What if a second-generation Taiwanese American escaped prohibition in the United States and opened a bar in Japanese-era Taiwan?

That imagined backstory animates NISEI, a speakeasy and bistro whose name means “second generation” in Japanese. Nestled among trendy bars in the harsh concrete streets of Da’an — then a peripheral, largely agricultural area during Japanese rule (1895-1945) — the curved doorways and wooden ceiling beams inside evoke the old Japanese houses still standing in Western Taipei.

Founder CK Chen is himself Taiwanese American and, owing to the influence of grandparents who came of age under Japanese colonial rule, speaks better Japanese than Mandarin. While the interiors nod to the Sinic-Japanese culture of that generation, Chen brings the American fusion of his own upbringing to the menu.

“​​The more you learn about food history, the more you learn that everything at one point was fusion,” he says. “Everything at one point was new,” something that Americans, as part of an immigrant culture, perhaps understand better than most Taiwanese. “When I introduce my menu to customers for the first time, I’ll just say, ‘we blend together Taiwanese, Japanese, and American elements.’ But to me, that’s all Taiwanese.”

But flavors aren’t thrown together haphazardly here. The menu is divided by country, and elements of each appear throughout. Spirits used in classic American cocktails invented during the prohibition era are infused in-house with local Taiwanese flavors like cypress and chrysanthemum.

I try two drinks from the Japanese menu, all inspired by izakaya classics. The High-Mountain High (NT$330), a pared-down tea-based gin and tonic made with leaves sourced directly from Chen’s grandfather’s farm in central Taiwan, drinks as easily as iced tea. The Den-Ki Dama (NT$400) follows a more deliberate concept. It combines two historical spirits: Denki Bran, a blend of brandy, gin, and vermouth produced at Japan’s oldest bar, and Applejack, an apple-based brandy, often regarded as  the first liquor distilled in the United States. Layered with fruit and spice notes, including yuzu pepper, the result is subtly sweet and gently spiced — a composition that lives up to the meaning of “Denki”: electric and new.

The same level of care extends to the food menu, which balances creativity with approachability. Vegetarian and vegan options are plentiful, including miso mushroom pasta (NT$240) and a quinoa salad (NT$300). Most dishes are designed for sharing, such as the sweet-and-tangy house-made pickles (NT$120), served atop a bed of lettuce and mixed vegetables. Garlic lovers should not miss the shoestring fries (NT$220): thin, crisp, and unapologetically rich, even after being slicked with garlic oil and buried beneath a snowfall of freshly minced cloves.

The Tai-Hoku Bolognese (NT$320) folds beef noodle soup spices and pickled mustard greens into an American classic, releasing an aroma instantly recognizable to anyone raised on Taiwanese comfort food. Other standouts include the New York Bing (NT$320) — smoked salmon, sour cream, and pickled onions layered over a thin, crackling scallion pancake — and Momofuku Ando’s Ramen Carbonara (NT$320), a playful nod to the Taiwanese Japanese inventor of instant noodles and the founder of Nissin, the company behind Cup Noodles and Top Ramen.

Attention to detail is evident throughout, from the ingredients to the interiors. Much of the menu grows out of Chen’s deeper exploration of Taiwan’s layered influences, shaped by what he describes as his own search for identity. It’s a product of Chen’s “interest in Taiwanese history and identity as a Taiwanese American who grew up in America, not knowing everything, and then just coming back and piecing together the puzzle and finding my own configuration that I like,” he says. 

The menu also carries echoes of his childhood, what Chen calls “leftover fridge cuisine.” With both parents working, meals often meant combining remnants of takeout from different days. “It could be Cantonese, it could be Taiwanese, it could be Mexican,” he says. “A lot of times it worked. It just tasted great.”

Chen, who worked as a theme park designer before opening NISEI — his first restaurant — adds an artificial brick wall to transport customers to Japanese-era Taipei. He takes particular care sourcing colonial-period maps from archives and academic publishers to hang on the walls, even purchasing the copyright to one that resonates deeply with him: a street map charting roads through Da’an, a neighborhood that had yet to be built, whose layout remains largely unchanged from the Japanese era.

The heart of NISEI, though, is Chen himself. While the interiors reach toward a specific historical moment, the menu and the room’s atmosphere feel unmistakably personal. He moves easily beyond small talk, spending time with nearly every guest who walks in — and proving generous with the occasional shot. If the aim is to create a space that his grandparents would recognize and that still feels like an intimate dinner party, NISEI succeeds.