In the middle of Chicago’s ever-changing dining landscape, there’s a corner where memory simmers. Minyoli, a small Taiwanese restaurant in Andersonville, holds on to the stories of the culturally rich juàn cūn, or military dependents’ villages, that once dotted Taiwan and are now slowly disappearing along with their food.

Named after the juàn cūn where chef and owner Rich Wang’s family lived, Minyoli traces its roots to the settlements created after 1949, when Nationalist soldiers left mainland China with their families and whatever pieces of home they could carry with them. Though intended to be temporary, the refugee communities became permanent, growing into worlds of their own. What emerged was a cuisine shaped by resourcefulness, longing and the blending of regional traditions in communal kitchens.

Wang’s own path reflects that combination of old and new. Born in Taipei, he moved to the United States and trained in Chicago kitchens. He cooked at Fat Rice, traveled to Lanzhou to study hand-pulled noodles and earned an official noodle-maker certification, then cooked in Macau before returning to Chicago to open Minyoli. The restaurant is his way of keeping his home’s flavors alive. “Places can be controversial,” he said. “But food always brings people together.”

Minyoli offers a contemporary take on the juàn cūn noodle shops now fading amid rapid redevelopment and gentrification. The menu leans into comfort with hearty broths, handmade noodles, rice dishes and familiar street snacks. There’s also seasonal updates and a brunch menu, with a variety of different dishes.

We started with the fried chicken, perfectly crisp and almost addictive thanks to potato starch and a light coating of plum powder. The sesame ganban noodles arrived with a side of house-made chili oil and were so well executed that we are already planning a return trip for the spicy tallow noodles with braised beef shank. Even the vegetables, a celtuce and wood ear mushroom salad, delivered a pleasant surprise with clean, earthy, nutty flavors.

On weekends, the restaurant shifts into a gentler rhythm that nods to Taiwanese mornings. Egg crepes come with fillings like pork, vegetables or shrimp. Shao bing sandwiches are assembled on house-baked sesame bread. The beverages deepen the sense of nostalgia, with drinks like the sweet phoenix bean soy milk with a toasty, almost caramel warmth, and the house-made mi jiang, a thick roasted peanut and rice drink that falls somewhere between a drink and dessert.

Inside, details borrowed from Wang’s grandfather, including small heirlooms and midcentury textures, tie the space to juàn cūn domestic life and the quiet routines that shaped its food.

The drinks take a more playful path while staying connected to the restaurant’s foundation. A cocktail made with 10 yr. Shaoxing wine and shallots is complex and bright in a way that feels refreshing rather than sharp. Named She Sells Shallots by the Seashore the cocktail leans savory in a way that seems unexpected until the first sip reveals its balance. The drinks look ahead, yet they follow the same instincts as the food: curiosity, memory and craft.

In a city full of crossings and influences, Minyoli offers not just a taste of Taiwan’s layered history but an entry point into it. What you eat here is the cuisine of people who were expected to leave and found ways to stay. It is hearty, creative, bold and deeply alive.

Minyoli is open Wednesday and Thursday from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. and  from 5 to 8:30 p.m.; Friday and Saturday from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. and 5 to 9:30 p.m.; and Sunday from 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. for brunch and 5 to 8:30 p.m. for dinner. Reservations are available online.