Beijing Food Trip - Part 4: Legendary 200-Year-Old Eateries

Beijing is as much a foodie paradise as Tokyo or Hong Kong, especially if you appreciate traditional, slow food that has withstood the test of time. Seven centuries as China's capital has bestowed on Beijing more culinary traditions than arguably anywhere else in East Asia, as reflected in its citizens' respect of Laozihao, or Time-honored Brands.

Practically dozens of restaurants and food producers still carry on traditions from the era of the Emperors, with one dating from as early as Year 1530. On our Beijing Food Trip we tweaked our itinerary to fit in several of these highly-esteemed Beijing institutions, all of which were conveniently located for sightseeing and all were quite reasonably priced.


Food Review: DUYICHU, Main Branch (Qianmen, Beijing)
Address: 38 Qianmen Dajie, Chongwen District, Beijing
Hours: 08:00-21:00
Website/Map: From Dianping.com
Directions: Duyichu is right at the epicentre of Beijing's original tourist district, where the pedestrian street of Dashilan meets the wide boulevard of Qianmen Dajie. It's about a 500m walk directly south of Qianmen subway station.


One of the most popular among Beijing's pantheon of venerated old restaurants, Duyichu originated in the 3rd Year of Emperor Qianlong, or Year 1738 in the Western World. To put things in perspective, the United States was still a British colony, the Dutch were a world power, and Napoleon wasn't even born yet. That year a little eatery popped up outside the south gate of the Imperial Quarters, and through centuries of evolution became specialized in the cheap, unpretentious steamed dumplings known as Shaomai.

270 years passed and Shaomai's bastardized offsprings have been happily adopted by various East Asian cultures as their own -- now you can have Shuumai in a Tokyo izakaya, Siumai in a Hong Kong teahouse or even Siomay at a street-side stall in Jakarta -- which all taste quite different. But Beijing was where it was first perfected into an art form, and for a taste of the original we had to visit Duyichu.



This is granddaddy of them all -- plump, mouth-watering Shaomai in fine Beijing tradition. Being more familiar with Hong Kong's version I always considered the definition of Shaomai/Siumai/Shuumai to be 1) an open-top dumpling and 2) enfolded in a lye-water flour wrapping. Neither was true of Duyichu's original recipe, which consisted of a white flour wrapping and a pomegranate-shaped dumpling with a twisted, semi-closed top. But most importantly, unlike the small Cantonese steamer that typically holds four Siumai, one steamer here in Beijing comes with ten Shaomai!

The varieties in our steamer of Assorted Shaomai (RMB 40 for 10 dumplings) included Pork and Leeks, Beef and Cilantro, Lamb, Vegetarian and, last but not least, the old and original recipe of Sanxian (pork, shrimp and sea cucumber). Call me old-fashioned but the Sanxian was far superior according to my tastebuds. Next time I won't even bother with the other flavors.



But the climax of the meal was the king of Shaomai, an exquisite Crab Roe (Xiehuang) dumpling that had to be ordered separately at RMB 16 a pop and came in its own little steamer. That's the price of a full lunch for a blue collar worker, packed into one bite-sized morsel. As Crab Meat and Roe is traditionally a Shanghainese speciality, I felt that this was starting to deviate from Beijing cuisine now.



And it did taste remarkably similar to the Xiefen Xiaolongbao (Soup Bun with Crab Roe) of Shanghai, with the robust flavor of golden crab roe mixed with the sweetness of fresh crab meat... and of course less soup and more meat than the Shanghainese version. Though I would hesitate to call it a traditional Beijing dish, this was an excellent Shaomai and certainly among best I've ever had. Not cheap, but money well spent.



A much more traditional Beijing dish was the Qianlong Baicai, a plate of fresh, crispy Chinese cabbages blended with a thick sesame vinaigrette. There's a local legend about Emperor Qianlong granting the name Duyichu to this once-nameless eatery, and it's not inconceivable that this dish originated during Qianlong's time, two-and-a-half centuries ago. The time-tested recipe had just the right amount of acidity for balancing the thickness of the sesame paste, and was the perfect palate cleanser after a meal of meat-and-cholesterol-filled dumplings.

Bill for Two Persons

Assorted Shaomai	RMB 40
Crab Roe Shaomai x 2	RMB 32
Qianlong Baicai	RMB 18
Pepsi	RMB 6
TOTAL	RMB 96 (CAD$14.5)

Food Review: SHAGUOJU, Main Branch (Qianmen, Beijing)
Address: 60 Xisi Nandajie, Xicheng District, Beijing
Hours: 11:00-22:00
Website/Map: From Dianping.com
Directions: Shaguoju is halfway between the stations of Xisi and Lingjinghutong on Subway Line 4. From Xisi station walk south along the main road of Xisi Nandajie. It's about 500m away on the left hand side.


This place has become one of my favourite restaurants in Beijing, on the basis of two dishes.

Only a few years younger than Duyichu above, Shaguoju is yet another 270-year-old Beijing culinary institution that started during the reign of Emperor Qianlong. The main claim to fame here is ... what else ... the Shaguo, or claypot dishes. In fact Shaguoju used to have a different name, but nobody seemed to care and eventually it became known as the “Place for Claypot Dishes.”

My own strategy when visiting these legendary old restaurants is to skip the other 20 pages of the menu, and pick only from the first section where they introduce the best dishes that made it famous in the first place. At Shaguoju we picked three from that section of the menu -- Ganshao Huangyu (Dry-Braised Yellow Fish), Jiemo Dun (Cabbages in Mustard Sauce), and of course the claypot dish of Suancai Bairou (Sliced Pork with Pickled Cabbages).



This ordinary-looking dish is what earned Shaguoju 270 years of fame, and it turned out much, much better than I imagined. You see, the Shanghainese, Cantonese and Sichuanese all have their own claypot specialties which typically make use of the hot clay surface to lightly sear the meat and herbs to add an extra layer of flavor. The Japanese concept of Dobanyaki works the same way. But inside this Pekinese claypot is a clear broth with pickled cabbages and potato starch noodles lining the bottom, and with meat placed on top. Compared with the rest of China, that's just backwards.

But one sip of the broth and I became a convert -- this historic recipe has brought these unassuming ingredients as close to perfection as can be. Sweet umami flavors from hours of bone-simmering has taken on the slight acidity of the pickled cabbages, which then perfectly balances the mild oiliness from the paper-thin slices of pork. Even the potato noodles became a highlight as they soaked up all the goodness of the broth like sponges. The pork itself was so flavorful that we barely touched the dipping sauce of fermented tofu and shrimp paste. And the best part was ... this wasn't even the best dish.



The best dish was this Ganshao Huangyu, which started with a fresh, swimming yellow croaker fish brought to our table for approval before being fried and finally braised in a sweet, sour and mildly hot sauce. The skin was crispy and spicy, the flesh was soft and sweet, and even the fins and tails were finger-licking good. Reasonably priced at RMB 88 per Jin (ie. 500g) this whole fish cost only RMB 114 (CAD$17.3), certainly less expensive than it looked as the centrepiece of a dinner at such a highly renowned place.



Finally the Jiemo Dun (Cabbages in Mustard Sauce) worked great as a traditional palate cleanser, especially after the bold and spicy yellow croaker fish. Once a peasant favourite during Beijing's cold and vegetable-deprived winters, the cabbage is lightly fermented with a ground mustard paste to be preserved for weeks. Though they may look menacingly yellow with the mustard, the cabbages were actually quite sweet and didn't really possess too powerful of a kick.

Frankly Shaguoju was better than I expected -- the trademark Sliced Pork with Pickled Cabbages did live up to 270 years of hype, and the Dry-Braised Yellow Fish was just spectacular. This is probably one of four restaurants in Beijing I won't hesitate to revisit on the next trip, along with Dadong, Najia Xiaoguan and Hongyuan Shuanroucheng.

Bill for Two Persons

Sliced Pork with Pickled Cabbages	RMB 32
Dry-Braised Yellow Croaker Fish (650g)	RMB 114.4
Cabbages in Mustard Sauce	RMB 12
Yanjing Beer	RMB 10
TOTAL	RMB 168.40 (CAD$25.5)

Food Review: TIANFUHAO (Various Branches, Beijing)
Address: Numerous stores, including one across from Quanjude on Qianmen Dajie
Hours: Generally open from late morning till early evening
Website/Map: Official Site


This is not a restaurant per se, but Beijing's most respected and trusted shop for take-out food over the past two-and-a-half centuries. Ask the locals about what they're having at their Chinese New Years Eve family dinner, and many will tell you the Sauced Pork Elbow of Tianfuhao. It's that good.



And it can make a totally authentic and quick dinner in your hotel room. Just drop the inner plastic package into an electric water kettle (or a boiling pot), heat for a few minutes then pour the content into a bowl. That's what I did at the picture above and it turned out restaurant-quality.

We even brought one of their ready-to-eat packages of chicken wings on our Great Wall hike (a strenuous 2.5 hours from Jinshanling to Simatai). Consider this option if you're taking a day-trip to the Great Wall or Chuandixia and want an authentic Beijing meal in the middle of nowhere. Your hiking partners will be envious.

Bill for Two Persons

Sauced Pork Elbow	RMB 28
Spicy Chicken Wings	RMB 20
TOTAL	RMB 48 (CAD$7.3)

Food Review: DAOXIANGCUN (Various Branches, Beijing)
Address: Numerous stores, including one on Dashilan pedestrian street
Hours: Generally open from late morning till early evening
Website/Map: Official Site


Again this is not a restaurant, but an old and historic bakery for traditional pastries. Even since this southern-style pastry shop opened its doors in 19th Century Beijing, the locals here have since embraced it and made the Beijing franchise the most successful of several Daoxiangcun franchises across China. The allure is simple -- delectable sweets, affordable prices, and the convenience of over a hundred outlets dotting every Beijing neighbourhood. In other words, there must be one near your hotel as well.



A local Beijingner recommended to me this Xianhua Meigui (Fresh Roses), a fluffy-skinned pastry with a filling of rose petals and peeled melon seeds. Sorry about the condition of the cakes in the photo -- the words Xianhua Meigui were originally stamped on top of the cake before they flaked off when I dropped them into my backpack. The sweetness was just right and reminded me somewhat of Hong Kong's Lo Po Beng (Wife's Pastry Cake).



But this Matcha Tea Pastry (Mochasu) was my favourite by far -- beautiful to behold until it crumbles softly in the mouth. It's not quite as bitter as most Japanese interpretations of Matcha sweets have it, but this mild sweetness is exactly how the locals here like it. And for the past century and a half, life itself was bitter enough that you wouldn't want more of it in your dessert. How's this for a history lesson in one bite?

Bill for Two Persons

Assorted Pastries

RMB 20 (CAD$3)

Beijing Food Trip - Part 3: Showdown of Two Peking Ducks

Crispy, succulent and dripping with finger-licking goodness, the plump, fruitwood-roasted Peking Duck is probably Beijing’s best known contribution to the culinary world. As my wife is a huge fan of everything duck from Quebecois Confit to Cantonese Barbecue, a major highlight of our Beijing Food Trip was to seek out two of the capital’s best restaurants for the two contrasting styles of Peking Duck -- Hanging Oven Style vs. Roasting Oven Style.



To narrow down our list of candidates, we again consulted local Chinese reviews on DianPing.com:
- Dadong: Hanging Oven Style. Review ratings are consistently off the charts for its legendarily crispy breast skin. Our pick.
- Bianyifang: Roasting Oven Style. Its 600-Year-Old recipe makes it one of the only remaining guardians of the old roasting style. Our pick.
- Quanjude: Hanging Oven Style. Most renowned of all Peking Duck restaurants and perhaps the most famous restaurant in China.
- Li Qun: Hanging Oven style. Its ducks are barbecued in front of diners in a wood-fire oven, which draws more foreigners than locals.
- Fuyuelou: Roasting Oven Style. Another rare devotee of the original style. Relatively cheaper and centrally located near Qianmen.


Food Review: BIANYIFANG, Hademen Branch (Chongwenmen, Beijing)
Address: 4th floor, 16 Chongwenmen Outer Street, Chongwen District, Beijing
Hours: 11:00-14:00, 17:00-21:30
Website/Map: From Dianping.com
Directions: From Chongwenmen subway station, walk south on Chongwenmen Outer Street for half a block. Bianyifang restaurant is located on the 4th floor of … guess what … the Bianyifang Building on the left side of the road.


The allure of Old Beijing comes from generations of traditional craftsmanship, passed down from grandmaster to master to apprentice. In the world of Peking Ducks tradition is synonymous with two names: Quanjude and Bianyifang, both established just outside the Front Gate of the Forbidden City back in the mid-1800s. For the past 150 years the battle of the two giants has nurtured two divergent styles of duck preparation -- the Hanging Oven (Gualu) Style of Quanjude vs. the Roasting Oven (Menlu) Style of Bianyifang.

And it was tradition that made us pick Bianyifang over Quanjude. While the Hanging Oven Style is a relatively recent invention at 150-years-young, the Roasting Oven Style, and the recipe claimed by Bianyifang, dates back from the 14th Year of Emperor Yongle, or Year 1416 in the Western world, before Columbus discovered the Americas.



We visited Bianyifang’s old and yet brand new Hademen branch, best known for a legendary "last supper" where 1,000 ducks were served on a single night to its religiously faithful clientele before the old building was demolished. The same old roasting oven from the old building has been carefully reassembled and is now churning out duck after duck in the new restaurant.



But traditions aside, the taste must still withstand the test of time. Most diners are amazed at the plumpness of the bird without appreciating the meticulous, almost surgical precision behind its preparation. First the duck is never gutted, but a hole is made under the armpit where the innards are excavated so that the abdomen can be inflated with air like a balloon. In the case of the Roasting Oven Style, the oven is first heated to a high temperature before the fire is extinguished and the bird is inserted for roasting. The end result is supposed to be an initial crisping of the skin followed by a juicy slow-roasting of the interior, as we were about to find out.



First we started with arguably the best part of the duck -- Foie Gras. Few foreigners realize that duck liver is likewise treasured in traditional Chinese cuisine as in its French counterpart -- in fact both achieve that rich creaminess of texture through force-feeding (Peking Duck is commonly called "Tianya," or force-fed duck). These slices of Yanshui Yagan (Brined Foie Gras) were just creamily soft and excellent as an appetizer, though the portion was a little heavy for the two of us.

When it comes to the choice of Roast Ducks, Bianyifang offers several variations based on the flavour of the soup stock filling the duck’s cavity during roasting. But for us there is only one worthy choice -- the "1416," named after the year its original recipe was conceived, nearly 600 years ago.



Our duck arrived after 30 minutes, escorted by its surgeon in white. With each calculated move the server carved half-moon-shaped slices off the carcass of the bird, down to the ribcage and leg bones. Each slice was remarkably uniform in size with a semi-circular sliver of perfectly browned skin hugging a wedge of moist, succulent meat. We soon ended up with two full dishes of meat, along with the unfilletable bits and pieces.



This Roasting Oven Style produced a duck with a browned but soft skin, a thin and visible under-layer of fat, and a very soft meat texture moistened at the same time by the melted fat and the soup stock inside duck’s cavity during the roasting process. The meat was actually somewhat similar to the Cantonese barbecued duck, only slightly leaner and more tender. And of course, a bowl of the milky white duck bone soup is free, or you can have the remainder of the carcass deep fried for an extra fee.



One whole duck for two people was just too much meat and we had to balance it with some vegetables. Our dish of Old Chef’s Sauteed Chinese Cabbages (Laochushi Chaobaicai) was wonderfully enhanced with old-fashioned pork rinds, an ingredient rarely seen nowadays.



The total bill of RMB 266 (CAD$40.3) for two isn’t cheap by Chinese standards -- it’s Beijing after all, and one of the city’s premier restaurants at that. But how many other restaurants in the world can boast a 600-year-old recipe? Kyoto’s Honke Owariya is the only other I can think of. Considering the uniqueness of the experience, I have no problem recommending Bianyifang to any reader who appreciates the attraction and romance of long-revered traditions. But if you’re just looking for the best Peking Duck ... well, scroll further down and read about our visit to Dadong.

Bill for Two Persons

1416 Roast Duck	RMB 148
Plain Crepes	RMB 6
Cucumber Sticks	RMB 3
Green Onions	RMB 3
Dipping Sauce x 2	RMB 4
Brined Foie Gras	RMB 38
Old Chef's Sauteed Chinese Cabbages	RMB 48
Yanjing Premium Draft	RMB 16
TOTAL	RMB 266 (CAD$40.3)

The goal of our Food Trip was to visit one restaurant serving the Roasting Oven Style, and one serving the Hanging Oven Style. As we already picked Bianyifang for the former, the latter was a toss between the venerable Quanjude vs. the innovative Dadong. We picked Dadong at the end, and it was one of the best decisions ever.


Food Review: DADONG KAOYADIAN, Dongsishitiao Branch (Dongcheng, Beijing)
Address: 22 Dongsishitiao Jia, Dongcheng District, Beijing
Hours: 11:00-24:00
Website/Map: From Dianping.com
Directions: Exit Dongsishitiao Station and walk west on Dongsishitiao Street. You will see a row of fascinating old houses (Nanxinchang) in the midst of skyscrapers. Dadong is at the bottom floor of the building right next to the old houses. It's somewhat hidden though, so be prepared to ask someone.


This is the best duck I've ever had. Period. Nothing comes even close.

How good is this place? Just look at its endless string of foreign embassy banquets ... and the nightly line-up of locals packing its modernist foyer. Dadong is unofficially dethroning the century-old giants -- duck for duck it already charges more than Quanjude and Bianyifang. But the experience awaiting the diner, as advertised by founder Dong Zhenxiang anyway, is the harmonious marriage between the age-old craft of Peking Duck and 21st century molecular gastronomy.



Never shying away from innovations, Dadong (a.k.a. Dongshi Shaohaishendian) has invented a novel technique based loosely upon the old Hanging Oven Style. First it skips the air-blowing technique traditionally used to separate the skin from the meat, and air dries the duck to reach a precise humidity content. Then it is roasted in the oven, at a certain precise temperature, for almost twice as long as the traditional recipe in an effort to completely melt away the underskin fat. And in order to retain the meat's flavours during the prolonged roasting process, the conventional step of filling the cavity with soup stock is skipped altogether. That's almost heresy to traditionalists but, as we found out, it was pure ecstasy for the tastebuds.



Dadong's magic is all about the skin -- in fact the first incision made by our serving chef was to carve out a 25cm x 8cm section of the breast skin, a rather unusual move. What made the skin so incredible was the seeming absence of visible underskin fat, replaced by a thin, delicate layer of browned brittleness achieved through prolonged roasting at the right temperature. This effectively deep-fried the underside of the skin within its own oil, which was then completely drained to reveal a golden, thunderously crispy and incredibly fragile piece of contiguous skin -- so fragile that the chef had to precariously slice it with surgical precision to avoid shattering it into pieces.



And the taste was just ... beyond words. The crunchiness was beyond crunchy as the skin would almost disintegrate at the push of my tongue. This was to be enjoyed with only a light dip in white sugar granules as the ladies of the Imperial Court preferred, and not to be overpowered by the thick dipping sauce.



Next up were the highly prized Yaliji, the two thin and flavourful strands of lean muscles on the sides of the backbone, also traditionally savoured without the sauce. Then it was off to the main course -- two little mounts of lean meat and crispy skin, all to be wrapped in crepes and Huoshao flatbread along with the variety of condiments provided. For myself though, green onions and dark dipping sauce was all the condiments I needed.



An unexpected interlude arrived in the middle of the meal -- a palate cleanser (meant to be a modern version of a Trou Normand?) in the form of a white peach sherbet. I suppose Dadong really wants to declare itself the leader in contemporary Chinese cuisine, but I thought this was somewhat over the top.



For our obligatory portion of greens we ordered the plain and simple Stir Fried Pea Sprouts (Qingchao Doumiao), a better palate cleanser than the sherbet in my opinion. Dadong is also famous for its house special fried eggplants, though that would have been too heavy for the two of us after finishing an entire duck by ourselves.



The meal did finish with the essential milky white soup made from duck bones, which was probably the only part of the duck that tasted conventional on this night. The Roast Duck set dinner did end up slightly more expensive than the same at Bianyifang, but it was also head and shoulders above anything I've ever had.



By now it should be quite clear who won the showdown. I will not hesitate to return to Dadong again and again, whenever I stop by Beijing. Bianyifang on the other hand is still a worthwhile experience, even just for the bragging rights of sampling a 600-year-old recipe. What about the famous Quanjude? Well ... every traveler needs an incentive for a next trip right?

Bill for Two Persons

Roast Duck	RMB 198
Condiments Set x 2	RMB 16
Stir Fried Pea Sprouts	RMB 42
Draft Beer x 2	RMB 30
10% Service Charge	RMB 28.6
TOTAL	RMB 314.6 (CAD$47.7)