Haw Berries & Kumquats

Oct 29th, 2010

High hopes and high views at Grill 79

The distinction of a metropolis’ highest restaurant is usually a proud one, but in Beijing it can be a dubious honor. One step closer to the smog! A better vantage point for admiring the endless gray expanses in every direction! Such a visit would seem to be a guaranteed depressant.

So we planned with caution our visit to Grill 79, Beijing’s highest restaurant on the 79th floor of China World 3 (also called the Summit Wing). Several potential visits were canceled, but finally, it was the perfect autumn day, with blue skies and the Western Hills visible even from the center of Beijing.

Up above, it was even better: all of Beijing was at our feet, glimmering in squares of green and gray and gold. We thought we knew Beijing well, but from here we saw buildings and squares that we had never noticed before. The view stretched all the way to the old CCTV tower, the Forbidden City, and Beihai in the west; the Beijing South Railway Station in the south, and the industrial suburbs of Tongzhou in the east.

The most eye-catching structure by far, though, was right next to us. China World 3 sits just opposite Rem Koolhas’s stately skyscraper redefined, the CCTV tower and its burnt-out little brother the TVCC. A mesmerizing view anytime, especially from this unusual angle – some of us never get tired of it.

The chef at Grill 79 is Jean-Paul Lourdes, a young New Zealander who spent at least some of his formative years in Japan. Indeed, Japanese influences shine through in his attention to detail and delicate, artful presentations – some dishes are as intricate as garden scenes.

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Posted in: Beijing, restaurants. Tagged: lunch sets
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Oct 20th, 2010

In which Fried Beer is consumed

Hawberries & Kumquats took a short vacation to go home to north Texas.

There was not a single day when the sky wasn’t blue. Sometimes I wonder why I willfully choose to live in Beijing’s smogged-up soup when I could have sunsets like this:

This is the view from my parents’ house.

Behind the house, we found a skeleton, sleeping in the tall wild grass and the fragile, star-like flowers. The bones were polished so white, so clean, that it was impossible to see it as a thing of death. The skull fell into fragments when we touched it. It was possibly a coyote, or a cat.

We found some time for Mexican food at the excellent little El Fuego, which has homemade tortillas and delicious homestyle Mexican dishes, like pork with green sauce.

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Posted in: street treats & snacks. 1 comment

Oct 5th, 2010

In which there is pastry love: Shin Yeh 欣叶

Even after five years in Beijing, my boyfriend can never stop reminiscing about the incredible, unbeatable mochi he ate in Taiwan. None of the specimens we tried in Beijing met his lofty expectations – for they were prepackaged, out of a box, while those from Taiwan were made and sold fresh, from the street.

Then one day we ate some mochi that made him stop talking, at least temporarily.

Surprisingly, it was at Shin Yeh (欣葉), a Taiwanese restaurant that I had always assumed was more style than substance. Surrounded by clubs with names like Babyface and Angel, this vault-like, mirrored restaurant is certainly not what you’d associate with crowded street food vendors and noisy night markets.

Peanut-dusted mochi, RMB 12 for 6

But as it turns out, Shin Yeh is an authentic Taiwanese import, with long lines going out of their Taipei location. Their Beijing branch does delectable renditions of Taiwanese street food and snacks of a quality and variety rarely found here. It certainly trumps Bellagio, the long-time undisputed king of Taiwanese cooking a few doors down.

Though fancy seafood dishes (mullet roe, crab) can make it quite pricey, that’s not where Shin Yeh’s real attraction lies (at least for me). It’s possible to put together an interesting, colorful, and delicious meal from lots of nibbles and small plates. What steals my heart most of all are their Taiwanese sweets – they are the real reason why I come back. Aside from the ones mentioned here, there are also various shaved ices, including passionfruit, red bean, or peanut butter. It always defies my skills of indecision to choose just one, or even two!

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Posted in: Beijing, restaurants. Tagged: sticky rice · Taiwanese
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Sep 22nd, 2010

Mooncake Review: A little chickpea in your red bean?

Like it or not, mooncake season is upon us: Wednesday, Sept. 22, is Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋节), celebrating the roundest, most golden full moon of the year. Westerners may call it the harvest moon, but for China this moon is all about being together with one’s family. The word for being together, 团圆 tuanyuan, literally means ‘making a ball’, and so the special foods associated with this holiday are all round – fruits, melons, and mooncakes. And if you eat too many mooncakes, you’ll be round too.

The mooncakes from Xibei Youmian Cun (西贝莜面村) seem to be an exception to this generally heavy, lard-laden class of pastries. They claim to be low in oil and sugar, made with multi-grain flours, and they certainly do taste like it. The “skin” of the mooncake, usually smooth and greasily supple, was here dry and crumbly, with a hard shell reminiscent of the mo (馍), baked wheat buns from northwestern China.

The red bean and chickpea (红豆鹰嘴豆 hongdou yingzui dou) filling is a riff on the classic red bean paste, and to be honest, the chickpea was hardly noticeable – it was more like a less sweet and vaguely nuttier red bean paste. As all beans are supposedly healthful, I’ve always assumed red bean (azuki) bean paste was also quite good for you – one way to justify all the sticky rice cake consumption – but chickpeas add a dose of calcium, magnesium, zinc, and folate.

This flavor combination may sound strange, but it also makes sense: they’re both beans that are generally eaten in smooth paste form, only one with sugar and the other with garlic and olive oil, among other ingredients. Why not combine them? (This is also a challenge to make red bean hummus.)

The wandou heisanbao (豌豆黑三宝) mooncake, pictured cut open, is more unusual. The “three black treasures” consist of black sesame, black bean, and black wood-ear fungus (mu’er 木耳), which is more commonly seen in savory stir-fries than in pastry. Here the peas and wood-ear fungus seem to be included more for their health factor than anything. It really is just like eating a black sesame and sweet black bean paste mooncake – not a common flavor either.

These mooncakes come from Xibei Youmian Cun (西贝莜面村) or “Xibei Oat-Flour Noodles Village,” a rather wildly popular chain of restaurants that seem to be mostly located on the outskirts of Beijing. They specialize in food from northwestern China, with especially tasty al dente buckwheat and oat-flour noodles, grilled mutton, and homemade yogurt and tofu. Other flavors from their mooncake series include oat flour and xylitol (莜面木糖醇 youmian mutangchun), whole wheat kernels (全麦仁籽 quanmairen zi), buckwheat and yogurt (荞面奶酪 qiaomai nailao), naked wheat and five bean (裸麦五豆 luomai wudou), corn and desert jujube/date (玉米沙枣 yumi shazao), and purple yam and pumpkin (南瓜紫薯 nangua zishu). I wish I could shed more light on these strange-sounding flavors, but I haven’t tried them.

Xibei mooncakes are sold in boxes online (which gives you less choices about flavors), or individually in stores (where you can assemble your own flavor box). They cost RMB 16 each, making them fairly mid-range on the price scale.

My preferred mooncake vendor of choice is Gui Xiang Chun, 桂香春, a halal bakery that does delicious Beijing pastries as well as seasonal items like mooncakes and zongzi. They do all the classic flavors quite well, including my favorites, jujube/date paste (枣泥 zaoni) and “five nut” (五仁 wuren), and also seem to steer away from trendy but short-lived flavors like honeydew or blueberry. Mooncakes here cost between RMB 8 and 12, depending on flavor.

I’ve visited 3 branches of Xibei Youmian Cun, and they’re always packed, though they’re still mostly off the expat radar. The Sanyuan Qiao location in the Grand China building is perhaps the most convenient, though the one outside the north gate of the Summer Palace is extremely close to the line 4 subway stop.

Grand China Bldg, B1/F [map]
Sanyuan Qiao, Chaoyang District
Tel: (10) 6345 3535
朝阳区三元桥大新华航空大厦B1楼
Across from the North Gate of the Summer Palace
(next to the McDonald’s by the Beigongmen subway) [map]
Tel: (10) 6286 2150
海淀区颐和园北宫门对面

For other locations see Dianping or the Xibei website.

Gui Xiang Chun 桂香春 has counters inside the Dongsi Wumei Store (open until 9pm), at the northeast corner of Dongsi and Chaoyangmennei Dajie, and the Niujie Halal Supermarket.

Niujie Halal Supermarket (in the center of the pastry annex) [map]
1 Niu Jie (southwest corner of the Niu Jie/Caishikou Dajie intersection), Xuanwu District
Tel: (10) 6355 6687
Daily 9am-10pm
宣武区牛街北口西侧1号
牛街清真超市1层

Posted in: Beijing, shops, street treats & snacks. Tagged: black sesame · dessert · halal · red bean · sesame
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Sep 18th, 2010

A deep-fried trifecta: the “fried look-back” and more

Left: zhahuitou (炸回头), Right: qilin su (麒麟酥), Front: tangmian zhagao (烫面炸糕)

It isn’t often that I’m surprised with a trio of Beijing snacks I’ve never tried before. But the Longfusi Snack Shop (隆福寺小吃店 Longfusi Xiaochi Dian) lives up to its reputation as one of the best places to sample traditional Beijing foods, with everything from flash-boiled tripe (baodu) to more kinds of fried treats than anyone can reasonably eat in a day. Here’s a very small sample:

The zhahuitou (炸回头) was the most delicious – and the most intriguing, not least because of its curious name (“fried look-back”). Think of it as a cross between a wonton and a steamed, stufffed baozi: it has the shape of a wonton, with the ends folded back on itself (hence the name), but also the substantial, chewy dough of a baozi. Much an improvement, as I’ve always found the slippery thin wonton skin too wimpy for all my carbohydrate needs.

These particular specimens are stuffed with a savory filling of beef and lotus root, flavored with a hint of peppercorn, and deep-fried to a golden crunch. Zhahuitou are a specialty of Beijing’s Muslim Hui people, and eaten especially around Ramadan. At Longfusi, you can get them only on weekends year-round, for RMB 2 each.

The qilin su (麒麟酥), on the right, is named for the Qilin or Kylin, a mystical beast that reputedly has the head of a dragon, the antlers of a deer, the eyes of a lion, the back of a tiger, the waist of a bear, the scales of a snake, the hooves of a horse, and the tail of a cow. Complicated, no? And you didn’t even know bears had waists.

Fortunately, this pastry is much simpler (and much more accessible), featuring a rich, deep-fried cake-like pastry stuffed with sweet red bean paste. The whole thing is then dusted with crystalline sugar and coconut flakes, an excellent match with the crisp golden shell of the pastry.

Though I grew up eating zhagao¹ (“fried cakes”), I had never seen tangmian zhagao (烫面炸糕) before. Like all their zhagao cousins, these cakes are deep-fried until golden and crisp, with a shell that shatters pleasingly in the mouth. The difference is in the wheat-flour dough, which is mixed with hot water, giving it a smooth and chewy consistency. The filling is generally a mixture of assorted nuts (peanuts, sesame, sunflower seeds), candied fruit, sugar, and a dab of osmanthus syrup for fragrance.

Longfusi Snack Shop is almost like a trip back in time, in more ways than one. Its old-style counters and food tickets are a throwback to the days of Socialism, when everything was handed to you by a gruff salesperson after you paid for it elsewhere. Today the staff are nicer, though the payment system still pleasingly arcane: you go to the cashier and exchange your money for the same denomination in food tickets, which you then exchange for food (don’t worry: if you buy a RMB 2 item with a RMB 20 food ticket, you’ll get change). The tables are filled with a mix of locals and visitors.

Longfusi Street, before it became the strangely dilapidated alley of knock-off fashions it is today, was once the site of a temple (the Longfu Temple, to be exact), shared by Tibetan Buddhism as well as Mahayana Buddhism. It was better known, however, for its lively temple fairs held four times a month. Back then most major temples held fairs, but the one at Longfu was among the best in the city, especially renowned for its books, theater, knickknacks and excellent food.

Though the temple burned down in 1901, the monks continued to rent out space to vendors , and the temple fairs continued in all their glory. After 1949 a building was raised in its place, the Dongsi People’s Market (东四人民市场) that carried on the lively mercantile tradition, making Longfusi one of Beijing’s most popular shopping destinations. Unfortunately, a great fire in 1993 burned it down completely, and since then Longfusi has never recovered its former popularity – many say that this was because the fire destroyed all the last vestiges of the original Longfu Temple, and thus destroyed all the fengshui.

Today’s Longfusi is hemmed in by ugly new buildings and subway construction. The Longfusi snack shop is nowhere similar to the bustling temple fairs of old. But amongst the tattoo parlors and pleather bag shops, it seems to be one of the few places that retains any vestige of the old Longfu spirit.

Longfusi Xiaochi Dian (“Snack Shop”) [map]
1 Longfusi Qianjie (on the first alley north of Dongsi running between Meishuguan Dongjie and Dongsi Beidajie)
Dongcheng District
Tel: (10) 6406 0668
隆福寺小吃店
东城区隆福寺前街1号

¹More usual types of zhagao in Beijing are my favorite, the jiangmi zhagao (江米炸糕), deep-fried balls of glutinous rice stuffed with sweet red bean paste, and naiyou zhagao (奶油炸糕), deep-fried wheat flour doughs filled with a yellow cream, sort of like a profiterole.

Posted in: Beijing, restaurants, street treats & snacks. Tagged: Beijing · halal
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Aug 23rd, 2010

Purslane Pancakes 马齿苋饼

I can clearly remember the first time I ate purslane. I was eight, and the ayi who worked for my family had brought back a bag of purslane from her home province in southern China. She made them into golden crisp purslane bing (饼), or pancakes, and I was instantly smitten: It was somehow decadent, as pancakes were a rare treat, but also very healthful from the succulent crunch of the purslane.

Indeed, purslane is about one of the most healthful vegetables that one can eat. It has more omega-3 fatty acids than any other plants, and a whole lot of other anti-oxidants and anti-mutagenic nutrients, minerals, and vitamins. Apparently, it was also Gandhi’s favorite vegetable, according to this informative article. In Chinese, it’s considered a wild vegetable (yecai 野菜), called machixian 马齿苋, or “horse teeth amaranth” – perhaps because the little leaves look like horses’ teeth?

Despite all its benefits, purslane has long been thought of as a weed in the US, and only now have people started eating it. In China, of course, we’ve known we can eat purslane for a while, but Beijing is not the best place to find something that needs green fields and wild spaces. (And even if you were to find wild vegetables growing by the road in Beijing, would you eat it?)

So remarkably, I hadn’t eaten purslane for more than 17 years. That one-time experience had made such an impression on me, though, that as soon as it was available from my organic farm supplier, I knew I had to get it. Since then, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to play with purslane: in salads with a vinegar-soy sauce dressing and thousand-year-eggs muddled in, stir-fried with peppers, and slowly simmered in a multi-grain rice congee.

But of course, I had to go back to the pancakes that made me fall in love with purslane in the first place. The Internet was not forthcoming with recipes or advice, only informing me that this was a traditional way of eating purslane in the countryside. So I recreated them using an eight-year-old’s memory – and I must say, I have quite a good memory.

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Posted in: recipes. Tagged: pancakes · purslane
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Aug 15th, 2010

All I want this summer: iTea 找茶

Four or five years ago, you used to be able to count with one hand the number of icy-dessert shops in Beijing. Baobing (shaved ice 刨冰) was something I discovered in a tiny Taiwanese snack shop in what passed for Chinatown in Dallas (this was ’96). Quality fresh fruit shakes? Nonexistent. Shaved ice desserts seemed to be the sole provenance of Bellagio.

And now, in just the past year, we have a number of respectable shops serving refreshing, fruity icy treats. The latest, and my current favorite, is iTea (找茶), which aggressively expanded into Beijing a few months ago (from Wuhan, of all places!) with six new locations.

iTea seems to have hit upon a rather winning combination of clean, bright aesthetics; high-quality teas, ices, and slushes; and low prices. The desserts here aren’t really “refined” – not like Din Tai Fung’s stupendous ices with their individually well-crafted ingredients – but they’re well made in their simplicity. The ice is very soft and fine, though usually I prefer more “powdery” ices that have more of a “crunch” when you bite into it, like eating snow. The flavors are true, the mango chunks generous and juicy, and that’s all I really need on a day to day basis.

Perhaps the only downside is that all but one of their locations are inside malls, and thus overwhelmed with shoppers on the weekends. Hence, I generally repair to the sole non-mall locale, on Gulou Dongdajie, next to Cafe Alba. Among the mall shops I’ve visited, Oriental Plaza is relatively more peaceful, Joy City (Xidan) excessively crowded. Seating is pretty limited, so one just slurps and goes.

I may also shamelessly admit that I’ve gone through half the menu already. I’ll add new items as I try them, too.

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Posted in: Beijing, street treats & snacks. Tagged: dessert · ice cream · kumquats · red bean
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Aug 3rd, 2010

Moving Day Cookies (Ginger-Nut-Butter-Apricot-Oat Snaps!)

I hate moving. Over my four years in Beijing, I’ve moved four times. The first time I had a few suitcases and moved across the length of the city. The other three times I’ve moved a considerably smaller distance with considerably more stuff.

There’s nothing worse than moving the dregs of a flour sack, or the tail-end of a jar of jam, or a knob of butter – especially not in this sweltering weather. So I needed to eat a lot of things, and quickly.

And thus were born these ginger-nut-butter-apricot-oat cookies, with ingredients willfully substituted to use up this or that. The results were so mind-bogglingly delicious, however, that this recipe is definitely going to be more than an improvisational one-off. All my moving-inspired changes seem to make a tastier cookie, moist and spicy with a hint of nuttiness. They’re healthful too, thanks to the almond butter, spelt, and oats. I can’t imagine wanting gingersnaps any other way, right now. (Ask me again in two months. I get bored.)

Ginger Snaps with Almond Butter

Moist and spicy, the cookies have a hint of nutty goodness and are chewy from the oats. The long ingredient list isn’t intimidating – and if need be, you can always go back to the original recipe from David Lebovitz. He also gives American volume measurements. Ingredients #1-3 were originally 280g of flour, etc.

140g organic white flour
60g organic spelt flour
80g oats
1½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cardamom
130g brown sugar
40g grated ginger root
½ tsp vanilla extract
75g butter
75g almond butter* or peanut butter
80g apricot jam
1 egg

* Roasted almond butter can be easily made through roasting almonds in the oven until golden, and then processing in the blender until it becomes buttery in texture. Super easy – I’ve been making my own nut butter this way for months.

Follow the instructions as given by David Lebovitz in the original recipe, around which I loosely based my variation. I’d like to try this with all almond butter or peanut butter too.

Posted in: recipes, sweets & desserts. Tagged: apricots · cookies · ginger
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Jul 19th, 2010

Tomorrow, when the apricots come

Hawberries & Kumquats is overwhelmed with moving house and will be taking a short break. (The complexity of apartment hunting in Beijing could be an entire blog subject.) In the meantime, here are a few tidbits to mull over, and I’ll be back in a week or two.

Apricots, apricots, apricots. I can’t get enough of them. They’re delicious in jam and tarts, but even more amazing when they’re baked, which concentrates the sweetness and tartness. It’s incredibly easy, and so forgiving, too, of improvisation: Quarter enough apricots to almost fill a ramekin, and mix in a spoonful of sugar and a dollop of butter. Then top with chopped almonds, and bake at 200°C (400°F) until bubbly and soft, around 15 minutes or so. Foolproof. I bet it’d be good with pistachios too.

Somehow I’d forgotten about the existence of Takenosuke, but such a slight was obviously undeserved. I certainly won’t let it slide off my radar again, now that I know you can add mochi to your okonomiyaki. What could be better than chunks of gooey sticky rice in an eggy pancake stuffed with whatever you please? The avocado salad here is also pretty addictive: it uses the kind of creamy salad dressing that I generally abhor, but it goes very well here with bright pearls of fish roe and avocado.

Mint gummy bears. A revelatory discovery when eating a variety pack of Aji Ichiban (優之良品 youzhi liangpin) gummy candies (purchased from 7-11). The translucent green bears didn’t ooze the expected composite fruit flavor, but packed a distinctively minty punch that instantly woke me up from afternoon lethargy. Think of it as a mildly chewy mint. Did you know that gummy bears were invented in Germany? They’re called Gummibären.

The Village Cafe has a great lunch set at RMB 48 for one course, 68 for two, and 88 for three. The Opposite House is always a pleasure to visit, for its clean, soaring architecture. I never get tired of admiring the lobby, and there’s rotating displays of art as well. This time there were silvery over-sized insects – at once menacing, fragile, and jewel-like. As for the food, the menu changes but the white chocolate cheesecake seems to be a stand-by, and a well-deserved one at that. And I loved the macadamia nut-encrusted sea bream – the crumbly nuts are a delightful contrast with the tender, flaky fish.

More on mochi, obviously a favorite theme here: Shinyeh has the most delicious peanut-dusted mochi I’ve had in Beijing. Firm, soft, chewy, and tender all at once, this is mochi heaven. It’s a wonder I haven’t come back yet for them. They also do a variety of other Taiwanese street favorites and snacks, as well as fancier dishes.

The peaches are here: Beijing peaches are some of the most delicious in the world. Granted, I grew up eating them, so I may be a bit biased. They seem to have so much more, so much more real peach flavor, than a supermarket peach in the US – which I also grew up eating. Beijing peaches are just so properly seasonal, around only for the magic months of July and August. My favorite kind is the Jiubao (九宝), exceptionally soft and oozing with juice.

Posted in: Beijing, recipes, restaurants, shops, sweets & desserts. Tagged: apricots · Japanese · lunch sets · sticky rice
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Jul 7th, 2010

Awfully Chocolate

I’m feeling anxious and nervous before the upcoming Germany-Spain game of the World Cup – betrayed by our own octopus! – so I’m trying to distract myself. And what better distraction on this hot and humid day than ice cream? Awfully Chocolate is known more for their decadent chocolate cakes, but they also make some of Beijing’s best dark chocolate ice cream.

i can't scoop ice cream to save my life

The ice cream is called hei 黑 or “black” – appropriate for the intensity of the chocolate they use, which according to their website is 70% cocoa Belgian chocolate. The texture is perfect, dense and rich. Best of all, it isn’t cloyingly sweet like many ice creams, allowing the bitter notes of the chocolate to speak for itself. Each bite is a blissful excursion into the essence of chocolate infused into cold creaminess.

A pint costs RMB 80, and comes in a cute little takeaway container. They give you a small insulated bag so you can get it home without a meltdown. Or you can get a scoop for RMB 25. It’s expensive, but oh so worth it. Their cakes, too, are worth a try, especially for a special occasion.

Awfully Chocolate is a Singaporean chain with locations in Beijing, Shanghai, Dalian, and Guangzhou, as well as in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Their stores are minimalist white to the point of being sanatorium like – perhaps a commentary on just how crazy about chocolate they are?

Click here for their Beijing store locations and hours. You can also order online with delivery service.