. minyolichicago.com Open: Wednesday to Saturday, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. and 5 to 9:30 p.m.; Sunday 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.; closed Monday and Tuesday Prices: $21 (red braised beef noodle soup), $16 (Taiwanese fried chicken rice bowl), $18 (Taiwanese chicken and waffle), $16 (juancun classic shaobing sandwich), $9 (savory soy milk), $13 (pineapple tart à la mode), $7 (oolong bubble tea) Noise: OK (65 to 70 dB) Accessibility: Wheelchair accessible with restrooms on single level Tribune rating: Excellent, 3 of 4 stars Ratings key: Four stars, outstanding; three stars, excellent; two stars, very good; one star, good; no stars, unsatisfactory. Meals are paid for by the Tribune. [email protected] Big screen or home stream, takeout or dine-in, Tribune writers are here to steer you toward your next great experience. Sign up for your free weekly Eat. Watch. Do. newsletter here.