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) |
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