I haven’t made a recommendation like this before, but I am going to suggest a little restaurant that my wife and I discovered last weekend. I had such a congenial experience there that I’d like to share it. Furthermore, after all of the recent, gloomy ranting, it seems worth writing a bit about the engaging and friendly side of China.

One of the things I love about Beijing is that the glamour of the town is skin-deep. Go a block or two away from any tourist site and you’re back in olde Beijing. This is as true of the area around Tian’anmen and Qianmen as it is anywhere else. My wife and I had been accompanying my visiting mother on a fairly aimless wander through the hutongs just south of Tian’anmen Square and the heat was putting us in the mood for a couple of cold beers. On our way along Xian Yu Kou Jie, back toward the main road, we passed a side alley in which a young man was shaving traditional, knife-cut noodles from a large block of dough into a wok full of boiling water. I stopped to take a photograph and we admired his handiwork for a few moments.

It really wasn’t much of a restaurant: a grungy, bare, concrete cubicle with one table out front, three tables inside, and a scattering of plastic chairs. Ambiance hadn’t been as much of a design consideration as minimal capital outlay. Red decal characters spelled out the name of the restaurant, Xiangcun Jiaren (Village Family), and the hopeful words “Shanxi Delicacies” on the grungy windows.

Noticing our attention, the round-cheeked proprietor came bustling out with an enormous grin and energetically waved us in. “Hand-made Shanxi noodles!” she exclaimed. “Give them a try!” My wife and I looked at each other. “Well, we could get a beer here, I guess,” I offered. We were promptly bundled inside.

The one other inside table was jammed with hard-drinking locals, but foreigners were evidently in short supply at Xiangcun Jiaren as the bubbly proprietor immediately planted herself at the table with us and started chatting us up.

Madame Wang Zhiping, as she introduced herself, is a master saleswoman. And she loved to talk. We were treated to an extensive lecture that ranged across several topics:

Her family: Originally from Shanxi, they have been on the move running businesses for several years. They finally decided to settle in Beijing an open a restaurant six months ago, in the search for some stability, while the daughter is in school back in Shanxi. Mme. Wang and her husband run the restaurant together and are busy training their son to take over (he was the one shaving the noodles).

The rent: 2300 yuan (US$280) a month for a one year contract for two rooms on the corner of Chang Hang Er Tiao and Xian Yu Kou Jie. But they may have to relocate.

Her principles: She refuses to charge foreigners more than locals because she feels its bad for business, and if she treats people well they’ll be back with friends in tow (or perhaps that they’ll blog about her restaurant). She backed this up by charging us so little I had to assume we weren’t being foxed.

The secret to a good bowl of knife-cut Shanxi noodles: It’s all in the vinegar. Mme. Wang is very proud of her noodles, and she’s proud of Shanxi vinegar, the key ingredient in a successful bowl of Shanxi noodles. Shanxi vinegar, we were instructed, has many excellent properties. Among other things, its good for health, beauty, digestion and, wait for it, slimming (note to self: import business opportunity in America). It also owes its mellow flavor to the use of raisins in the fermentation. And there was Shanxi vinegar on every table (well, all four), being served from baijiu squeeze bottles that had been emptied --in the breech, one must suppose-- and refilled from bulk bottles of vinegar. (The alarming phenomenon of 100 proof baijiu being swilled from squeeze-bottles like a sport-drink is a topic for later discussion.)

Furthermore, we were told, a successful bowl of noodles depends on the broth. Good broth means good noodles. Crappy broth means crappy noodles. So, I asked, what’s in the broth? This impudent question brought a squeal of outrage. It’s secret, I was lectured. She couldn’t have a cloud of knockoff Shanxi noodle joints poaching the Wang family recipe!

We were full from lunch and hadn’t intended to eat, but my wife is Singaporean. Discussing food in front of a Singaporean is like dangling a strip of bacon in front of a golden retriever. Hypnosis and scarfing will ensue. So we ordered a bowl of Shanxi noodles along with a tall Yanjing. The beer was served nicely cold, never a given in Beijing.

The  noodles were great. Nice and firm in a tangy broth. I am sold on the merits of Mme. Wang’s secret recipe noodle broth and magical Shanxi vinegar. I’d urge anyone interested in a decent bowl of noodles and a lecture on Shanxi cuisine to pay a visit.

Food: ***1/2
Ambience: Nil
Price: ¢
Service: *****

Our meal:
One small bowl Shanxi noodles: 3 yuan
One tall Yanjing: 2 yuan (cheapest I’ve found)
Two iced green teas: 3 yuan each
Total bill: 11 yuan (US$1.40)

Where to find it:
Chang Hang Er Tiao (No. 2 Long Alley) right off of Xian Yu Kou Jie, the commercial alley that heads east off of Qianmen Dajie just south of Qianjude, the dismal tourist duck restaurant. The intersection with Chang Hang Er Tiao is about 200 yards east of Qianmen Dajie.


Shaving the dough.
Mme. Wang lectures my wife.
Hurry back. And bring
your friends.