I haven't blogged for awhile for a number of reasons. I have much to share about my trip in Shandong, and the vineyards I visited. But I'm up to my ears in deadlines so that will have to wait.

Another reason I haven't written is that I've been floored by the news in Sichuan, I place I once lived and a part of China I love very much. I frequently travelled to Dujiangyan, close to the epicenter, and often slept on the slopes of Qingcheng mountain, which appears to lie near the very core of this horrible earthquake. I will always remember that place fondly, though my friends (some of whom were actually staying there, on the mountain, during the disaster) tell me that the teahouses and nong jia les where we once stayed are flattened. So are the temples that dot the hillsides there, apparently.

Below is an opinion piece I wrote after the quake, which I'll share with you here. I'll write more about my culinary adventures later. Until then, be safe, and do whatever you can to help out in Sichuan.

Worlds Collide

On Monday afternoon, in Shanghai, my dog leapt up and ran around the room like he was chasing a ghost. As I typed I felt my chair sway, and I thought, for an unsteady second, that the earth might have moved beneath me. Then I decided that I had probably drunk too much coffee, and returned to my work.

Thirty minutes later, reports of a 7.9 magnitude earthquake flashed across my screen. I was afraid and anxious. Chengdu was only 59 miles from the epicenter; Chengdu is a place I once used to live; and Chengdu is one of the kindest, easiest cities in China. Cell phone towers collapsed under the tremors so I couldn’t reach my friends there; I now know they are safe. But I fear that other people I’ve met in the Sichuan countryside, people that did much to shape my perception of the place, are probably not.

Six years ago I rode a rickety bus from Chengdu to Dujiangyan. This city, only an hour outside Sichuan’s capitol, is now buried beneath piles of recently poured concrete. Dujiangyan is not a beautiful place; though before all the factories, motorbikes and boxy apartment blocks, I’m sure that it was.

Sitting beside me on that bus was a construction worker named Du. His hair was combed slick, his shirt pressed and buttoned to the top, and his black loafers spit-polished. His obvious curiosity manifested itself in a close, awkward stare – to ease our nerves I struck up conversation. He was open and kind, this man who was returning home to see his family for the first time in a year. He had been everywhere in China: Beijing, Xinjiang, Shenzhen, Hong Kong, Lhasa. During all that traveling, he explained, he had never left the construction site.

When we got to the city, which lies on the fringe of a mountain range that jumps up out of the smoky Sichuan Basin, the compact construction worker managed to secretly slip the bus driver my fare. This was embarrassing; after all, I managed to spend more on dinner than he might in a month. But he beamed. As a sort of compensation, he asked me to get on the back of a motorcycle and follow him to meet his newly-born daughter. I obliged, even though this was the first time he too would see her face. I was taken aback by the intimacy of the gesture. But that happens a lot in this part of China, to people like me.

At their home I took a tour of the local fields and their fish pond, and I held his four month old daughter as she blew bubbles from fat, wind-burned cheeks. We ate a carp, deep-fried and spicy, and the pungent local greens they plucked along a narrow dirt path that served as their road. It was a perfect afternoon, dry and not too hot, and as I made my way up the mountain I promised to return. I would come again to meet their beautiful daughter, whom Du promised would call me uncle the next time I arrived.

I returned many times to Dujiangyan, and to Qingcheng Shan, the bamboo carpeted mountain that looms over the city. The fault lines under that mountain, where the great Tibetan plateau smashes into China, are the ones that have shaken this country to its core. But I never made it back Du’s home.

These past several months have been a divisive time for many of us living in China; one that I’ve had a difficult time reconciling in my mind. The nationalism that has washed over this place in ugly waves has been a dehumanizing thing. For the Chinese, the West’s unflattering perception of China has also been a threatening, bewildering phenomenon. And as the political and cultural divide has widened, many of us have forgotten that we’re all people. Innately kind, curious, hopeful people. The kind that might pay for a stranger’s bus ticket, and invite him home to hold his newborn daughter.

I’m eternally grateful that I had that chance.

May 4th Square, Qingdao, Shandong Province:

That kite measures about 10 meters long, and it was but one of several edible sea creatures riding the brisk ocean breezes here over the May holiday. I also enjoyed watching the flying shrimp, and the airborne mackerel.

I'm on the road right now, and as soon as I get ahold of a fast internet connection I'll post some pictures of my culinary adventures in Shandong. Until I have that opportunity, I'll share with you some observations.

The seafood here is fresher and more varied than what I found in Ningbo. But the best things I've tried were at the Qingdao Restaurant, and they didn't swim. Crisp zucchini blossoms deep-fried and served with a stinging side of vinegar and garlic; garlic so sharp that it was actually spicy. That, and a classic five-spiced braise of pork chops, with little bits of tender meat clinging to the bone. I washed all this down with a surprisingly good Huadong Riesling. The wine was floral and fruity on the nose and, while thin and rather short-lived on the palate, it was about as good a dry white wine as I’ve tried in China. And, at RMB 78, it’s a steal. I’ll be visiting the vineyard tomorrow and will certainly have more to share (I’m here on an assignment, writing about Chinese wineries).

Last evening, as myself and my girlfriend strolled around Qingdao’s de facto Korea town, I stumbled upon a place I simply had to try. It was a divey joint where graffiti covered the walls, and young Korean kids were drinking sochu and beer and digging into some delicious looking noodles and other barfood (Qingdao, I’m told, has an estimated 100,000 Korean expats). No one spoke Chinese or English, and the menus were indecipherable, so I tried the point and shoot method of ordering with the help of some fairly inebriated but very friendly patrons. And this is what I got: A plate of nachos, topped with kimchi (much better than you might think), a plate of chicken nuggets made in the McDonald’s style, and three fried eggs on an iron grill. Certainly not what I had expected, but a fairly logical spread if, like my friends, you’d been slamming ‘Korean whiskey’ well into the wee hours.

Note: ‘Korean whiskey,’ as it was cheekily explained to me, is a bit like a sake bomb. Take a shot of sweet sochu, pour it into a glass, fill with beer, cover with napkin, smack on table, and quickly consume. Not for the faint of heart (or a couple on a quiet night out, as it were) but certainly better than a shot of baijiu.

Ningbo has a lot in common with Shanghai. Like the Ming-style courtyard homes which used to dot both of these cities (Ningbo still has a few left, as you can see below). Ningbo also has a Bund, although it now bears little resemblance to its former self. In fact, in the days before the Opium Wars, Ningbo had far more economic gravity than Shanghai – and when the trade winds shifted north, many Ningbo (and Cantonese) traders headed there to do business . They brought their food with them – many Shanghainese seafood dishes were birthed in this significantly older city. Though, over the years, they've been adapted to meet Shanghai's demanding sweet tooth.

I didn’t really do much more than scratch the surface during my two days here, but I did manage to eat well. I like Ningbo’s market-style restaurants – where you select your fish, clams, prawns, squid or whatever else strikes your fancy, and they quickly cook it for you in a simple, restrained manner. The cooking is very straightforward – salt, a few preserved vegetables, and ginger are the primary flavoring agents, and garlic, soy and sugar are used sparingly. It allows the flavors of the fresh seafood to shine through, rather than be bullied by heavy sauces. Case in point, these tiny fish below in a light soy and yellow wine broth:

The quintessential Ningbo dish is yellow croaker cooked with mustard greens, some matchsticks of bamboo, and a dash of rice wine. The fish is remarkably mild (almost, but not quite tasteless) and the two treatments of the dish I had here didn’t overpower the fish’s subtlety. Here’s the one I ate at Lao Ningbo, yesterday at lunch time:

But the best thing I gobbled down was a stew made from huang dou (yellow soybeans) and pig’s feet. It was thick and richly filling, but very simple. The only flavors, save for the pork, soybeans and salt, was a smattering of chopped green onions on top. It reminded me of my mother’s navy bean soup.

The freshest seafood I encountered here was the humblest. Like these miniscule squid, stir fried with jiu cai. It seems very likely that many of these recipes haven't changed in hundreds of years. Except for the advent of msg, of course, whose subtle tingle kept me reaching for Ningbo's remarkably watery local beer (1.9% alcohol). That's a soft drink in most places.

I’m not sure if the food in Ningbo warrants a trip (after all, you can find all of this at Ningbo restaurants in Shanghai) but when the Hangzhou Bay Bridge opens this May 2nd it might. The quiet lanes of Ningbo, and the beautiful Tian Yi Ge library that lies within them, will only be a two hour drive away.

I arrived in sleepy Ningbo late on Sunday night, and after a long stroll around Half Moon Park, a couple cups of tea beside the lake and a cheap (15 kuai!) foot massage, I realized that I had forgotten something: Dinner. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to eat in Ningbo after 11pm, at least where I was staying. There ARE countless crayfish shops (which are probably only outnumbered here by hair salons – the kind where they actually do cut hair).

There’s an ancient saying that goes like this: “When the cool moon shines in Ningbo, the people eat freshwater lobsters. Then they get a hair wash in their pyjamas and go to sleep.” Or something like that.

Anyways, I don’t eat crayfish in China because I occasionally go to wholesale seafood markets and I’ve seen and smelled these mud bugs before they’re washed and boiled. I think it’s sensible not to. So I ambled back to the Crowne Plaza (nice save for the steel-clad mattresses), ordered a cheeseburger, and switched on CNN (sorry if that offends anyone).

Forty minutes later this is what I got:



I took a bite, and to my horror I had a soft, cool mouthful of totally raw beef in my mouth. In my starving state, this was highly disturbing. After berating the front desk, and pleading with the boy they sent to my room to give me something edible soon, I was treated to a very decent bowl of wontons. It turns out that it was the night chef’s first day, and, as the waiter shamefully admitted the chef had never cooked a hamburger before.
I guess that’s that's the price you pay for not eating seafood in Ningbo.

Next up: Things that were good to eat in this formidable food town.

Chefs and restaurant managers in town might be feeling a little unsettled this weekend, as the Shanghai edition of that maroon-hued bible of dining, The Zagat Guide, is being peeled off the presses as I write. There is a press launch on Tuesday, where Shanghai’s insular food media folks will gather, sneer at each other, and shake their heads at all those numbers. To get in the spirit, I’ve decided to write a little Zagatty ditty about my neighborhood noodle shop:

“Be careful not to slip” on the bok choi at “this slapdash neighborhood noodle shack” where “guys with long fingernails” serve up "steaming bowls of dubious noodles" with “enough msg to stun a rhinoceros.” Still, “the beer flows like water (and tastes like it, too)” and “lunch costs less than a napkin on the Bund.”  Ah, that was fun.


It’s mango season. Right now, Hainan mangoes are in full swing and they’re damn cheap (about RMB 3.5-6 per jin). They’re also juicy and delicious, and excellent when dipped in a little salt, sugar and chili powder. Try it out.

Last week I met Dane Clouston, who’s a great addition to Shanghai’s growing number of very respectable chefs. Dane formerly ran Opia, the restaurant inside Hong Kong’s Jia hotel. The New Zealand native has moved to Shanghai to kick start the operations at the new Puli Hotel, which you can see morphing into a five-star luxury palace as your taxi coughs and sputters on the elevated highway next to Jing An temple. I’m looking forward to trying his food.

In the coming weeks I will be traveling to Ningbo, Qingdao and Yantai to do some food and travel pieces. If anyone has any recommendations about where to go and what to eat in any of these cities, please leave comments below!

It’s a beautiful sunny day, and so I’ll leave you with a beautifully sunny shot of something to eat that I took in Shimla, a hill station in India’s Himachal Pradesh. These are some wonderful potato pancakes with fennel seed cooked on a griddle, in a golden puddle of ghee. From the cook’s viewing perspective, you could see the Himalayas springing up in the distance. Enjoy.

“You’d think Mister Tsuri would’ve tasted the food before he opened his stadium,” slurred a jovial member of our dinner party, as we spilled sake down our throats in a red-shag-carpeted cube.

“There is no Mister Tsuri,” I explained. “It’s called Matsuri – it’s a name, not a person.”

“Shut up and drink,” he shouted, toasting over a table scattered with half-eaten dishes.

That pretty much summed up our experience at ‘Matsuri 123 Japanese Food Stadium’, Shanghai’s wackiest all-you-can-eat-and-drink establishment, located in the bowels of Hongqiao. It’s a massive collection of all things edible and Japanese (and a few, sad-looking foreign offerings) under one roof. There are a dozen stations specializing in a certain style of cooking: grilled yakitori, crispy kushiage (little breaded fried things on sticks), sushi, sashimi, stews, oily tempura of all shapes and sizes, okonomiyaki (a sort of squid-studded pancake), salads, desserts and much more I can’t seem to remember. This is probably because the best stuff we consumed came from the Hamilton Bar, the final stop on the foraging circuit before you return to your padded room.

The food is not exceptional, though it will probably satisfy fans of open-ended, Japanese eating. The sashimi was not terribly fresh, the sushi was passable, and the yakitori wasn't cooked with the precision you get at places that specialize in it. But there's a lot of stuff to try, and some of it is good: particularly the crunchy fried eel bones (don't knock it till you try it) and the deep fried balls of bacon-wrapped mushrooms. Mmmm. Deep fried bacon.

Matsuri is surely one of Shanghai’s quirkiest dining rooms, which makes eating here considerably more fun than at your average Japanese joint. There are huge booths molded in the shape of peaches that appear to float on water, those dozen cooking stations which are done up in colorful Japanese kitsch, and a kids area where Ultraman keeps an eye on the little ones. Opposite the bar, a giant brass Buddha watches over this tacky gastronomic orgy with a wide smile. It’s hard to keep a straight face in these surrounds.

Matsuri 123 Japanese Food Stadium is located at 2789 Yan’an Xi Lu near Hongxu Lu. Call ahead at 6262 7123 to reserve your very own shag-carpeted room.

Have you eaten Michael Wendling's food yet? If not, you probably should. The talented Frenchman, who can always be found manning the open kitchen at Allure, is also usually wearing a bright smile. But his friendly ease belies a precise, elegant cooking style that tilts toward the great old Gallic three stars, which is not incidental. He learned many of his tricks at Georges Blanc.

Last year, some Shanghai hack wrote that Allure, despite the obvious limitations of the space, was one of Asia's Best New Hotel Restaurants for Travel + Leisure. You can see the article here. Why? Because Michael's cooking combined with the informed but relaxed service of his longtime teammate Fannie adds up to a really polished dining experience.

Try this man's madelines!

For the next several months, Allure is running a Saturday lunch promotion where Wendling picks a region (I tried Alsace) and serves his nuanced take on traditional dishes, paired with wines from that place. It’s also an amazing deal at RMB 238+, considering the quality and quantity of the food (if you leave hungry, you might have an eating problem). And if you bring 4 people, you get a bottle of wine from that region, rather than a glass each.

Meals start with a salad and three small starters, followed by a main and dessert. I had a wonderful dish of braised veal with a richly acidic Gewurztraminer reduction that was served atop a neat ladder of asparagus, followed by a crisp apple tart with crème fraiche ice cream. It was better than good. There is one Saturday left in the Alsace promotion, and the Loire valley is next up. I can’t wait until they hop down to Burgundy. Mmm... frog's legs.

Call Allure at 3318 9999 for reservations. It’s located on the lobby level of the Le Royal Meridien Hotel, 789 Nanjing Lu.

Eating healthily is a sensible, if not always pleasurable, endeavor. The quest to count calories, part of the game, also provides an interesting narrative to otherwise mundane eating experiences. I really enjoy reading the nutritional information (and ingredients) on things like the intangibly pleasing Slim Jim. But culinary watchdog-ism can go too far, and after reading this Guardian story I think that in New York it has.

From now on, all chains with at least 15 outlets in the NY metropolitan area must publish, on their menus, the calorie counts of their different dishes. Besides reducing eating to a numbers game, I think that this is just one more indication of the lack of intellect and/or common sense of American consumer. If you’re fat, and you eat a lot of fast food, one might surmise that that food is fatty and that you should eat less of it. Does anyone, anywhere, really think that a Whopper or a bucket of KFC or a Big Mac is not killing them softly?

It’s sad that government feels the need to protect people from things they put in their mouth. You’d think that our species would have evolved past this point where the mayor thinks it’s necessary to order for the table. Food safety is one thing, food sense quite another.

My labrador Chauncey, on the other hand, could use some nutritional guidance. But it’d be hard to stick a label on the month-old chicken bones he pries from underneath the dumpster, or the dusty socks hiding beneath my sofa. Maybe scratch-and-sniff stickers would work.

"I know I shouldn't - these old Pumas are soooooo high in cholesterol. Maybe I'll have a dirty tissue instead..."

Who knows what they were thinking. Wait, I know:

"It can't be that hard to waltz into Shanghai, open up a three-storey brewery with hundreds of seats, investment millions in the buildout and pay crazy rent, and turn a neat profit, right?"

Well, sadly, it was. Let's see if the Hofbrau Haus can make something of this very impressive space...

And do something about that awful music. Richard Marx doesn't make anyone want to drink hefeweizen; it makes them want to leave.