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Posts from the ‘China’ Category

Guyi

I think I bungled my attempt to explore Hunan cuisine and I don’t know if I’ll be able to rectify that in NYC. Grand Sichuan has a few items from the region, but I can’t think of any dedicated restaurants. I’m all ears if anyone has suggestions.

Guyi_pork_knuckle

Everything I read went on about how fiery the food is; hotter than Sichuan minus the peppercorns. I blandly mis-ordered, thinking Guyi was where I was meant to get the pork knuckle when it was actually Jishi. Oh well, the massive parcel of tender meat kept us occupied for some time. The slew of dried chiles were really more for looks, though. I enjoyed plucking wedges of meat from the gelatinous casing, though I do prefer the crispy exteriors associated with Filipino crispy pata or German schweinehaxe. Pork skin is meant to be chomped on.

Guyi_chile_beef

We had quite a bit of time to pick at our cold chile beef and peanuts with preserved vegetable. We started wondering if they’d forgotten about our pork knuckle. We also wondered if we were going to get the fish dish I pointed to that elicited a grunty, “eh” from our waitress. Was “eh” a no or a guttural comment we couldn’t decipher? The fish never appeared, which was for the best since the knuckle was all we could handle. Maybe “eh” meant you are being piggish and I will only allow one entrée.

Guyi_lotus_root

Lotus root was crunchy, mild and lightly sweet. I’m sure it would’ve been a fitting counterpart to a hotter dish.

Guyi_interior

If we had one more day in Shanghai I definitely would’ve tried nearby Di Shui Dong, another Hunan restaurant that was supposed to be slightly more down market. The room was only this sparse because we showed up at the tail end of lunch and many restaurants close during the afternoon.

Guyi * 87 Fumin Lu, Shanghai, China

Hot Pot King

1/2  Hot pot restaurants were way more plentiful than I’d anticipated—there’s practically one on every block. But I had to make sure there were English menu translations because I don’t like leaving anything to chance…or pointing. In many cases, picture menus ended up being my friend.

Strangely, Hot Pot King was actually more accessible and less confusing than Happy Family in Flushing, the only other place I’ve had huǒ guō. That’s the funny thing about New York; pockets of the city are less penetrable than foreign countries.

Hot_pot_king_broth

There are a zillion styles of hot pot, but it seems like Mongolian and Sichuan are the two distinct types in China. I intended to try the lamb-centric Muslim version in Beijing but it didn’t happen. Here, we ordered the yin yang broth, hot and spicy on one side, mellow and pork-based on the other. At Happy Family, I think the white side is made with soy milk and is slightly sweet. And the red side is fierce, way more intense and oily than this Shanghai rendition.

Hot_pot_king_ingredients

There are pages and pages of choices for things to dip and cook, it’s tough to decide. We were encouraged to order six items, which was possibly an upsell, but the number was right on. I tried to get a wide variety and picked fish balls, mustard greens, lotus root, flank steak, lamb and tofu puffs.

Hot_pot_king_dirty_sauces

The part I find most confusing is choosing sauces. On the side of the room, there were containers of a least twenty different pastes, oils and condiments and at least twenty more chopped and granular things like garlic, sugar, scallions and sesame seeds. I saw that other diners made mixes in little bowls, and that most went with about 80% sesame paste. I copied that, and doctored mine up with multiple similar looking chile oils and purees, then sprinkled green onions on top. James made one with peanut butter, garlic and Sichuan peppercorns. You could get very creative, ff you were so inclined, After dipping all meal long, the concoctions all turn muddy anyway.

It wasn’t until we got up to leave that we noticed everyone was eating from bowls and ours were sitting untouched on a cart next to our table. We’d been using small plates that got all gross and soupy. The bowl/plate dilemma plagued us throughout China. I think chopsticks and small rice bowl is the preferred eating style, but it wasn’t universal.

Hot_pot_king_interior

Hot potting tends to be raucous and restaurants frequently stay open until wee hours. We went for lunch but if I’m correct they don’t close until 4am. I got the feeling that Hot Pot King was sleeker and more expat-friendly than some. But then, Shanghai seemed gentler all-around compared to Beijing.

Hot Pot King * 2F, 1416 Huaihai Zhong Lu, Shanghai, China

Made in China

Originally, I had no plans to eat at Made in China. (The name seems even more ironic now that Americans are hell bent on avoiding everything Chinese made. It seems like every day work I find a new toy recall survey to glean data from) But as I mentioned while discussing Da Dong and Quanjude, we showed up randomly on a Sunday afternoon out of Peking duck desperation. It wasn’t like we had to go out of our way. Made in China happened to be in the Hyatt (“five star all the way”) which also happened to be attached to Oriental Plaza, the mall a few blocks from our hotel that we took a shining to. Our impromptu lunch ended up being our most expensive meal in Beijing, though the tab did get a bump due to a few gin and tonic-esque cocktails, made with Maotai.

Made_in_china_interior

We didn’t have reservations so we were delegated to counter seating facing the dumpling-making station. It didn’t feel like a punishment. It turned out the duck wasn’t available so we defeatedly ordered beggar’s chicken, which we almost didn’t get either. I didn’t understand the hubbub or the “it’ll take 40 minutes” business, but as I discovered that was because I didn’t understand beggar’s chicken.

Made_in_china_beggars_chicken

I had no idea it was so elaborate. Other people were eating simple handmade noodles and dumplings and here we were with complicated orders. Beggar’s chicken is stuffed with various things (in this case salted plums, ginkgo nuts…and I can’t remember what…maybe, lily buds?), wrapped in lotus leaves and baked in a shell. The sweet, salty and funky preserved quality of the mysterious purplish stuffing was unique.

Made_in_china_beggars_chicken_crack

For some reason I thought it was salt-baked but all the recipes I see say that it’s encrusted in mud or clay. Maybe traditionally. It’s a big production and James was asked to ceremonially crack open the casing with a mallet. Men get to have all the fun.

Made_in_china_beef_chestnut_stew

If I knew we were getting a whole chicken, I would’ve been more restrained in further ordering. I also chose a claypot of beef, pumpkin and chestnuts from an autumn menu. The stew also contained noodles that I couldn’t figure out because they were so light and springy like nothing I’ve had before. I suspect that they didn't contain wheat.

Made_in_china_spinach

The spinach looks like it’s dressed in a plain sesame sauce but it’s spiked with a spicy mustard.

Made_in_china_pork_knuckle

I thought pork knuckle in chile oil would be just that, but it was presented fancily as a sliced terrine.

The food at Made in China wasn’t like anything else I ate on vacation. It’s not easy to balance hearty with refined. The flavor combinations and use of ingredients were complex and not what I expected. I do still wonder what they would do with Peking duck.

Made in China * 1 E. Chang An Ave., Beijing, China

Da Dong & Quanjude

Duck versus duck. Even though Peking duck is a Beijing specialty, one meal in town would seem like plenty. I thought so, and did a lot of research narrowing down our choices to four: Quanjude, Li Qun, Made in China and Da Dong. I ultimately decided on the latter. Quanjude is the biggie with lots of name recognition but too touristy. Li Qun? I don’t recall why I nixed it. Made in China felt like where you’d take a foreigner to impress them with stylish (and expensive) versions of local dishes. Da Dong seemed just right.

Da_dong_interior

This was one of the few occasions where having our hotel call for reservations paid off, though we had no control over the dining time. We asked for 8pm on Friday and were told we’d be eating at 6:30 pm, which we quickly learned was more typical (this was our first restaurant meal in China). We also learned that cash is de rigueur, even when buying things like plane tickets. We showed up 15 minutes late, having no concept of heavy Beijing traffic and how taxis avoid white people like the plague (I don’t even want to contemplate how black tourists must fare). Hungry crowds filled the windowed front waiting area while we were immediately seated. I’m surprised they didn’t give away our reservation.

Da_dong_half_peking_duck

Despite being a bargain at a shocking $12 (I was initially surprised at how inexpensive Beijing was. This was a seriously good value vacation–I almost spent more in Miami over Labor Day weekend than we did in nearly two weeks in China), we couldn’t justify ordering a whole duck just for the two of us. But as it turned out, a half order, while pristinely sliced and presented, was meager for our gluttonous tastes.

Da_dong_duck_condiments

Da Dong’s claim to fame is a leaner bird, less fatty and healthy. I don’t know about the healthy part, but it was a classy duck. There truly was very little fat; the skin was shatteringly crisp with little sections placed atop the dainty meat pile to be dipped in granulated sugar. I loved the array of condiments: said sugar, garlic, cucumber, spring onions, radish and what I think was bean paste. Options and multiple sauces always sway me. I knew right then, that Dadong was the right choice.

Da_dong_bamboo_shoots
Cold bamboo shoots with scant chile slices. These weren’t terribly spicy.

Da_dong_lotus_root

Lotus root stuffed with glutinous rice appeared on a lot of menus. I never tried another rendition for comparison, but this sticky dish was very sweet and candied, almost more of a dessert than what we were brought for that course.

Da_dong_fruit

Ack, our first meal introduced us to the Chinese melon plate for dessert. I’ll admit this was an impressive version with dry ice and a few crab apples (which must be a local favorite—you see them sold candied on sticks, kabob-style, all over). But they didn’t stop with the fruit. Oh no, sesame pudding, a.k.a. black sludge also appeared after our food was cleared. I don’t have a problem with these types of desserts but after a heavy meal the thick, bittersweet sludge didn’t seem very refreshing. I think the only acceptable American treats that are this less-than-appetizing color are Oreos.

Da_dong_sesame_dessert

After Da Dong, we were left wanting more. If taxis weren’t so troublesome, we seriously would’ve headed to another roast duck restaurant. Another excursion was going to have to be factored into our schedule. We attempted lunch at Made in China two days later but it turned out to be an item that had to be ordered in advance. Damn. So, we ended up going regionally inaccurate and tried the Quanjude branch in Shanghai.

It was sort of asking for trouble, eating at a so-so chain in a city not renowned for Peking duck, but we were desperate. Compared to Da Dong, the clientele was tourist-heavy and the service more lackadaisical. Even the Chinese didn’t appear to be locals. (I was fascinated by a nearby table with a middle-aged French couple and two totally artsy hipster Asian girls who spoke both Mandarin and French. I’m not sure that they were Chinese, not that a Chinese girl couldn’t speak French.)

Quanjude_interior

Half a duck wasn’t even an option here, so we got more than our fair share. In fact, we ended up making little wraps with the extras and hid them in our bags like old ladies getting the better of a buffet. Communicating was tough, so asking for our leftovers to go wasn’t even worth the bother. Tonal languages will kill you. We asked one waiter for the check, trying to say “mǎi dān” as correctly as we could, and got a confused shrug. Another waiter later came by and said, “mǎi dān?” which I swear sounded just like what we’d tried to articulate.

Quanjude_peking_duck

Quanjude was closer to the Peking duck you’ll find in NYC, and I think it made James happier. The slices were kind of sloppy, the pancakes had adhered to each other and accompaniments only included plum sauce and scallion. Bare bones, yet wonderfully oily and irresistible. The meat was almost minerally. I did notice that the ducks at both restaurants had a meatier, richer flavor than the ones you get here.

Quanjude_tripe

I had to order chile tripe even though I knew we wouldn’t get through much of it. I’m starting to think that I have a tripe fetish—I’ve eaten four times in less than a month.

Quanjude_eggplant

I’m still not clear why this “fish fragrant” eggplant dish caused a ruckus. Our waiter seemed very concerned that I chose it and had to get an English speaking staff member to come over and make sure we understood that it contained pork. Er, do I look Muslim? Or like a pork-hater?  Clearly, we weren’t vegetarian since duck and tripe were also on order. I was aware that fish fragrant/yu xiang is a garlicky Sichuan sauce that doesn’t actually have any fish in it because I’m a dork about the cuisine. Anyway, it turned out to be very good, kind of like what gloppy eggplant in garlic sauce from corner delivery joints wants to be.

Da Dong * Tuanjie Hu Beikou 3, Beijing, China

Quanjude * 4/F, 786 Huaihai Zhong Lu, Shanghai, China

Western Sichuan

Chain restaurants and hotels aren’t necessarily top dining choices in the US, but in much of Asia there’s nothing wrong with them. And the malls aren’t half-bad either, as I found out with Western Sichuan.

I didn’t expect to go hungry on vacation, it never happens, but Beijing really messed with me. I kept falling asleep around 6pm and waking up in the middle of the night, which caused me to miss two potential dinners because I couldn’t get out of my painfully hard bed. Dining on the fruit left in our room every day wasn’t what I had in mind for Chinese food.

I also never thought I’d be up and at the bus terminal to get to the Great Wall by the 11am cut off (I rarely get out of bed before 10am out of free will) on a Saturday but I was so screwed up that we were left our hotel by 7am. Coffee wasn’t to be found anywhere along the way but we did pick up a two bings from a window we passed. I didn’t realize that starchy disk was going to have to sustain me for the next eight hours.

The Great Wall scarred me enough (no one understands why I found the stairs and heights so frightening and I can’t be bothered to try and articulate it again), the $12 bus ride was borderline traumatic too (we originally thought we’d pay the $25 or so each way that I heard taxis would charge, but in practice I had no idea how to hire one since the language barrier was so thick).

Great_wall_me 
No one ever said the face of fear would be pretty. Just being that close to the opening in the wall almost induced pants-crapping.

Being the most foreign, a gay German twosome, a non-Chinese-speaking Asian couple from San Diego and James and I were all a bit lost during the ride and even after our arrival at Badaling. We were all paranoid we were going to get left behind. Then the girl who was apparently hosting this trip got in front of the bus and proceeded to do an ear-splitting spiel in rapid-fire Mandarin via microphone that lasted over half an hour. I thought I was going to lose my mind or at least go deaf. It induced the Germans sitting behind us to mutter under their breath in English, no less, “holy hell, please shut the fuck up.”

Then I got my first whiff of stinky tofu. Wow, I thought I was tough—I’ve never understood the hullabaloo with durian—but the festering body part stench started taking its toll on my resolve. At first I thought I was just smelling dirty hair wafting around, and I was, then I got a whiff of decaying corpse and prayed that it was actually food. It was.

After futzing around on the Great Wall for a bit, then deciding I’d seen enough, I would’ve been happy to find one of those evil American chains like Starbucks to grab a coffee and heck, possibly a red bean scone, but I saw no such thing. Hunger had set in by afternoon and all I saw was corn on the cob, roasted sweet potatoes and a ramshackle food court permeated by the aroma of stinky tofu. Argh, I resorted to the apple in my bag and I rarely eat fruit by choice. We Blackberried Starbucks and Great Wall like crazy trying to pinpoint its location and only came up with impassioned anti-corporate rants, no hard details. Thanks for nothing, internets.

It doesn’t take long for leg pains, general malaise and hunger to take a turn for the worse. On the winding journey back into the city I deliriously imagined the bright, shiny food court-plus at Oriental Plaza (there are way more dining choices than listed on their website) near our hotel. We made it there by late afternoon and I was ravenous. Ah…lamb curry puffs: awesome. Beard Papa? I got a puff for later. Oh, and I also popped into BreadTalk where I ogled miniature Hello Kitty cheesecakes. We were overwhelmed with choice for the main event.

Western_sichuan_interior

Instead of patronizing the food court proper, we picked a peripheral sit-down restaurant. Would mall Sichuan suck? No way. I don’t know if the food tasted better because we were so hungry, but I can fairly say that what might’ve been mediocre by Chinese standards was up there with NYC’s best (which are slim pickings). Not being able to eat leftovers the next day, as is my usual way, we tempered our urge to over order.

Western_sichuan_chicken

Chile oil rules. This cold chicken dish pushed the boundaries of mouth-numbing. I like the ma la tingle, but this was more of a creeping wallop that seemed to affect the sides of the tongue then trickled down the throat. I’m not honestly sure why this is a desirable sensation while eating and why it plays such a role in one region’s cuisine. It does create a fun trick on the palate where beverages like beer or soda taste much sweeter after swallowing a bite of food teeming with Sichuan peppercorns.

Western_sichuan_pork

Our tamer fresh bacon with chiles is similar to the “enhanced pork” at Spicy & Tasty in Flushing. We probably should’ve also ordered a vegetable to cut all of the richness and spice but two items were plenty. As you can see from the photos, portions are similar to what you’d get at a Chinese restaurant here. I was under the impression that servings would be smaller but that really didn’t turn out to be the case.

This was intended as late lunch but became our only real meal of the day since I fell asleep like an hour later and never made it to Hot Loft, a modern take on hot pot dining, I had scheduled for Saturday night. Jet lag really put a kink in my planned gluttony. 

Western Sichuan * Dong Chang'an Dajie 1, Beijing, China

Yang’s Fry Dumpling

Ok, I’d better start practicing the difficult (for me) art of succinct-ness or else I’ll still be rambling on and on about Chinese food eaten in October 2007 well into 2008. Don’t hate me but I never ate xiao long bao in Shanghai. I know, I know, but there was just so much else to sample. However, I did try shengjian mantou, which in many ways I found preferable. It’s all a matter of delicate vs. rustic. I was going to say refined but that’s not accurate because the broth inside these steamed and fried pork dumplings was really stellar. I rarely notice things like the quality of stock but when it’s outstanding and bursting with what I can only imagine is that elusive umami, I get it.

There are two Yang’s stands just a few storefronts apart on Wujiang Lu. It’s chaotic at lunchtime and might be at all times. Because I leave nothing to chance, I read up ahead of time and learned that you order from the woman at a stand on the right, she gives you a ticket and then you stand in the long line on the left and pick up your dumplings. And ordering in fours is the standard. We got eight.

Yangs_fry_dumpling_window

As you can see in the picture, the vessel doing the frying is a huge round affair. It looks like there’d be an endless supply, but the dumplings get burned through in no time. It’s very New York in a way, even though I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. Customers were making the girl turn over dumplings to get more color on the sides, pointing out ones that looked better, like our equivalent of “gimme that one, no that one” or “cook it good.” I’m still flabbergasted at how much New Yorkers boss around the counter/cart guys and I’ve lived here nearly a decade.

Yangs_fry_dumpling_2

Our line wasn’t that long and we had to wait for maybe three replacement batches, mostly due to the greedy gus three ahead of us who’d brought a soup pot with a glass lid from home (the server is holding it in the top photo) and had that filled, then he pulled out plastic containers from a bag and got those topped off, too. We were like save some for us, mister, and the people in line behind us began grumbling too. Thinking in multiples of four, he had to have ordered at least 32. The pan was decimated. But they’re speedy and a fresh replacement was there in minutes.

Yangs_fry_dumplings_to_go

We didn’t dare try to snag an inside table (I have horrible fears of ordering food to stay only to end up seat-less) so we tracked down a rare outdoor seat on a low concrete wall and dug into our steaming messy snack. We got stared at by nearly every single passerby. I don’t know if it was because no one eats outside (there were a few others on benches nearby), we weren’t Asian, we were mangling our food or committing some unspoken faux pas, they were curious about what we were eating, or what. This is a modern city with decent amount of expats so it was kind of baffling and nothing like the time James accidentally got a skewer of chicken hearts in Thailand and wound up with unwanted attention from amused locals. Maybe these fried dumplings are good enough to elicit stares. I would certainly swap them for my usual granola bar breakfast.

Yang’s Fry Dumpling * 54 Wujiang Lu, Shanghai, China

Din Tai Fung

1/2  This was our first restaurant meal in Beijing, and I realize it’s mixed up to be eating soup dumplings in a city not known for them, especially when a Shanghai visit is only a few days off. And it’s even more mixed up to eat a Shanghai specialty at a Taiwanese chain that’s branched all the way to L.A. But Din Tai Fung is highly regarded and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Plus, we were foreigners so we could do whatever we wanted. Well, at least that’s what one of James’s Chinese coworkers told him when he asked about etiquette and making restaurant reservations in particular. I love dubious information from Chinese living in America. This same coworker was also horrified at my hotel choice in Shanghai, Old House Inn, which she originally thought was James’s idea because no female would pick  a place like that (I choose all the hotels and restaurants when we travel—I guess that makes me the decider? And while I’m all for splurging on meals, I’m stingy with lodging. I don’t need luxury, coddling or spa treatments, but I hate ugly and generic too. It’s not always easy finding something boutiquey under $120 night, my rough limit for hotels in Asia). “Five star all the way” was how she described her mode of travel. “Five star all the way” and “we’re foreigners, we can do whatever we want” became the catch phrases of China vacation 2007.

Not knowing Beijing for shit, we had a heck of a time finding this place even armed with a map. We tried the subway, which isn’t so bad despite what guidebooks tell you. Not to be all proud and mighty, but if you ride the subway in NYC every day you’re fairly desensitized to supposedly off-putting things like crowds, buying tickets from machines and transferring lines.

Though, I will say that a full train by NYC standards is not so in Beijing. We crammed in one that by my reckoning was at capacity, packed enough that here a rider would just wait for the next one. But in China that does not prevent people from pushing your back with much more force than one would expect from such small frames and squeezing in another five humans. With bikes that fit through impossibly precarious spaces on the road and taxis maneuvering through traffic, missing pedestrians’ legs by inches, I couldn’t help but think of Chinese as mice burrowing everywhere unscathed. I’m hyper aware of personal space so it was mystifying.

Dintaifungbeijing

We trudged on a busy road for a while, then meandered through some back streets, not hutongs per se, and took a shortcut through a housing project, which ended at a fenced-off canal. I could see what I thought must be Din Tai Fung (there wasn’t any signage, at least not in English) across the water and parallel street. It was much fancier than I’d anticipated; this was no hole in the wall dumpling joint. People on bikes were walking their vehicles through a little open section in the metal fence (once again squeezing through smallness—they could’ve just opened the gate, it looked like) so we popped through, too.

Din_tai_fung_hairy_crab_soup_dumpli

I’ll freely admit that I’m not a xiaolongbao connoisseur at all. I’ve never been to Joe’s Shanghai, in fact I’ve only eaten them in New York maybe twice. I still think it would be safe to say that Din Tai Fung’s version is exemplary, if only because of the insane thinness of the dumpling skins.

Din_tai_fung_pork_dumpling
pork soup dumpling

And just like unnecessary subway warnings for tourists, I don’t get all the caveats that go along with eating soup dumplings. You bite a little hole, suck out the broth and eat the thing. It’s not really that messy or complicated. Oh, and you dip the delicate package in black vinegar laced with julienned ginger first. You kind of have to eat them fast, we made it through eight and then the last two in the steamer had cooled down enough to start sticking to the bottom. There’s nothing worse than a soup dumpling bursting before you can get it on your spoon.

Din_tai_fung_hair_crab_dumpling
hairy crab dumpling

We ordered a batch of pork dumplings and another of hairy crab with roe. There was something very pristine about these little buns, despite their juiciness. In a way, the pork almost seemed more appropriate being simple rather than luxurious. We ate all twenty no problem.

Din_tai_fung_pumpkin

Orange flavored pumpkin slices were kind of unusual. I expected a softer texture, but I’m fairly certain the squash was raw. James isn’t really a picky eater at all, as far as picky eaters go, but he’s not into organ meat which was kind of unfortunate. I love cold, spicy appetizers made with tendon, tripe, jellyfish, tongue, any of that. Pumpkin slices are what you get when you’re trying to steer clear of weirdo meats.

Din_tai_fung_red_bean_ice

I’d read something about red bean buns for dessert, but I didn’t see them on the menu. When I asked about them, well, I experienced my first China mishap: an outrageously large portion of red bean ice. Yikes. I’m not opposed to less than sweet Asian treats, but this was way too much for two to pick at.

Din Tai Fung also introduced us to a few quirks of Chinese dining that existed at every single restaurant we dined at bar our two most expensive meals:

1. A ticket with your order is either left on the table or put in a slot along the table and gets pulled out and scrutinized by various staff members maybe every five minutes. Nothing changes, nothing extra has been ordered, but everyone seems very concerned with double checking. Or maybe I totally misunderstood what they were doing.

2. You put your jacket over the back of your chair and someone comes along with a nylon cover that fits over the whole thing. The coat protector is way easier than a coat check.

3.  You only get one menu, and this was the case at all restaurants high end and low. I suspect it's because one diner is meant to act as host and order everything for everyone but it did take getting used to.

Din Tai Fung * 24 Xinyuanxili Zhongjie, Beijing, China

Exterior photo from Din Tai Fung. Mine has cars in it so it's less attractive, though it's notable that the professional one also looks gray and gloomy. I think Beijing just looks like that.

Jishi

1/2  Maybe it’s just because I got back from Shanghai and I’m now sensitive to the subject, but all of a sudden I’m seeing mentions about Shanghainese food in NYC (Eating in Translation, Village Voice and Chowhound) when I don’t recall them before. It’s not a cuisine I’ve delved into much, my one bad fish finger experience at New Green Bo eons ago might have been my only exposure.

So, I wasn’t gung ho on the local grub in Shanghai, though I’ll admit I was swayed by every single description published anywhere calling it “sweet and oily.” Those minor pejoratives are totally positives to me.

Our first night in Shanghai was our only meal of that style and I regret that now. Technically, Whampoa Club, our last supper was upscale Shanghainese but we tried a Beijing-style tasting menu. Kind of wrong-headed, I guess.

Right after checking in at our hotel, we got out the maps and started our leisurely quest to find Jishi. Meandering through the balmy, mostly leafy, occasionally construction-wracked (all of China is covered in dust and littered with cranes, it seems) French Concession, I was already liking Shanghai better than frequently exhausting Beijing. Maybe we lucked out neighborhood-wise because nearly everywhere I had on my Shanghai to-eat list was under 20 minutes on foot while in Beijing we were near historic sites like the Forbidden City, but it took at least 20 minutes by cab to get anywhere of culinary interest.

I was also happy to see the place was still jumping at 9pm, our table up the narrow staircase, was the only one open. We’d made reservations everywhere since all my research indicted this was an absolute must, but it didn’t really turn out to be the case anywhere. There were always open tables and most restaurants didn’t even ask if we’d reserved. The only exception to this were the higher end restaurants, which still weren’t full to capacity, but it did seem that our seats were primer than those allotted to walk-ins. I’d heard about the Shanghainese dialect, and I think we were hearing it shouted from the frenetic young waiters running up and down the stairs, squeezing between chairs all night. The weirdest thing was the row of knocked crooked black and white photos of NYC on one wall. I never thought I’d be eating Chinese eels while staring at a BQE Cadman Plaza exit sign.

I’ve learned enough from Asia travel that upscale is frequently disappointing. Chinese-only hole in the wall isn’t necessarily better. Humble, home-style, one of those H’s is what usually delivers, places with imperfect English translations and picture menus. This was absolutely the case with Jishi. At least I think this clamorous, bi-level restaurant was called Jishi. The sign out front actually read Jesse, and I’ve seen it referred to as both. To complicate matters there seems to be another branch called Xinjishi. James’s guide book (he bought Lonely Planet, I bought Time Out and then left mine at Face Bar during a mid-afternoon gin and tonic pit stop the second day in Shanghai, which really enervated me because we both agreed that mine was the better reference) pegged this original location as the “foodie” one, which meant nothing to me until I saw Xinjishi, which is sleek, more sterile and in tourist-heavy Xintiandi. I would say Jishi is more “local” as opposed to the F word.

Jishi_pork_belly

If this braised pork belly didn’t epitomize sweet and oily, I don’t know what would. (I might also add rice wine as a distinctive flavor.) Perfect, and it reinforced that yes, I do love sugary soy and mouthfuls of unctuous fat. I still haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping since getting back, and I’m completely starving thinking about this pork. I have to review a Chilean and Peruvian restaurant in the next two days, when I really want to seek out Shanghainese red cooked pork.

Jishi_eel_shreds

I don’t remember the exact description of this dish but “eel shreds” were mentioned. I thought that might be dried shredded fish but it was bits of eel. Yes, this was also oily, as well as strongly flavored with minced garlic.

Jishi_edamame

I swear this edamame preserved vegetable mix was dressed with melted butter. That doesn’t sound very Chinese, but it was certainly tasty, especially spiked lightly with chiles.

Jishi * 41 Tianping Lu, Shanghai, China

Southern Barbarian

One of my vacation dining goals was to sample as many regional cuisines as I could, and preferably ones not available in NYC (though my Sichuan bent got the better of me and I ended up eating it more than once even though I can get it here). Southern Barbarian, a slightly atypical Shanghai restaurant serving Yunnan food, was the source of one of my more memorable meals. Though to be annoyingly nonpartisan, I didn’t really eat anything unmemorable or even unlikable, with the exception of a few standard issue hotel breakfasts, melon slices and a shao bing that tasted like baking soda.

Yunnan province borders Myanmar, Laos and Vietnam so you might expect more Southeast Asian ingredients that typical Chinese ones. What I found didn’t really adhere strictly to any of those countries.

Southern_barbarian_interior

Maybe I’ve been in New York too long because I expect even the blahest of restaurants to be busy. There were only three other tables occupied when we arrived at Southern Barbarian at 8:30pm Halloween night. However, we did seem to eat late by Chinese standards. We tried scaling back our more typical 9pm to 8pm (two out of four nights in Beijing were a bust—I was so tired that I fell asleep before 8pm and I’m still steamed that I missed two potential dinners) but I think 6pm is more standard.

Southern_barbarian_salt_and_pepper_

One of the only unfortunate things about China was that I didn’t know anyone. Socializing wasn’t so critical, but sharing food would’ve been a boon. Two people can only eat so much and I can’t justify ordering lots and nibbling little even when pricing is extremely gentle. At most places we settled on two entrees and one appetizer. At Southern Barbarian we went a little overboard with broad beans with Yunnan ham, potato pancake, salt and pepper cheese, beef with chile and mint and grilled chicken, and somehow still managed to eat everything. I would've loved to try the dumplings and cross the bridge noodles (spelled/translated various ways) but that would've been ridiculous.

Southern_barbarian_potato_pancake

James was scared of Chinese goat cheese (I was scared of the dish with honeybees), but there was no way I was ignoring it. Fried cheese? Come on. The thin barely crispy squares were very mild, un-goaty, and dusted with tingly Sichuan pepper.

Southern_barbarian_chile_mint_beef

It was decided that chile powder coated beef on toothpicks would fit in at a Super Bowl party. We’ll try to replicate it come February. Strange as it sounds, a lot of this food, including their vast selection of barbecued meats, wouldn’t be out of place on a menu of bar snacks. Keeping with the pubby theme, they also have a very un-Chinese collection of imported craft beers in bottles. We had to ask for Brooklyn Lager because we’re hokey.

Southern_barbarian_broad_beans

“I don’t think this is Chinese food,” James commented. I could see his point with the broad beans and Yunnan ham, which strongly resembled thick split pea soup on a plate. What he meant was that he thought the chef was taking liberties. I didn’t believe there was nothing nouveau going on. We were told by the owner (one of the most fluent English speakers we encountered in a restaurant) that everything was home-style, not the sort of things you’d find in a restaurant in Yunnan, and that sounded reasonable to me.

Southern_barbarian_bbq_chicken

Maybe that’s why I liked everything so much; starchy and fried is my thing. If I had a few more days in China, I definitely would’ve tried another Yunnan restaurant for comparison.

Southern Barbarian * 2/F Area E, Ju’Roshine Life Arts Space, 56 Maoming Lu, Shanghai, China

China: KFC & Pizza Hut

Yes, strange that I would start my China restaurant recaps with Pizza Hut. I really intended to steer clear of western food, I swear, but curiosity eventually got the better of me. Pizza Hut and KFC (both Yum! Brands) definitely seemed to be the dominant US chains in China. You might think of McDonald’s or Starbucks as the global evils, but pan pizza and fried chicken are prevailing in that corner of the world.

Beijing_kfc_sandwich

KFC got the better of me while killing time in the Beijing airport, which is far from a fun way to spend two afternoons (Singapore’s Changi airport is completely engaging but I’ve never needed to hang around for lengths of time). Though I later saw ads for buckets, simple fried chicken didn’t seem to be the attraction. All the combo meals were focused on sandwiches and wraps, and crunchy breaded cutlets between buns appeared to be the snack of choice. As English was non-existent on signage or spoken by staff, James pointed at a random picture and that’s the combo we split.

Beijing_kfc_meal

The bonanza entailed the popular chicken sandwich, four drummettes/wings, a creepy mayonnaisey vegetable salad that I didn’t taste out of fear and lack of cutlery and what tasted like orange Tang. I don’t really eat at KFC in the US so I can’t accurately compare the two. I don’t think extra crispy is our default, though.

Beijing_kfc_egg_tarts

I intended to get two egg tarts for dessert and somehow ended up with four. As far as miscommunications went, this was a fairly minor and tasty mishap. The little custardy pies are served warm and were way better than a fast food apple pie (yes, I’m mixing up my chain desserts).

Beijing_kfc_interior

Malls, each with a unique name and different stores, can span multiple blocks connected by overpasses and underground walkways. The only inevitable commonality are the KFCs and Pizza Huts. I only meant to peek at the Pizza Hut menu posted outside a corner location (there was also a Papa John’s nearby, but I’ve never been to one and didn’t think I should start in Shanghai). But after seeing appetizers like escargots and catching a glimpse of the slightly upscale interior, I had to try one of their seafood pizzas, no way around it.

Shanghai_pizza_hut

I haven’t eaten inside a Pizza Hut in years (though I did briefly work in a drive-thru only one in college) so maybe they’ve fancified here too. Chinese Pizza Huts are more of a full service restaurant with soups, pastas and light jazz tinkling in the background.

Shanghai_pizza_hut_interior

I wasn’t bold enough to start with escargots, the New Orleans wings gave me pause; it was the cumin lamb meatballs that won me over. I just wasn’t expecting the cold marina-style dipping sauce that came on the side.

Pizza_hut_cumin_lamb_balls

Because I’m a grotesque American (despite attracting a 98% Asian clientele, we got nasty looks through the window by some young white folks. I really don’t get the big deal. No one ever takes issue with Japanese chains like Yoshinoya or Coco Curry House that were all over the place. I wouldn’t have a problem if someone from China wanted to try mediocre Chinese food in NYC) I ordered the most expensive pizza (around $8) from their Gourmet Line. This doozy contained smoked salmon, shrimp and squid and was drizzled with creamy wasabi sauce.

Pizza_hut_smoked_salmon_pizza

Lacking any Italian-ness whatsoever in my DNA, cheese paired with seafood doesn’t bother me in the least. And sure, the dairy and spiciness dominated but the mix of flavors was strangely compelling.

KFC * Beijing Capital International Airport, Beijing, China
Pizza Hut * Metro City, 1111 Zhaojiabang Lu, Shanghai, China