At first glance, this seems like a simple question. But for someone over 40, it actually becomes quite hard to answer.

While there are still plenty of rare delicacies I haven’t tried, I’ve already had the chance to taste most of the popular spots frequently featured in Taiwanese media and recommended by food YouTubers. Many of them were delicious—some even unforgettable. But when asked what’s the most delicious food, my mind draws a blank.

I’ve talked before about pork jowl slices from my childhood. That dish was certainly tasty, but not the most exquisite thing I’ve eaten. Yet the memory of it sticks with me—not so much because of the taste, but because of the feelings and moments tied to it.

Honestly, unless I someday encounter a truly out-of-this-world delicacy from the mountains or the sea (which hasn’t happened yet), I think the earlier in life you eat something delicious, the more its taste fades from memory. Over time, flavor memories fade, but the moments shared at the table—those stay with you.

Still, I want to share two recent meals that really stood out:

First, there’s “Whale Pot” (鯨鍋), a hotpot restaurant in Gongliao District, New Taipei City. Thanks to the owner’s dedication to freshness, you get to enjoy seafood that actually tastes like it came straight from the ocean. The fish slices and baby squid aren’t served in large portions, but the freshness and quality are top-notch—simple and truly satisfying.

Then there’s Ikinari Steak, a Japanese chain known for its thick-cut beef. The moment you walk into the restaurant, you’re hit with that irresistible aroma from the Maillard reaction—rich, smoky, and mouthwatering. They weigh and cook your steak right in front of you, no heavy seasoning, just the natural flavor of high-quality meat perfectly seared.

Looking back, maybe delicious food doesn’t have to blow your mind. If it brings back memories or creates a moment worth remembering, then it’s already more than enough.

If this question ever became reality, I’d actually be relieved—no more daily decision fatigue. What’s left is an honest reflection: How do I want to be seen?

I want to be seen as someone calm, grounded, and quietly strong. Not flashy, not loud—just a steady presence that speaks for itself.

For the top, I’d choose a collarless shirt. It avoids the stiffness of a formal button-up and the casual slouch of a T-shirt—striking a balance between structure and ease. Simple lines, muted tones, nothing loud. It carries the quiet confidence of a modern monk or a street-level philosopher.

For the bottom, a pair of slim-fit trousers—not skin-tight, but cut well enough to move easily while still holding shape. Something breathable, with a bit of stretch. Easy to wash, easy to dry, and looks good without fuss. The kind of pants that respect your day without demanding your attention.

On my feet: New Balance or Mizuno sneakers. Designed for Asian feet, supportive over long walks, functional without being boring. And if I ever wanted to be even more grounded, I’d switch to minimalist kung fu shoes—close to the earth, light, tactile, like walking was a meditative act.

I don’t wear luxury brands. What I can afford comes from Uniqlo, Muji, or even Lativ—everyday clothing brands that understand balance, not status. But in those choices, there’s a kind of quiet taste, an understanding of daily life and how clothes should move with it.

I care less about price, more about fabric feel, proportion, and whether the piece can grow old with me. Clothes aren’t decoration; they’re part of how I speak to the world—without saying a word.

If I had to wear one outfit forever, I’d want it to be this: subtle but firm, comfortable but intentional. Just like the person I’m trying to become.

當提到「靈性」，我第一個聯想到的，往往是宗教。佛教、道教、基督教，每個宗教都有自己的靈性脈絡。但對我來說，它與其說是信仰，不如說是一種修煉，一種面對自己、觀察內心的方式。

道，可道，非常道；名，可名，非常名。

這段《道德經》開篇的話，從一開始就已經說明了：我們所能說出的「道」，其實都只是表象。真正的「道」，是無法被命名、被形式化的。這種觀點讓我理解到，靈性也不是一種可以定義的東西，而是一種流動的、活在當下的覺知狀態。

《道德經》後面又說：「玄之又玄，眾妙之門。」這種「玄」不是迷信，而是一種超越邏輯、進入本質的感受。它讓我意識到，我們日常活在一種表層意識裡，而真正深層的東西，需要我們停下來，讓心靜下來，才能接近。這也讓我開始練習把注意力拉回來，不是外求，而是內觀。

這樣的思想，在我後來讀到《金花的秘密》時又被放大了。《金花的秘密》這本書很特別，它融合了道教煉丹思想與西方榮格心理學的觀點。裡面提到的「回光返照」，不是什麼神秘技術，而是要讓心神慢慢回歸自身——把散亂的意識，重新收斂，凝聚成一種內在的「光」。

書中提到「心神下沉」、「守中養靜」這些詞，與其說是練氣，不如說是提醒我們，不要一直被外界的聲音帶著跑。甚至可以說，它是一種古老版本的「正念練習」或「深度冥想」。

在我經歷低潮時，我會重新閱讀《金花的秘密》的某些段落。它不會給我具體的答案，但會讓我感覺心有一種空間，能夠重新整理、重新對齊。有時候，只是靜靜坐著，什麼也不做，慢慢地，心裡某些卡住的東西，就鬆開了。

我內心時常有所追求，也時常沒有信心。但就是靠著那一點點信念——相信自己走的方向不會錯、相信這一切都是過程的一部分，我才能持續走下去。靈性，對我來說，並不是讓我變得更強，而是讓我在脆弱的時候，依然願意走。

我不算是虔誠的信徒，但我知道，我一直在修煉。

有時候真的很難抗拒那個誘惑。

原本只是滑開手機想放鬆一下，結果不小心點開了短影音。

「這影片看起來好像蠻有趣」、「這個教學看起來好像真的有用」——結果一刷，就是十幾分鐘過去了。

但冷靜回頭想，那些看起來好像「有知識」的短影音，其實真假難辨，內容也沒辦法真的留下什麼印象。

想靠這些累積知識，基本上是緣木求魚。

而且長期下來，短影音的危害其實比想像中還多：

讓人注意力越來越難集中，總是在找刺激 快節奏內容養成「沒耐心」的思考模式，反而無法深入理解事情 假資訊、過度誇大的標題，養出判斷力疲乏的大腦 很容易拖延正事，明明該做的事情就這樣一直延後

我開始嘗試告訴自己：

與其這樣滑到停不下來，不如把這些時間拿去看書，或至少播個 podcast 聽點東西。

也不是說一定要學什麼大道理，但至少，讓這段時間有點價值。

吃到嘴邊肉配薑絲的時候，我就知道，自己又回到了那間老麵店。

那是一間開在住家一樓的小麵攤，門口擺幾張塑膠桌椅，白鐵工作檯後面傳來熟悉的炒麵聲。爸媽帶我來吃麵的時候，我總是盯著小菜櫃裡那一盤嘴邊肉。

嘴邊肉不是常常有，切得帶點厚度，邊緣帶筋，咬起來有彈性。上頭鋪滿薑絲，淋一點醬油膏，那是我記憶中最好吃的組合。

有時候爸媽沒點，我還會用那種「拜託啦」的眼神看著他們，結果多半會成功。

現在這種麵店越來越少了，願意切嘴邊肉的更難找。大多只剩幾種配好的滷味，要吃到現切、熟練刀工處理過的嘴邊肉，像是中樂透一樣難得。

但不管隔了多久，只要吃到那熟悉的味道，我就知道——這不是回家，是回到童年。