Congratulations! Ignore your waistline and be happy!

I have to admit to being a self-confessed foodie. (For “foodie”, other less kindly souls have referred to your favourite blogger as a born pig, but let’s not dwell on that for now.)

 

One of the fondest memories I have of my time spent in Dubai was being asked to write restaurant reviews for the English-language broadsheet Khaleej Times, thanks to its features editor Sushmita Bose, who had worked out in a moment of genius that she too could regularly get fantastic free meals by asking me to do the work of writing up the establishment while she came along as my minder. (I think that’s what you call a win-win-win situation. One eatery told me their business had quadrupled over night after my write up had appeared in print.)

 

So when Zhijuan – the principal of the Lang Ge English Language School where I occasionally perform – told me about a friend of hers who was co-owner of a jiaozi (dumplings) establishment based in Shuangjing, just south of the Guomao (World Trade Centre) in Beijing, my ears pricked up and I didn’t need a lot of persuading to go pay her a visit.

 

The jiaozi enterprise is called Gong Xi Gong Xi – which according to my Pleco instant iPhone translator means Congratulations!

 

 

“Gao Hua is my very best friend; and any friend of mine is a friend of hers,” said Zhijuan as she led me down subway lines 13 and 10 to Shuangjing station which opened out directly into the Viva! Mall. (A word to the wise: As I had already heard of two others, each being described as Zhijuan’s “best friend”, I can only assume that “very best” trumps “best” in terms of comparative friendship. Either that, or they each take the title on a rotating basis!)

 

Gong Xi 2 is obviously a popular munchery, judging by the amount of people. Hua is already there waiting for us, clucking over her brood of 13 staff like a mother hen, as the 120 places start filling up.

 

 

 

The first thing that strikes you is that the place is exceedingly clean – not something for which many of Beijing’s eateries are famous!

 

And the second thing you notice is that quite a bit of thought has been put into the décor …

 

 

…not overpowering and ‘in your face’, but a pleasing combination of colours and designs that even this colour-blind design-challenged blogger can well appreciate.

 

 

Naturally safety is high on the list of things that have been thought about…

 

 

while if you are just wanting to dash in, buy some dumplings and dash out again, you can do that; though why you would not want to park your sit-upon while enjoying the food is beyond me.

 

 

Even the lighting has been nicely thought out, with a series of birdie-lampshades featured along the outer wall of the restaurant.

 

 

 

I am introduced to Hua, whose English is about as good as my Chinese; and despite the fact that we neither of us can understand a word the other is saying without Zhijuan jumping in like a simultaneous translator at the UN, the latter’s promise of instant friendship comes to fruition within about 10 seconds of meeting her.

 

 

Within what feels like seconds, Hua’s waiting staff are bringing over a selection of jiaozi – boiled, steamed, and fried. First up we are treated to steamed marrow and egg dumplings (素蒸饺 – su zheng jiao) which all but melt in the mouth. I think the official English term for these is “more-ish” – ie you can’t stop eating them and always want to eat more.

 

 

Another plateful of more-ish dumplings arrive, but these are boiled and made from minced pork, squid and vegetables (恭喜饺子– gong xi jiao zi… which from the name you will realise is the house speciality). Fantabulous!

 

 

A third plate – this time of fried pork, water chestnuts, leeks and mushrooms (恭喜煎饺 – gong xi jian jiao) is laid out and immediately takes the level of my ‘fantabulosity’ index up another notch or two.

 

 

Oh, I should have mentioned that we each have our own little petrie dishes of vinegar and chilli oil for dipping the jiaozi into; though I follow the girls’ example and pour one into the other to make a delicious combined dip.

 

 

Gong Xi 2 doesn’t just do dumplings; to complement the jiaozi, we are also served a plate of 东北拉皮 – dong bei la pi, which consists of rice-powder-noodles (which are all but impossible to pick up with chopsticks), ultra thin beef slices, cucumber, bean sprouts and coriander. I make a mental note to try this out at the next dinner party I give.

 

 

And then, as if our stomachs are able to cram anything more in after all the above, we have a special jiaozi (榴莲饺 – liu lian jiao）filled with durian for afters. Durian, you will recall, is the large fruit that you see in markets across Asia which the majority of hotels ban you from taking back into your room, since the stench of the fruit is so over-powering. But used for the inside of a dumpling, it is just perfect!

 

 

Now, something else that is impressive about Gong Xi 2 is that if you are brave enough to order coffee in the majority of BJ’s restaurants you will normally be served with a horrid sickly sweet instant coffee that saps you of the will to live. Not so in this place. Here it tastes of real coffee and is certainly the equal of anything you will get served up in Starbucks or Costa.

 

 

The time passes all too quickly and I have to head on off to work while I leave the two ladies gossiping between themselves, putting the world to rights.

 

Before I leave, Hua tells me there is another branch of this restaurant near Sanlitun in the Shimao department store (opposite the Jingkelong supermarket). I make a mental note to tell all of my friends.

 

And to make it easy for them, I will tell them that to find this branch, they should go to Shuangjing on subway line 10, and leave from exit A.

 

 

Once they get to the lower-ground level (ie one escalator ride short of street level) they turn right into the mall’s lower ground floor.

 

Walk straight until you pass a McDonalds Ice cream sign on the right hand side (no, not the one on the left hand side…. It is the one on the right hand side you need) …

 

 

… and just after the escalators in the above picture you will reach a foodrepublic eatery. Immediately opposite said entrance is a pair of lifts.

 

 

Take one to the third floor, and as you make your exit, Gong Xi Gong Xi is immediately in front of you.

 

As they say Enjoy! And if you see Hua, tell her that your favourite blogger sent you… just so long as you tell her in your best Mandarin, of course.

Searching for Peace in Shanghai And Eating Lunch Through A Straw

Without a doubt, one of the most visited – if not THE most visited – tourist attraction in Shanghai is the Yuyuan – or Garden of Peace & Happiness. It’s slap in the middle of a bazaar area where vendors target the tourists in a wide area of small streets and pretty lanes.

 

 

 

Before you even get to the gardens, your first port of call has to be the Huxinting teahouse (湖心亭茶楼) which sits in the middle of a man-made lake and is thought to have been the inspiration for the famous 'Blue Willow' china and tableware. Built in 1784 by cotton merchants as a brokerage house, it was converted in 1855 into the quintessential Chinese teahouse. A two-storey, five-sided pavilion with red walls and upward curved eaves, it is often visited by government officials to entertain foreign VIPs. It is the oldest teahouse in Shanghai still in operation.

 

The teahouse is elegantly decorated in traditional Chinese style, and can accomodate more than 200 patrons at one time. To get to it you cross the Jiuquqiao - a 9-right-angled bridge (for it’s a well known fact that devils and demons can’t turn corners!) – but today … China’s National Day holiday … the hoardes of visitors make even the thought of stepping inside a total non starter.
 

 

The entire square is a wonderful sight, even with the thousands pushing and shoving their way around.

 

And once they have trudged round this square, it’s time to enter Yuyuan itself. And what a find! This has to be the best garden I have come across so far in China. It’s like stepping back in time and meandering through a maze of ponds and courtyards with traditional buildings, with always something to discover around every corner.
 

Yuyuan (豫园) was first conceived in 1559 during the Ming Dynasty by Pan Yunduan, the son of a minister, as a present for his father to enjoy in his old age. It was the largest and most prestigious of its era in Shanghai, but eventually its expense helped ruin the Pan family. It was then inherited by Zhang Zhaolin, the husband of Pan Yunduan's granddaughter, and then passed to different owners who renovated the increasingly decrepit grounds in 1760.
 

The gardens suffered a sad fate over the centuries, being extensively damaged during the Opium wars, the Taiping Rebellion, and by the Japanese in 1942 before being repaired by the Shanghai government from 1956 to 1961 when they were finally opened to the public. Today, they occupy an area of five acres and are divided into six general areas.
 

On first entering the garden, you come across a rockery, known appropriately as the Great Rockery. It’s 14 metres tall in places and is the largest as well as the oldest rockery in the southern stretches of the Yangtze River.

 

The paths are a delight to walk along, and you almost feel guilty stepping onto the little mosaic slabs that decorate your route throughout the park.

 

Each of the garden areas is separated by "dragon walls" with undulating grey tiled ridges, each terminating in a dragon's head.

 

And the Inner Garden (内园) features rockeries, ponds, pavilions, and towers. Sheer magic!

 

One of the centrepieces of the Garden is known as the Exquisite Jade Rock (玉玲珑), which I have to admit I hardly gave a second glance to when first setting eyes on it.
 

It’s about 4 metres high and weighs five tons - and it is certainly not jade! (Actually it is granite). It comes from Lake Tai in Wuxi, Jiangsu Province and is all wrinkled and full of holes (72 in all!) due to erosion by water.
 

The story goes that it was meant for the imperial palace in Beijing, but was salvaged after the boat that was carrying it sank off Shanghai. They say that if you burn a joss stick just below the rock, the smoke will magically float out from all of the holes. Similarly, when you pour water over the rock from above, the water will flow out from each hole creating a spectacular sight.

 

Rockery stones are to be found right throughout the Garden as one of the main features. It’s both very stark, whilst also feeling totally natural. It has the effect of pulling together the different elements of the Garden into one homogenous whole. Pretty it may not be; but impressive it certainly is!

 

Even the bridges are supported in the water by more of this rockery stone.
 

 

One thing I don’t like about Yuyuan, though, is some of the furniture on display – especially in the He Xu Hall. Yes, it looks like a wooden version of the rockery stone; and I’m sure it is very clever the way the wood has been worked into chairs. But I hate it.

 

The Yuhua Hall, on the other hand, is furnished with some quite spectacular rosewood pieces from the Ming Dynasty, albeit that I think my situpon would start complaining if I had to sit on them for any length of time!.

 

Craftsmanship is on display everywhere for all to see. Not just wooden furniture, but also some of the stone carvings, which are exquisite.

 

There’s also an ancient stage area which was built in 1888 and which is lavishly decorated with wood carvings framed in gold. Its ceiling has 22 rings joined by 20 curving lines and in the centre of the dome is a round mirror. Apparently this helps with the acoustics. They give concerts here as well – in fact there is even a flyer which invites one to sit and listen to music played on instruments made of china from Jingde Village. “The music of china is one of the great inventions in the Chinese history,” we are told “and Jingde Vilage (sic) is the celebrated capital of china in China. The categories of China instruments herein played are developed by the Jingde Villae (sic) Chorus”. Oh dear – I’m getting confused!

 

China china instruments not your cup of tea? (haha – china … cup of tea … get it?!) Never mind. Perhaps an exhibition entitled “Fanning the Summer while listening the Waves” is more your thing?

 

With well over 60 different fans on display, there is sure to be one or two you like.

 

This squirrel is one of my favourites, though I have yet to see a squirrel in China …

 

and as for this proud beastie, I think he’s splendid!

 

Anyone not speaking Chinese, and who didn’t know anything about Yuyuan might at first be taken with this sign. No, the 10,000 flowers is not a euphemism for the loo. It just so happens that Wanhua Chamber is in the same direction as the public conveniences!

 

Anyway, all good things must come to an end. And all this walking about has given your favourite blogger an appetite. Outside it is as crowded as ever…

 

My friend MeiLing has been telling me about a wonderful dumpling restaurant called NanXiang and it’s a stone’s throw from Yuyuan’s front gate. This is the real deal and probably Shanghai’s most celebrated dumpling stop.
 

You can’t get more Shanghainese than this. If you think the crowds are bad outside, wait till you see them shove for a plateful of Shanghai dumplings.
 

Level 1 (ie ground level) is for take away only and on level 2 you share tables with anyone else. For Level 3 you may have to take out a mortgage to eat there and on Level 4 you WILL need a mortgage! Cheapo Blogger goes to level 2!

 

 

Traditionally, the dumplings are filled with seasoned minced pork or pork mixed with crab, but there are also vegetarian options, such as mushrooms and chives. The dumplings are placed in a bamboo basket - hence their name ("xiao long bao" or "little basket dumplings"). It takes roughly 10 minutes to steam a basket, and then they're ready to serve. Dip them in vinegar first and they are quite delicious.
 

They also taste great with a beer, though it’s not often I am expected to drink a can of tsingtao through a straw!
 

 

But the pièce de resistance has to be the soup dumplings. This is one of the signature dishes of Shanghai. I mean, I’ve heard of dumplings in soup… but soup in a dumpling?
 

They’re incredible. The dumpling should have a thin skin, but still be strong enough to hold in a spoonful of soup alongside a thick pork filling. In preparation, the chefs mix the pork filling with a cold jellied stock that melts during the steaming process.
 

And there you have it. As if it’s not enough to drink your beer through a straw, you are even expected to drink your dumpling through a straw! How cool is that (just so long as you don’t burn yourself on its innards, which are piping hot!)

 

As Pop Larkin would have said in HE Bates’ famous “Darling Buds of May” – Just Perfick!

Cooking Liaoning Dumplings - Beijing Style

It was the popular 19th century American columnist Fanny Fern who first coined the phrase “The way to a man's heart is through his stomach” – though as Republican politician Robert Byrne retorted, "Anybody who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography"!

[An aside: I’ve often wondered that if the way to a man's heart really is through his stomach (and I have to say, I have my doubts), what organ do we go through to get to a woman's heart?]

I was waltzing with my friend Lixue at my Saturday evening dance class, when she asked me if I liked dumplings (it’s amazing the range of questions one has to field from some of the girls there.) Naturally, I told her I did. I mean, I’m a guy and I love my stomach. And at that self-same moment, the only recorded coherent sentence from Emperor Ferdinand I of Austria came to my mind: “I am the Emperor, and I want dumplings”.

And so it was that we decided there and then to set a date for me to be taught how to make Liaoning dumplings (for Lixue comes from this north eastern province of China which borders on the DPRK). Liaoning is famed for its food; and according to Wikipedia, Liao Cuisine is one of the eight famous cookery styles of China. Jiaozi (dumplings) and noodles form the staple foods of the area.

Before the appointed hour of her arrival, I rush out to Wumart to stock up on some of the necessaries that she has given to me as a shopping list and then do my gentlemanly duty of meeting her from the subway station and escorting her back to my place.

Alas, she is suffering from a sore throat, so before we knuckle down to the cookery lesson, I give her my own tutorial in sore-throat-manipulation: a mixture of honey, whisky and hawthorn juice, warmed up in the microwave and gargled down. This seems to do the trick and before one can say akhem akhem, she is busy chopping my prized pieces of pork fillet into a fine mince that would surely be the envy of many a butcher’s shop in the west.

While Lixue is busy hacking the poor pig into submission, it is my duty to fine chop an onion (no tears, big boy!) as well as a leek and some pak choi (that are standing in as a cabbage substitute), together with a few slivers of ginger…

and before you know it we have a dumpling mix whose aroma fills the kitchen. (It is only half an hour later that someone – mentioning no names, of course – realises that “we” forgot to add any oil to the mix; so a bottle of olive oil is extracted from the cupboard and a dollop is added. No one, we are sure, will be any the wiser.)

It is only at this point in time that Lixue admits to me that she has never made dumplings before in her life. Oh, she has seen her mother do them countless times, but she has always wondered if she could do them too – and guess whom she has chosen to be her first guinea-pig?

Now she tells me!

I quickly do some mental calculations. On the basis of what-is-the-worst-that-could-possibly-happen scenarios, I know I have enough eggs in the fridge to satisfy the most demanding of appetites, so we decide to carry on and see what we end up with. For who was it who said that it is (usually) better to travel hopefully than to arrive?

Next up, it’s play-dough time. I search my addled brain for any dough jokes I can come up with, but realise they wouldn’t translate well into Chinglish so instead I shake the flour canister (a.k.a. an old peach nectar juice bottle) as Lixue adds water and kneads the resultant dough into a ball.

The dough ball needs to “rest” a while after being pummelled into submission. Now, if you look at all the top chefs doing their cookery shows on TV, there are loads of them slurping back a few mouthfuls of beverage as they do so; so I work out this is a good time to introduce my Master Chefette to the joys of Gin and Tonic – except, of course, that this is China, so we settle for Gin and Sprite, which actually isn’t a bad substitute.

Already the thought of Liaoning Dumplings is tickling my taste buds. What is the difference between a Liaoning Dumpling and a dumpling from any other part of China, I ask her. Errr, not a lot, it would seem!

Next up I am shown the art of rolling the dough into flat discs. It looks so easy the way she turns the dough ball under the rolling pin, which goes back and forth over half the dough each time until she ends up with a perfect circle of wafer thin skins.

She picks up some of the filling and dollops it onto a skin …

and before you know it she is squeezing the skins and innards into raw dumplings.

Huh! What could be easier, thinks the Boy Wonder. As if reading my thoughts, Lixue stands back and “suggests” your favourite blogger has a go. Visions of a 1970s TV game show called The Generation Game immediately spring to mind, in which an expert shows the contestants how to do something seemingly easy-peasy and then stands back while the audience falls about laughing at the pathetic efforts of the contestants trying to remember the sequence of events – in this case flattening the dough ball, rolling the rolling pin halfway over the ball, gripping the resultant dough shape, giving it a semi turn and applying the rolling pin again and again until such time you (should) end up with a perfectly shaped disc.

I am left wondering if anyone can really tell, just by looking, which are my finished dumplings, and which ones Lixue has crafted. But by the time we have prepared 37 of the little blighters, there is not an awful lot to choose between them (he says, working on the principle that if you say something with enough conviction, there are always some people who will believe you, however much B-S is contained within your statement!)

[Time for an aside here, as I am reminded after committing the cardinal error of misplacing the chopsticks while working on the dough discs; you can place the chopsticks on top of the bowl…

or propped up against the side of the bowl…

but NEVER can you stick them up straight out of the food. It reminds the Chinese of placing incense sticks when paying respects to their ancestors, and so is extremely bad form / bad luck / bad manners should you ever do this at the table, or even when preparing Liaoning dumplings!]

The next problemette to be solved is how we are going to steam the raw dumplings. We consider using a rice cooker, before we discover there is actually a steaming pot, hidden away in one of the cupboards, which has never seen the light of day for the past nine months to my certain knowledge.

Eventually, some three hours after starting this marathon cookery lesson, it is lunch time. Lixue explains that a soy dip usually tastes better if you add some vinegar into it; and together with a sweet chilli sauce, we are ready for the off.

The looks of contentment / relief say it all. Has Lixue really never cooked a dumpling in her life before today? She assures me she really, really hasn’t. And I have to believe her.

I tell her she is welcome to come back and give me a cookery lesson again any time. But I guess that with her cooking skills, it won’t be long before some stomach other than mine points her in the direction of a yearning heart and she will finally be lost to the members of Gluttons Anonymous for ever more.