Founded in 1949 by five Russian emigres who came to Taipei from Shanghai, where they had been in exile after the Russian Revolution, the bakery started out as merely a means to make ends meet in a foreign land. Looking for local help to take care of daily needs such as finding residences, shopping and getting medical care, the expats turned to Archiybold Chien, then 18 years old and one of the few people around who spoke some English. The Russians eventually made Chien a business partner, who later on became the sole owner of the Astoria.
The bakery and cafe, located on busy Wuchang Street near the Taipei Main Station, first achieved fame with authentic Russian pastries and cuisine. In the 1950s, having a birthday cake from the Astoria was itself a noteworthy occasion. “We practically introduced birthday cakes to Taiwan,” Chien pointed out.
Some of its specialties included soft Russian candy once available only to the Russian royal family, and Mazurka walnut cakes. “I had to modify the recipe for Mazurka cakes since dried cherries were virtually impossible to get,” Chien told “Taiwan Today.” “I replaced them with dried longan, producing an even more delicious dessert.”
Some of the Astoria’s early clientele also figure prominently in ROC history. Late President Chiang Ching-kuo, who had studied in the Soviet Union for over a decade, and his Russian wife Faina Chiang Fang-liang were frequent customers up until the early 1970s, when Chiang’s official duties precluded further visits.
The popularity the Astoria enjoyed soon expanded. In 1959, poet Chou Meng-tieh, taking advantage of the proximity to all the bookstores on Chongqing South Road, set up a booth on the bakery’s walkway, selling poetry and literary collections. Unlike most other shopowners, Chien never chased the poet away, and his presence began to attract other intellectuals.
Gradually, other struggling young writers began using the cafe as a place to work, drawn to its exotic European coffeehouse air and the management’s willingness to let them sit all day over one cup of coffee. One of these literary minds was Pai Hsien-yung, whose book “Tales of Taipei Characters ” would become an influential work of Chinese modernism. His novel “Crystal Boys,” telling the story of young gay boys in 1960s Taipei, also broke new ground in its treatment of a forbidden theme.
Chen Ruoxi, one of the co-founders with Pai of the pioneering journal “Modern Literature,” was another early denizen of the cafe. Based on the experiences of herself and her husband in the mainland’s Nanjing, Chen’s collection “The Execution of Mayor Yin and Other Stories from the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution” is an important literary work documenting that tumultuous period of Chinese history.
Other key literary figures often spending time in the Astoria included Gi-gi, an early feminist writer and later extremely influential as the editor of literary supplements to several major newspapers, and Lin Hwai-min, internationally renowned choreographer and founder of the Cloud Gate Dance Troupe. Perhaps the presence of these future luminaries justified the Astoria’s Chinese name “Ming Xing,” or “bright star.”
The scene took a turn in the 1980s, when Taiwan’s economy was booming and the stock market skyrocketed. In a neighborhood with many brokerage houses, the cafe would be inundated with people discussing the volatile market when it opened at 9 a.m. As a result, the writers lounging over their coffee were driven out by the raucous atmosphere, and the whole flavor of the Astoria changed entirely. “One woman who lost her shirt speculating on stocks even tried to jump from the third floor of the cafe,” Chien said.
In 1989 Chien, tired of all the turmoil, converted the cafe into a vegetarian restaurant. At the same time, the first-floor bakery continued to offer its delicacies. In 2003, an accidental blaze gutted the cafe, which many thought would be end of it all, but neighbors and former patrons got up a petition asking Chien to bring back the cafe so the neighborhood atmosphere could be revived.
“I felt spurred on by the fire and the petition,” Chien said. His daughter came back from the United States to help with management, and in 2004, the cafe, gone for 15 years, was reborn completely with its original European-style tables and chairs, brought out of storage in a central Taiwan temple, and its earlier relaxed, cultured ambience.
In March 2009, the Astoria held its 60th-anniversary celebration and a news conference for the publication of Chien’s autobiography, recounting stories of his life with the Astoria. For that special occasion, Chien recreated the multi-layer birthday cake they used to make for late President Chiang Kai-shek and Mrs. Chiang Ching-kuo’s favorite authentic homemade dish—Russian fish jelly. Chou Mong-die presented Chien with a couplet in calligraphic form describing the resilience the Astoria has demonstrated over the past six decades.
“Over the years, I’ve always felt I wasn’t just doing business with the writers who frequented the cafe, but also making friends with them,” Chien said.
The Astoria still figures importantly in their lives and literary activities. He mentioned proudly that in early September 2009, Pai Hsien-yung called him around 9 p.m., asking him not to close the cafe, as he and a group of other writers were on their way to the Astoria to relive their glory days. “It was almost closing time, but we were still glad to oblige,” said Chien.
Earlier, in September 2008, Chen Ruoxi launched her autobiography at the Astoria, with Pai and several other writers of their generation in attendance.
Perhaps all the adverse events in its history have only served to rejuvenate the Astoria and make it stronger. These days Chien is “delighted,” he said, “to see grannies—customers from the 1950s and 60s—now bringing their grandchildren in to see the place where they spent their youth.” With his own grandson slated to keep up the tradition of the bakery and cafe, he hopes the Astoria will carry on from generation to generation, just as the stories of the writers who helped make it famous go on in literary history, well beyond these six decades. (THN)
Write to Jean Yueh at yueh@mail.gio.gov.tw