Monday morning this week they started demolishing the building on the corder of West Dawang Rd. and Jianwai. No chai or notice had ever appeared as warning. One morning they were simply tearing out the innards, and the next day they were jackhammering the structure in to rubble. The anchor tenant had always been a cheap-eats joint, but, in the best Chinese fashion, most of the building had been subdivided into little units and sublet out to small snack joints. Thus, in one mighty cataclysm, the breakfast habits of everyone in my neighborhood have been completely trashed. Gone are both of the diao zha shao mian bao (a.k.a. Tujia bing) places, both of the Xian fragrant butter beef bun (a.k.a. "nuclear beef bun") stalls, the duck-neck joint, the rou bing guy on the corner, the chuan stand, the supremely popular jian bing stall that always had an immense queue in the mornings, a brand new bubble tea place and, of course, the lottery and train ticket stall.

Honestly, the building's days were numbered. It was grungy and no doubt rat infested. It is safe to say that the documentation of most of the food stalls was suspect. But it's also a tiny neighborhood tragedy, and not just because the walk to the subway is an infernal pain now. I've always liked that corner, and its rotating cast of grungy eateries. Some of them were pretty good. I was particularly partial to one of the nuclear beef bun places (a winter staple), and I was fast gaining a taste for the better of the two Tujia bing places. Perhaps they'll pop up elsewhere in the neighborhood, but who knows.

This sense of impermanence is part of life in redeveloping Beijing. When I go back to my parents places in Palo Alto and San Francisco, I can go to neighborhood restaurants that were there when I was a child. Herb's Fine Food on 24th Street in San Francisco's Noe Valley has been serving up greaseburgers as far back as I can remember, and my dad moved into that area in 1974. In Beijing I know that Quanjude and Du Yi Chu and their ilk are institutions that date back to the unification of the Warring States, but I've learned to avoid any restaurant that was written up in my Chinese language textbooks, has a bronze "China Famous Brand" or "Official Tourist Restaurant" plaque, or, worse, all of the above.

So we learn to deal with the ebb and flow of neighborhood snack options. Beijing giveth, Beijing taketh away. Although a few of my favorite places are now gone, there is a new baozi place on that stretch that is doing roaring business. I hear that their beef baozi is a world-beater. And a cho toufu (stinky tofu) lady has set up her wok as well. Oddly (or, perhaps not), she set it up right next to the neighborhood rubbish tip, so for a few days I just thought the trash had become unusually fragrant for late Winter. I enjoy a fine stinky tofu (it appeals to people who like durians and runny cheeses), so I'll take advantage of her presence until the neighborhood residents complain.

And, like everybody else in the neighborhood, I'll wait to see what replaces the old West Dawang Rd. snack row. If we're lucky, it'll be a building purpose-built to accommodate a row of little snack places, and the corner will keep its vital atmosphere. If we break even, it'll just be an expansion of the Jingkelong convenience store that occupies the part of the building that hasn't been gutted (and which now hosts the lottery ticket stall). If we're unlucky, it'll be a Sinopec station and the neighborhood will have become that much more convenient, and that much less livable.