Three Cup Chicken (Taiwanese Soy Sesame Oil Rice Wine Braised Chicken)
San bei ji, or Three Cup Chicken, is a Taiwanese braise named for the equal measures of soy sauce, sesame oil, and rice wine that form its sauce. The cooking begins with toasted sesame oil in a clay pot, followed by thin slices of garlic and ginger fried until golden. Bone-in chicken pieces, seared to a light crust, join the pot along with the soy sauce and rice wine. As the liquid reduces over moderate heat, it thickens into a dark, glossy glaze that coats every piece of chicken. The final and defining step is a generous handful of Thai basil leaves stirred in just before serving - the residual heat wilts the leaves and releases a sharp, peppery aroma that lifts the rich sauce. The dish is served directly in the clay pot, still bubbling, and paired with plain steamed rice to soak up the concentrated sauce.
Adjust Servings
Instructions
- 1
Cut chicken thigh into bite-size pieces and pat dry.
- 2
Heat sesame oil and saute ginger and garlic until fragrant.
- 3
Add chicken and sear until lightly browned.
- 4
Add soy sauce, rice wine, and sugar, then simmer over medium heat.
- 5
When sauce thickens, add basil and toss for 30 seconds.
- 6
Turn off heat and serve hot immediately.
As an Amazon Associate, we may earn from qualifying purchases.
Tips
Nutrition (per serving)
More Recipes

Lu Rou Fan (Taiwanese Braised Pork Belly Rice Bowl)
Lu rou fan is Taiwan's most iconic comfort food - a bowl of steamed white rice crowned with braised minced pork that has been simmered low and slow in soy sauce, rice wine, and five-spice powder until the fat renders into a glossy, fragrant sauce. Star anise and cinnamon linger in the background without overpowering the pork. Sold everywhere from night market stalls to breakfast shops for a few coins, it manages to feel both humble and deeply satisfying. The standard accompaniments - pickled daikon, a soy-braised egg, and blanched greens - are simple but essential, cutting through the richness and rounding out the bowl.

Dan Bing (Taiwanese Egg Crepe Roll)
Dan bing is the cornerstone of Taiwan's breakfast culture, sold at nearly every zaocan dian (morning eatery) across the island - for many Taiwanese, no morning is complete without one. A thin wheat-flour batter is spread on a flat griddle, then an egg is cracked directly on top and spread across the crepe; as the egg sets, it bonds with the dough to create a dual texture - slightly chewy pastry on the outside and a soft, custardy egg layer within. Beyond the classic plain version, fillings range from corn and tuna to cheese and bacon, with each stall guarding its own batter recipe that keeps regulars loyal. A brush of soy paste adds salty depth, while a drizzle of chili oil sharpens the overall flavor. At 30-50 TWD (roughly one U.S. dollar), dan bing is assembled in under a minute, making it the grab-and-go fuel of Taiwan's scooter-riding commuters.

Gua Bao (Steamed Bun with Braised Pork)
Gua bao - sometimes called the Taiwanese hamburger - is a traditional snack that began as a ceremonial food eaten during Lunar New Year pig slaughter but has evolved into one of Taiwan's most iconic street foods, found at night markets across the island. The steamed bun (he ye bao) is made from a fermented wheat dough that must be pillowy-soft, smooth-surfaced, and elastic enough to fold in half without tearing. The filling is pork belly braised for over an hour in soy sauce, five-spice powder, and rock sugar until the meat collapses at the touch of chopsticks. Pickled mustard greens (suan cai) contribute a sharp acidity, crushed peanut powder adds a sandy sweetness, and fresh cilantro brings an herbal brightness - each element cutting through the braised pork's richness from a different angle. The bun is small enough to eat in one hand, yet the flavor complexity packed inside rivals a full plated dish - this compression of depth into a single handheld bite is what Taiwan's night market culture does best.

Taiwanese Braised Pork (Five-Spice Belly Rice Bowl)
Lu rou fan is a Taiwanese braised pork dish where minced or diced pork belly is simmered in soy sauce with five-spice powder and rock sugar until the fat melts into a thick, glossy sauce. The five-spice blend - star anise, cinnamon, clove, Sichuan pepper, and fennel - gives the braise its signature aromatic complexity. Traditionally, hard-boiled eggs are added to the pot and braised alongside the pork until their whites absorb the dark sauce. Ladled generously over steaming rice so the sauce seeps between every grain, this is one of Taiwan's most iconic night market comfort foods.

Korean Braised Chicken with Burdock
Ueong dak jorim is a Korean braised chicken and burdock dish where boneless thigh meat and burdock root are simmered in soy sauce, sugar, and ginger juice. Soaking the burdock in vinegar water first removes its astringent edge, and marinating the chicken in cooking wine and ginger eliminates any gamey odor. Braising on low heat for at least eighteen minutes reduces the liquid by half, creating a glossy sauce that coats each piece. Sesame oil stirred in at the end ties the flavors together. The finished dish balances the crisp-chewy texture of burdock against the moist tenderness of chicken thigh, with a sweet-savory profile that pairs naturally with steamed rice.

Chicken Adobo (Filipino Vinegar Soy Braised Chicken)
Chicken adobo is the unofficial national dish of the Philippines, rooted in a pre-colonial preservation technique of braising meat in vinegar to extend its shelf life in tropical heat. Chicken simmers uncovered in soy sauce, cane vinegar, crushed garlic cloves, bay leaves, and whole black peppercorns until the sharp acidity of the vinegar mellows into a salty-sour sauce with caramelized depth. Once braised, the chicken is pan-fried until the skin turns golden and crisp, then reunited with the reduced sauce - the moment the crackling skin meets the thick, glossy liquid is the dish's defining pleasure. Every Filipino household has its own ratio of soy to vinegar, and the debate over whose mother makes the best adobo is a national pastime that never resolves. It is always served over steamed white rice, with extra sauce spooned over generously. Adobo famously tastes better on the second day, after the flavors have deepened overnight in the refrigerator.