Erland’s Ranting

Well, it’s been some time since I last posted here, mostly for lack of time and an internet connection, but I want to share a more detailed story with you from Beijing about one of my greatest loves, food.

…I was dubious about it from the first for three reasons: first, it was called a “Chinese” restaurant, which I figured no self-respecting local restaurant would actually call itself inside the country; second, there was a sign indicating that it was open 24 hours, always a bad sign; and finally, it had a picture of a caucasian chef beside the entrance. Despite all this, something drew me to it and it did looked like one of the better options in this area (better, at least, than the coffee lounge of the Novotel!) Well, it was a surprise inside and a dinner worth reporting in detail.

After entering the huge revolving doors, the way split in two, but a lecturn was directly in front with two women in full traditional dress standing behind it. Approaching them, I indicated a table for one and was lead through an ornate entrance into a spectacular room with marble tables, large wooden chairs, golden eating utensils, excessively ornate decorations on every wall, with the eye drawn down the room to an enormous throne and it’s accoutrements of decorating spears, materials and carvings. The room was completely empty of customers, despite an obviously extensive staff of varying roles. Being empty, it was also a little dark and some of the lights came on at the hands of hidden assistants with my approach. There were bottles of French wine on every table, as well as a golden spoon and gold-weighted chopsticks set on golden holders at every place. Right, I had come to the right place for an extravagant last dinner in Beijing.

As I settled myself, being helped off with my jacket, I was presented with the two kilogram menu. After looking through and seeing a number of enticing options, but not spotting any dumplings, which I knew Beijing was known for, I decided to see if I could get them anyway. One of the traditionally-dressed waitresses approached, but my lack of Mandarin and her limited English meant that I was referred on to another woman, who I believe was up in the ranks for the waitress, wearing a business suit. Understand here that I’m not trying to reinforce a ranking or power structure, but it was a strange arrangement that bears telling. There were also waitresses without traditional dress or a suit but dressed, I suppose, in smart but fairly standard waitress gear – seeing that they were instructed by the waitresses and undertook tasks like clearing away dishes, I took these to be the third level down staff. Anyway, the woman in the business suit, who spoke very good English, and flanked by three other wait staff, took my query as to whether they had dumplings. Half-way through trying to ask the question I realised I was now placing an order, no longer asking a question – in this place, perhaps, all requests might be met.

So, they were to make a plate of twelve dumplings – vegetarian, and, I was later to discover, organic – to order, stuffed with mushroom and Chinese cabbage. It was clear that the chef was to make them from scratch when I was asked if I was happy to wait an hour. I figured it was worth waiting for something that promised, if the decor was anything to go by, to be special. A waitress then brought a selection of three magazines for me to read. The other thing I ordered was an orange juice – “fresh squeezed?” they asked me – unheard of since I left Darwin, I eagerly agreed.

At this point – about ten past four in the afternoon – I realised that it would be dark by the time my food was ready and I would have lost my opportunity to visit Tiananmen Square, with my train leaving for Mongolia at 7:30am the next morning. I decided to hold on to my growing hunger and make my late lunch a dinner, heading out for an hour – the Square was within walking distance – and returning by five.

I’ll cover my little walk later, but suffice to say for now that I returned at 5:30pm and sat down to be presented with my freshly squeezed orange juice and, a few moments later, my plate of steaming dumplings. There were still no people in the main room of the restaurant but now all the lights were on, highlighting every corner of the room in all it’s regal splendour – in fact the restaurant was called “Royal”, though I hadn’t noticed this on my entrance. There was now a party in one of the private rooms which came off the main room, separated by decorated traditional sliding doors. In this place, what wasn’t decorated? Also of note was the bowls laid out for each guest – mine was removed, I suppose because they were for shared dishes and rice. The bowls were set inside an ornate golden holder which stood off the table and had a smoothly sliding hemisphere lid which covered the dish, keeping it warm when closed and slid beneath the bowl like the dark side of the moon when open.

The dumplings were amazing and well worth the wait despite my now ravenous hunger. I’m no food writer, so perhaps I don’t have the correct vocabulary to express my culinary appreciation, but these dumplings were something to indulge the mouth. Fresh, not too sticky, not too heavy, no glutinous pastry feeling, juicy… no more or less than delightful.

By this stage, as I say, my hunger was ravenous, so I asked for the menu again, also ordering a Jasmine tea. Looking through the tome of a menu it was difficult to decide on something, but I eventually settled on a bean curd dish. It was at this point, I think, that I started reading some of the information at the table – small promotional menus and descriptions of the restaurant as well as the advertisement for it in one of the magazines that had been left for me on the table. I then discovered that the restaurant served organic food and that it was set-up around the recreation of dishes from a massive banquet served at one time to some emperor or another. At the time, this had included many new, innovative dishes as well as specialities from the length and breadth of the vast territories that he controlled. The decoration which I’ve described was obviously designed to re-create the feeling of this imperial banquet and I saw now that the space was well arranged to cater for medium-sized or large groups around big tables in private rooms where variations on the set menu of the emperor’s banquet would be served.

The Jasmine tea was excellent, and got better as they kept refilling my cute little painted and lidded cup. Given the infrequency with which I drink Jasmine tea, I think it’s safe to say it was the best I’ve ever had – a description shared by the dumplings and the tofu, which was cooked to perfection. Again, I have not the words to describe the delicacy of flavour and the wonderful texture of this dish, but glean what you may from the photo.

I wanted to top the meal off with this yoghurt and freeze-dried fruit dish but I was dissuaded, once again by the business suit lady who explained that they had changed to a new type of yoghurt and it was too sour. I was recommended to try another dish which was lightly cooked apple pieces set in a kind of toffee which was served hot and melting with two waitresses stepping in to separate the pieces with deft and dramatic gestures of their chopsticks before it cooled and solidified into an unmanageable mass. Naturally, it was an excellent recommendation and I accompanied it with another fresh squeezed orange juice – remembering that by now I had been there an hour and a half or two since returning from my walk to Tiananmen Square.

With fresh Jasmine leaves, a little more contemplation and finally a coffee, I completed my culinary extravagance for the evening. The coffee was probably a mistake, being just on the acceptable side of ordinary, a wild deviation from the remarkable standard of the rest of the fare.

I went back to my guest-house in a state of deep satisfaction.