那是一個很安靜的下午，除了我並沒有其他客人，安靜得跟我前幾天來參加一個關於日本系島市藝術駐村分享會的氣氛完全不同，這裡是一間位於台南巷弄中名為 「舟竹」的甜品店。
偶然的機會，曾在咖啡廳製作甜品的周筑瑩接手了這間小店。「這裡前身是一間咖啡廳。」我說，「 我在台南第一個家就在隔壁，當時這裡是一間民宿。」
店名跟自己的名字同音，單看「舟竹」二字確實難以想像這空間是怎樣的店。客人、朋友都給她很多意見： 「營業時間太短了」、「有了空間就應該要善用」「你要更努力呀」⋯⋯，她其實只想做甜品、蛋糕。這年頭，有很多關心自己的人好言指導，多少也成為一種「為你好」的壓力。
我看到她的工作桌上有一疊從圖書館借來的書，大部分是關於「成功」的，於是我們開始聊著甚麼是「成功」。
「從小我都被比較，我覺得大家都好成功，即使開了一間甜品店，我到現在還是在迷惘，究竟開店是不是正確的選擇？我要不要找一份正職工作，過著更踏實的生活？」筑瑩一邊攪拌食材一邊平淡又溫柔地跟我分享她正在思考的事情。
事實上，什麼是成功？我問自己。擁有自己的事業、房子？還是生了一個健康快樂的孩子？這問題在我們人生中，只要有一刻安靜下來就會偷偷地跑出來，佔據了我們好不容易才平靜下來的思緒；好像必須過得繃緊、有目標，才是正在努力邁向成功的生活。
「除了開店外，我還在一間法國餐廳打工，又為附近的酒吧製作專屬他們的甜品，但當客人進來說只想喝咖啡，我確實沒法提供單點飲品，我只賣甜品套餐的。明明有客人來了，我這樣堅持是好事嗎？」舟竹的餐點是套餐，在台灣咖啡廳裡不是主流，她想用套餐讓顧客把焦點回到「甜品」上，而不是「空間」。
在台灣，「販售空間」已成了咖啡廳的吸引力之一，客人帶來電腦亳不客氣地使用咖啡廳的插座，一整天下來，咖啡涼了，工作還沒完成。現在也有越來越多不提供插電的咖啡廳，希望客人進來空間可以真正地體驗主廚、咖啡師提供的食物、咖啡。不知是不是物極必反，咖啡廳、甜品店又再次希望讓咖啡、甜品穩定客人身心，而不只以咖啡因為其加班加油。
我們又習慣定義，定義那是一間怎麼樣的店鋪，是一間咖啡廳、是一間甜品店、一間書店、一間選物店，來不及定義就是複合式店舖⋯⋯「好像必須經過大腦分類，人才能理解眼前的是甚麼，知道是甚麼才能安心？」
提供插座的咖啡廳生意或許比較使人安心，大家穩定地各取所需，她曾在那樣的空間精進了製作甜品的功力，也見證了因網紅打卡而成功的產品，以及新甜品的不易被接受。「丟掉太多食材，成本自然有壓力，我也開始懷疑自己的能力。」這種穩定跟不安，讓筑瑩暫別甜品，去了日本旅行3個月，其間在一次偶然下，再次製作甜點，喚醒了製作甜點的快樂。
「原來做甜品時的我真的很快樂。」於是筑瑩再次以溫柔的雙手面向世界各式各樣的尖銳。
「舟竹」本來只是周筑瑩本名的諧音，現在看起來也真像竹舟，不知會帶我們到哪方？我們何不同時帶著期待及不安，坐上這舟，吃一口甜品，聊聊最近的生活？
One tranquil afternoon, I found myself in a cosy dessert shop called “Chouchu”, tucked away in an alley of Tainan. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to my recent experience at a sharing session about Itoshima’s art residencies, where the buzz of conversation filled the air. Here, I was the only customer.
By chance, Chouchu was taken over by Chou Chu Ying, who previously crafted desserts in a café. “This used to be a coffee shop,” she said. I told her that my first home in Tainan was right next door, and what is now Chouchu used to be a guesthouse.
“Chouchu” sounds like her own name, but looking at the two Chinese characters alone, it is hard to imagine what kind of place this is. Friends and customers have offered her plenty of advice: “Your opening hours are too short,” “You should make better use of the space,” “You need to work harder…” But all she really wants is to focus on making desserts. In today’s world, well-meaning advice can sometimes feel like pressure disguised as concern.
I noticed on her work desk a stack of books borrowed from the library, most of which were about “success”. This led us into a conversation about what success truly means.
“I’ve always been compared to others. Everyone seems so accomplished. Even with my dessert shop, I still wonder if this was the right choice: should I look for a stable job and live a more grounded life instead?” Chou explained to me as she stirred the ingredients, her voice calm yet reflective.
I asked myself: what does success mean? Is it owning a business or a home? Or perhaps raising a happy, healthy child? These questions creep into our minds whenever we find a moment of quiet, often disrupting our hard-won peace, as though we had to live with constant tension and purpose to feel like we’re on the path to success.
“Besides running this shop, I also work part-time at a French restaurant and create desserts for a nearby bar. When customers come into my shop just wanting coffee, I can’t offer that since I only sell dessert sets. Is it good that I stick to my guns?” Indeed, Chou’s menu focuses exclusively on dessert sets — an uncommon choice in Taiwanese cafés — with a view to shifting attention back to the desserts rather than the space itself.
In Taiwan, cafés often attract customers with their spaces; patrons feel free to plug in their laptops and spend entire days nursing cold coffee while they work. Increasingly, however, there are cafés that do not offer power outlets, encouraging guests to truly experience the food and drinks crafted by chefs and baristas rather than using the space as an office. Perhaps this is a reaction against over-reliance on caffeine for productivity — these cafés and dessert shops aim to provide comfort through their offerings instead.
As we cling to definitions, we often find ourselves desperate to put a tag to a shop: is it a café? A dessert shop? A bookstore? A lifestyle store? If we cannot categorise it immediately, we call it a hybrid space: “It feels like we need to label things for our brains to make sense of them; knowing what something is helps us feel secure.”
Shops that provide power outlets might seem more reassuring; everyone can get what they need in stability. Chou honed her dessert-making skills in such environments and witnessed products that gained popularity through social media buzz, as well as new desserts that struggled for acceptance. “Throwing away too many ingredients puts pressure on costs; I started doubting my abilities.” This push and pull between stability and uncertainty led Chou to take a three-month trip to Japan, where she unexpectedly found joy in making desserts again.
“Making desserts truly makes me happy,” she realised. With renewed passion, she embraces the sharp edges of the world with her gentle hands, ready to create.
Originally just a play on her name, “Chouchu” (舟竹) now embodies something deeper — a bamboo boat that carries us toward unknown shores. As we step aboard, why not embrace both anticipation and uncertainty, enjoy some desserts, and exchange stories about our lives lately?
*In Mandarin, 舟竹 literally translates as “boat bamboo”.
