Taiwanese Bando: The Martial Field That Opens Tables Amidst Rainstorms, and a Human-Ghost-Spirit Trinity Fading Away

30-Second Overview: Bando is not a modern invention. The Taiwan County Gazette from the late Kangxi reign of the Qing Dynasty recorded that Taiwanese people "would host lavish banquets for family celebrations and seasonal festivals" ¹. In Neimen, Kaohsiung, a mudstone badland where even crops struggle to grow, there were approximately 150 groups of head chefs at its peak, making it the most dense cluster in Taiwan ². But today, this craft is bifurcating: Bando dishes have entered five-star hotels and Michelin stars, even returning to overseas markets ³; yet the ritual knowledge involving the whole village mobilizing, with the head chef acting as a folk consultant across the human, ghost, and spirit realms, is quietly lost as no one takes over ⁴. What is truly disappearing is not the flavor, but the tacit understanding behind it.

The evening rainstorm came swiftly and fiercely, with water quickly rising to the calves.

This was a 120-table Bando banquet taken on by Wang Yi-yong, a senior head chef from Tainan. The feast was about to begin. The canvas tent's frame was bent by the rain, stoves were extinguished one by one, pots and pans floated on the water surface, and even the trout prepared for the pot swam out of the basin, with over a dozen escaping at once ⁵. For anyone else, this event would likely have been called off.

Wang Yi-yong arrived to inspect the site and did not call it off. He asked staff to cut the tent fabric to drain the water, moved all kitchenware under the eaves, rolled up his sleeves, and waded in to catch the fish first. That night, only one trout was missing, and the missing dish was made up with ingredients from the reserve table. Every guest had something to eat ⁵.

For 300 years, Bando has roughly operated this way: as long as the host does not call it off, the tables must open. This discipline of mission accomplishment supports all the important moments in Taiwanese life, from birth to funeral, from worshipping gods to respecting ghosts. And now, it is moving in two directions simultaneously—one upward, one downward.

Restaurants are the Literary Field; Bando is the Martial Field

In the industry, there is a common metaphor: Chefs cooking in fixed storefronts with air conditioning and complete kitchen workflows are the "Literary Field" (Wenchang); carrying equipment to the roadside, temple grounds, or activity centers to set up temporary tents and open tables is the "Martial Field" (Wuchang) ⁵.

The difference between the Literary Field and the Martial Field is not about the level of culinary skill, but uncertainty. In a restaurant, the location, stoves, and staff are the same every day; in Bando, the location, time, and personnel are all fixed. The same head chef might host a deity's birthday in a Tainan temple ground this week and hold a funeral at a mountain clan shrine next week. The tent must be rebuilt, the fire reconnected, and the kitchen assistants (shuijiao) must be redeployed. From a management perspective, this is the most difficult catering model: for a complete Bando event, the head chef is simultaneously the executive chef, event director, and logistics coordinator—managing canvas tents, tables and chairs, tableware, ingredient suppliers, and the human workforce alone ⁵.

Therefore, culinary skill is merely the basic foundation of this profession; crisis management is the core competitiveness.

✦ "I fear guests waiting in pain the most; once they get home, they rush to the phone." — Xue Menghui, Head Chef from Neimen, talking about the night of the 88 Flood ⁶

On the night of the 88 Flood, Xue Menghui was cooking for a peace banquet for a deity's birthday in Fengshan. The wind was strong and the rain heavy; the canvas tent was blown down, and an iron frame hit the chef's head. Only then did the host decide to cancel the event ⁶. When he returned to Neimen after sending the kitchen assistants back to Qiwei and Shanlin, he found that all bridges were broken. He was trapped in a 7-ELEVEN all night, watching the torrent of the Nanzi Xian River roll by like a sea ⁶. What kept him awake all night were the guests who had been waiting in pain for the tables to open—once he got home, he rushed to make phone calls. And the next day, he still had a banquet for Guanyin Bodhisattva's birthday to host ⁶.

Regardless of strong winds and heavy rain, broken bridges, and collapsed roads, as long as the host does not cancel, the head chef must find a way to serve the dishes. Mission accomplishment is the true threshold of this industry for 300 years, far preceding culinary skill.

Where Even Thorny Bamboo Can Survive, a Kingdom of Head Chefs Grew

The mudstone badlands of the Gutingkeng Formation in the Kaohsiung area, commonly known as the "Moon World." Neimen is located on the edge of this landscape where even crops struggle to grow. Photo: StevenK234, 2019. CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

To understand how this martial field discipline was forged, one must first look at a land that is difficult to cultivate.

The place with the densest concentration of Taiwanese head chefs is Neimen, Kaohsiung. Neimen is located on the mudstone badlands of the Gutingkeng Formation—the landscape commonly known as the "Moon World," with gray-white slopes that are barren, spanning Neimen, Tianliao, and Yanchao. Taiwan光华 Magazine describes this geology as follows: "The cementation and permeability of mudstone are low; it softens into mud when wet and cracks and peels when dry. Coupled with the high salinity of marine sedimentary soil, plant growth is difficult" ⁷. On these barren slopes where even crops struggle to grow, only drought-resistant thorny bamboo can survive; only in areas with thicker cretaceous soil can mangoes and bananas be grown, and because they grow slowly, they are sweeter ⁷.

When the land cannot sustain people, people must find other ways out. There are two prevailing theories for why Neimen became the hometown of head chefs, each with its own source.

One theory comes from an interview with The Reporter: In early days, people in Neimen made bamboo baskets for a living, supplying banana farmers in Qishan for export packaging; when paper boxes took over the market in the 1960s, the bamboo weaving industry declined. Coinciding with the rise of Bando, a large number of craftsmen switched to cooking ⁸. The other theory comes from local officials and cultural workers: Neimen has many temples and troupes; Songjiang Zhen is a local signature, and every festival requires feeding a large number of participants. This repeated demand for "providing meals" gave rise to professional head chefs ⁹. Whether it was bamboo weaving turning to cooking or temple festivals requiring feeding, both lines point to the same thing—this land forced people to develop a profession relying on craftsmanship for a living.

At its peak, Neimen had a population of about 14,000, yet there were about 150 groups of head chefs. Almost every 5 households had 1 household relying on Bando for a living, capable of cooking over 20,000 tables simultaneously ². This is the most dense cluster of head chefs in Taiwan. (This figure comes from research compiled by Zhang Yuxin in 2007 and Tang Yuning in 2016 from I-Shou University master's theses, not a recent census ².)

The inheritance of this craft relies on the master-apprentice system. Once kitchen assistants accumulate enough experience, they can graduate; second and third chefs then establish their own households. In the early days, apprenticeship was spread generation by generation through the "Soup Pork Knuckle" style—masters taking apprentices, who then take apprentices themselves ⁸. The key step that turned Neimen from a group of craftsmen into an industry occurred in 1976: Xue Qingji and several partners (including Deng Zhengping, as well as meat vendors and vegetable vendors) formed a "four-in-one" company, integrating ingredient supply, cooking, and table/chair rental. Bando thus became a business with a complete supply chain, handling everything from ingredients and cooking to tables and chairs in one go ⁸.

Today, Xue Menghui estimates that Neimen now has only about 30 to 40 head chefs, about one-quarter of its peak ⁸. The kingdom remains, but the people are scattering.

In the Ledgers of 300 Years Ago, "Hire a Head Chef for Bando" Was Already Recorded

Many people think Bando is something that emerged in post-war Taiwan. It is not. Its roots can be traced back to the Qing Dynasty.

The Taiwan County Gazette (compiled by Chen Wenda in 1720) from the late Kangxi reign of the Qing Dynasty already recorded that Taiwanese people "would host lavish banquets for family celebrations and seasonal festivals"; by the Changhua County Gazette (compiled by Zhou Xi in 1835) during the Daoguang reign, it described the grandeur of banquets where "dishes exhausted the mountains and seas" ¹. In 1902, an article titled "Miscellaneous Notes on Banquets and Dishes" in the early Japanese colonial period formally included the term "Bando" in literature and explained it clearly: "Preparing tables, organizing wine and food, and setting up banquets is called 'Bando'" ¹⁰. This article comes from Records of Taiwanese Customs—a monthly journal published by the Taiwan Customs Research Society (note that this is a different institution from the "Temporary Taiwan Customs Investigation Committee" of the same period, often confused) ¹⁰.

So, when did the business of "Bando" actually begin?

Zeng Pincang, Associate Research Fellow at the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, points out based on Qing Dynasty ledgers and diaries that Taiwanese people in the Qing Dynasty already commissioned professional chefs to host banquets for weddings, funerals, and sacrifices ¹¹. The evidence lies in the ledgers: for example, the ledger of the late Qing Wufeng Lin Family clearly records entries such as "Hire 'Head Chef' for Bando, how much did one table cost" ¹¹. Zeng Pincang infers that this habit of commissioning professional chefs for banquets can be traced back to the Kangxi period ¹¹. Looking further back to the source, the origin of Bando lies in Min-Yue (Fujian and Guangdong)—the banquet culture traditionally called "Ban Jiu" (Organizing Wine) or "Dao Hui" (Going to Roast) in Fujian and Guangzhou areas, which crossed the sea to Taiwan with Qing Dynasty immigrants ¹².

However, from the Qing Dynasty to before the 50th year of the Republic of China (1960s), Bando was very different from what it is today. At that time, cities relied on restaurants for catering, while rural areas mostly relied on villagers with slightly better cooking skills to work part-time. The dishes were limited, and ingredients were often prepared by the host themselves; wealthier families had specialized "kitchen women" (Zaoxia Fu) to help manage ¹³. True professionalization began around the 1960s—the 50th year of the Republic of China. When villagers discovered that "the profit from part-time Bando exceeded farming," this craft gradually became professional, peaking in the 1970s and 80s ¹³.

💡 Did You Know: The Hokkien pronunciation for Bando is pān-toh, and for Head Chef it is tsóng-phòo-sai. The character "Shi" (Master) is a term of respect in Taiwanese folklore for professional craftsmen ¹⁴—just like "Tu Shui Shi" (Plumber/Mason) or "Mu Shi" (Carpenter). It is evidence that this craft is respected as an "art."

資料來源：*Records of Taiwanese Customs*, Zeng Pincang's research, The Reporter, Ministry of Economic Affairs, TaiwanPlus

The Sequence of Twelve Dishes Hides a Whole Set of Invisible Knowledge

If the martial field discipline is the bone of Bando, then what follows is its soul.

A standard Bando banquet usually has 12 to 14 dishes, with a sequence of introduction, development, turn, and conclusion: Cold plates are served first to open the appetite, while waiting for guests to take their seats; then soup warms the stomach; then the climax of the main dishes—the most luxurious seafood or meat, such as lobster, red crab, or Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, appear here, and they are divided into "commoner version" and "noble version" based on each table's budget; after the climax, a palate-cleansing soup is served, followed by re-opening the appetite with heavy-flavor bamboo shoot dried meat or pork ribs; the final dish is chicken soup to conclude, with dessert and fruit ending the meal ¹⁵. (This sequence of serving dishes is a consensus accumulated over years by head chefs and food media.)

It is worth mentioning that lobster is not actually a "traditional" Bando dish. It only became the protagonist after the Ten Major Construction Projects and economic takeoff in the 1960s; in early Bando banquets, stir-fried rice noodles, white-cut chicken, celery squid soup, and meatball soup were more common on the table—for many people, Bando was one of the few occasions to eat meat back then ¹⁶. Even the most majestic Buddha Jumps Over the Wall was originally called "Fu Shou Quan" (Longevity and Fortune Complete), originating from a family banquet of a Fuzhou official during the Guangxu reign of the Qing Dynasty ¹⁷.

But what makes Bando truly unique is behind the dishes: these dishes are placed into a cosmology of shared meals. Research from the National Museum of Taiwan History divides Bando's shared meals into three types, which is the theoretical framework for understanding the "soul" of Bando [^15]:

The first is Human-Deity Shared Meals. Banquets for seasonal festivals are where humans and deities enjoy offerings together; Taiwanese people call this "Receiving Blessings from Deities by Eating" ¹⁵. The second is Human-Ghost Shared Meals. Gatherings for Ancestral Associations and Sacrificial Public Enterprises, plus Zhongyuan (Ghost Festival) banquet feasts, are where humans and ancestors, and "Good Brothers" (ghosts) eat together, thereby remembering ancestors and establishing harmony with beings in another world ¹⁵. The third is the Host-Guest Shared Meals we are most familiar with—banquets for life rituals celebrating various stages of life, and club gatherings consolidating interpersonal relationships ¹⁵. A single Bando event may span the human, ghost, and spirit realms simultaneously.

This is why the head chef is simultaneously the host's folk consultant. During an interview, The Reporter described this role: "How to prepare for a full-month ceremony? How to arrange offerings? Which foods cannot be served at specific occasions? Ask them, they know best" ⁵.

📝 Curator's Note

We easily think of Bando as "a larger-scale meal," but this framework misses its most critical element. What Bando truly sells is a correspondence between timing and meaning—which type of table matches which life moment, which dishes are auspicious, inauspicious, or taboo at which occasion. This correspondence is not written in any recipe; it exists in the head chef's mind and in the muscle memory of one practice after another. When we later see "Bando dishes entering five-star hotels," remember: hotels can buy recipes, but they cannot buy this correspondence. What is lost is the latter.

What does this correspondence look like specifically? The compilation by folk researcher Zhang Yunshu reveals its intricacy [^18]: Full-month tables use whole chickens, taking the meaning of "completeness" to symbolize perfection (although the true core of the full-month celebration is actually oil rice, chicken wine, and red eggs); funeral banquets must have an odd number of dishes, 7 or 9, with a "triangular meat" (sann-kak-bah) with a missing corner on the table, using the shape's imperfection to symbolize the loss in the bereaved family's heart, while avoiding ingredients with specific homophones or meanings like lotus seeds, bitter melon, and pineapple; wedding banquets must have chicken (starting a family), fish (surplus), sealed meat (promoting to official), and pig stomach (wishing the bride "big belly"), and red crab rice cakes must specially select female crabs with many eggs to wish for "early birth of noble children" ¹⁸.

⚠️ Controversial Viewpoint: Some Bando taboos circulating in the folk realm actually lack folk basis. For example, "Funeral banquets must have刈包 (Hulao/Tiger Bites Pig)"—Hulao is actually a custom for the Last Day of the Year (December 16th lunar calendar), symbolizing biting away the year's bad luck, having nothing to do with funeral banquets; another saying, "Moving into a new house avoids meatballs because 'ball' sounds like 'finished'," has weak origins and directly contradicts the custom of using tangyuan (glutinous rice balls) to symbolize completeness for housewarming banquets ¹⁹. When writing about Bando, even taboos must be verified—because if written incorrectly, it damages the credibility of this knowledge.

The other side of the soul lies after the banquet ends. After the Bando, the head chef mixes the leftovers of each dish into a "Leftover Vegetable Soup" (also called Mixed Vegetable Soup) and sends it to neighbors who helped to take home ²⁰. This is not disposing of leftovers; it is a sign of cherishing fortune and gratitude—Taiwan Panorama describes it as a symbol of reciprocity ²⁰. A Bando event is the business of the whole village from start to finish; the host never operates alone. And the Leftover Vegetable Soup itself is also on the verge of extinction ²⁰.

The "Black Forest Grand Hotel" on Auspicious Lunar Days

Older generation masters often use presidential terms to remember the industry's ups and downs.

From 1988 to 2000, the 12 years during which Lee Teng-hui served as president are considered the golden age of Bando. It was not only the era of traditional "Eight Celebrations and One Funeral"—engagement, marriage, full-month, returning to natal home, opening business, birthday, moving house, passing away—; it was also an era where even children getting PhDs or winning pigeon racing prizes would host a banquet ²¹. When auspicious lunar days arrived, temple gates and roadside were full of "Black Forest Grand Hotels." The origin of this name is very Taiwanese: early canvas tents were often provided by beverage companies, with Black Forest soda advertisements printed on them. Over time, "Black Forest Grand Hotel" became a synonym for Bando ²¹.

A Bando directly held on the street in Tainan in 2014. Closing the street, setting up tables, and opening the feast is the most everyday appearance of the "Black Forest Grand Hotel." Photo: Ce Jingzhe, 2014. CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

How prosperous that period was, Xue Menghui remembers most clearly from his father Xue Qingji's work diary.

✦ "The entire yearbook is written full, hosting 25,000 tables in a year." — Xue Menghui recalling his father Xue Qingji's work diary ²¹

In Xue Qingji's era, even in slow months, the average was still 1,000 tables ²¹. In contrast, in Xue Menghui's pre-pandemic period, hosting 500 tables in a peak month was already something to be grateful for, with only a few thousand tables for the whole year ²¹—between one generation, the scale has shrunk several times over.

The turning point fell around 2003 (the third year of Chen Shui-bian's presidency). Taiwan's industry moved west in large numbers, and small and medium enterprise clients decreased one by one. An old client didn't hire Bando for two consecutive years; when asked, they found out the company had gone bankrupt ²¹. The tail end of the golden age began with unanswered phone calls.

Forty Years Old is Considered Young: A Breaking Intergenerational Gap

Industry shrinkage can be a cyclical economic issue, waiting for the next cycle. But what Bando faces is something harder to reverse—the intergenerational gap in succession.

Li Junxiang, a head chef from New Taipei, speaks plainly: "For catering chefs, 40 years old is considered young; mainly, only those with family connections take over. Among 10 chefs aged 30, you can't find 2. Kitchen assistants are generally aging" ²². Another head chef, Jiang Yi-yong, offers a more specific observation: Only about 2% of culinary school graduates ultimately enter catering ²³. The reason is understandable—"For noon banquets, departure is at 3:30 AM; working hours are long, and the stove feet are hot" ²³. If young people have choices, they prefer working in air-conditioned restaurants.

Talent is flowing out, and the craft is breaking along with it. Older generation masters did everything from slaughtering pigs and chickens to making pudding and baking cakes themselves; now with outsourced frozen foods, apprentices in the kitchen cannot learn the complete picture, and those most labor-intensive "hand-path dishes" (shoulu cai) are disappearing one by one ²⁴.

The legendary "Chicken-Pig-Stomach-Turtle" in the movie Total Chef is the best example—stuffing a softshell turtle into a native chicken's stomach, then stuffing the whole chicken into a pig's stomach, slow-cooking for 3 hours. The process is so cumbersome that almost no one is willing to do it ²⁵. The "Chestnut Chicken" popular 40 years ago, young chefs no longer know how to make; others like Bone-Changing Stuffed Eel,布袋 Chicken (Cloth Bag Chicken), and Five-Silk Branch are also on the verge of extinction ²⁴. (However, it should be noted: although sealed meat and red crab rice cakes are labor-intensive, they are still very common and not on the verge of extinction.) The person who left the most records for these dishes is Huang Wanling, the godmother of Taiwanese cuisine—she was the food director for the movie Total Chef, spending over ten years going to the countryside to visit and preserve those disappearing Taiwanese dishes ²⁵.

📝 Curator's Note

Note an unspoken choice here. The market actually gave the Bando industry an easy path: using frozen meal kits and semi-finished products, one can still serve 12 dishes, and guests probably won't notice much. Taking this path, the industry could survive longer. But the cost is that those hand-path dishes requiring oral and manual transmission between master and apprentice will quietly die on this path—not because no one likes to eat them, but because no one needs to learn them. Crafts are rarely eliminated by new things; more often, they are bypassed bit by bit by "good enough is fine."

The Longest Winter

If the intergenerational gap is a chronic disease, then the 2020 pandemic was an acute condition.

The Reporter interviewed nearly 10 head chefs from north and south at the time. The consensus was: the number of catering tables shrank by at least 90% from the lunar new year (this is a consensus from interviews, not official statistics) ²⁶. Xue Menghui alone had over 500 tables canceled in the lunar months of February and March; the second generation of a Bando family, who usually used large spatulas for stir-frying big pot dishes, had to switch to holding small spoons to pack bento boxes to survive ²⁶.

Official numbers also couldn't hold up. Ministry of Economic Affairs statistics show that in April 2020, the revenue of the "Catering and Group Meal Contracting Industry" decreased by 32.3% year-on-year, with monthly revenue of about NT$2.5 billion ²⁷. However, this number must be read carefully: it was mainly dragged down by air catering (airline meals), and a large number of open-air Bando banquets have no business registration and are not within the statistical scope—so for open-air Bando, this number actually underestimates the impact it suffered ²⁷.

Beyond the pandemic, Bando in northern Taiwan faces a more structural dilemma—space. Li Junxiang describes that in northern Taiwan, Bando requires closing roads and applying for road rights, and is often reported by neighbors: "Even when we are frying things, nearby residents curse, reporting us to the Environmental Protection Bureau for air pollution. Aggressive ones even throw things from upstairs to drive us away" ²⁸. Activity centers and elementary school auditoriums in Taipei City are almost never lent for hosting banquets ²⁸. In land-scarce urban areas, it is increasingly difficult to find even one legal place to set up tables for open-air Bando.

Are all these pressures bad things? Cultural worker Yan Zhenyu has a different view. He believes the pandemic was both a blow and a stimulus, forcing head chefs to improve hygiene standards and seriously consider transformation ²⁹. But the deepest fear in the hearts of interviewed head chefs is something else: "We worry not just about this year, but more about everyone not hiring (Bando) becoming a habit" ²⁹. The Reporter's conclusion is calm: Bando is tightly linked to the economy, and it is difficult to warm up in a short time ²⁹.

Dishes Remain, Soul Scatters

But if the story stops here, it would be terribly wrong.

Because looking back from 2025, Bando is not dying in a single direction. It is actually bifurcating—as "dishes" and "brand," it is going up; as a "whole-village mobilization ritual," it is sinking down.

This upward branch is astonishingly powerful. The Michelin Guide Tainan included Bando dishes in its formal discourse; three restaurants serving Bando dishes—A-Xia Restaurant, Xin Xin Restaurant, and Dong Shang Taiwanese Cuisine—were selected for Bib Gourmand ³⁰. Palais de Chine Hotel in Taipei launched "Taiwanese Bando," helmed by Chef Lin Mingcan, with one table costing NT$22,800 plus a 10% service charge, claiming to be the first five-star hotel in Taiwan to formally pay tribute to Bando culture ³¹. The next generation is also taking over: TaiwanPlus reported in August 2025 with the title "Bando Is Back," showing the new generation reviving Bando through a "child-generation marketing × parent-generation craft" model—such as Tofu Head Chef Huang Maoyuan and his daughter Huang Jiayu, Master A Long and his son A Xiang ³². The English report writes: "Once fading from Taiwan's cultural fabric, this legendary banquet tradition is making a dynamic comeback…" ³²

Even overseas is flowing back. At the restaurant Good To Eat in Emeryville, California, Taiwanese head chef Tony Tung (she and partner Angie Lin are a wife-wife team) treats Bando as a love letter to Taiwan, with the menu named jan ba bae (Bando) ³³. On January 4, 2025, she invited Neimen Head Chef Master A-Càn to Taipei to host a traditional Bando for over 400 people, attracting diners from California to fly back to Taiwan specifically to experience it ³³.

Looking at these two branches together, the shape of bifurcation becomes clear. What is reviving is "dishes" and "brand"—they can enter five-star hotels, Michelin tables, and California restaurants; what is being lost is that ritual knowledge. Five-star hotel banquet halls can replicate a pot of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, but cannot replicate the tacit understanding of "whole-village mobilization, head chef acting as folk consultant, distributing leftover soup to neighbors." Scarcity has turned Bando dishes into a cultural pilgrimage; California diners are willing to fly half the globe back to Taiwan to eat a meal—but the object of that pilgrimage is losing its habitat: the bad land that raised head chefs, those successive temple festivals, that village that would call all neighbors to help.

Air-conditioned restaurants can raise dishes, but cannot raise a soul.

That Yearbook Written Full

Back to Xue Qingji's yearbook diary written full of words.

It is Xue Menghui's most cherished object, and also the most authentic archaeological site of this industry ²¹. The dense orders on the diary—celebration banquets for winning pigeon racing, gratitude seats for getting PhDs, peace banquets for Mazu's birthday at the temple gate—record a whole set of things once commonly recognized by Taiwanese people: which moments are worth gathering everyone together, what to eat at that moment, who hosts it, and how to say goodbye properly.

Dishes have already proven they can enter five-star hotels, fly to California, and be certified by Michelin. What about the tacit understanding written in that yearbook—which table matches which moment, which dish is auspicious or inauspicious at which occasion, which neighbors who helped should receive the leftover soup—how many people still remember, how many can still take it over?

Further Reading:

• Taiwanese Hand-Path Dishes
• Hulao (Tiger Bites Pig)
• Taiwanese Seafood Culture
• Night Market Culture
• Chen Yu-Hsun

Image Sources

This article uses 3 public domain / CC licensed images, all cached in public/article-images/food/ to avoid hotlinking to source servers:

• Bando After Zhongyuan Ghost Festival (hero) — Photo: Xuan Shi Sheng, 2017-09-19, CC0 1.0
• Mudstone Badlands of Gutingkeng Formation in Kaohsiung (Moon World) — Photo: StevenK234, 2019-04-01, CC BY-SA 4.0
• Street Bando in Tainan — Photo: Ce Jingzhe, 2014-12-07, CC BY-SA 2.0

References