The Forbidden Stomach

Michelin gone flat

2010-01-14T16:19:00.031+08:00

I love Italian food. Pizza, pasta, Monica Bellucci. Yummy.

A country that produces such a wonderful being can't do too badly with its cuisine, right? Yes. But at a restaurant tipped by some as Beijing' best Italian meal, the experience was, well, not exactly as awesome as Monica.

Sadler Ristorante (10- 65591399) was set up by Claudio Sadler, an Italian two-star Michelin chef - a rare find in Beijing where Michelin is known more for tyres than food. Nestled inside the lovely Chien'men 23, a calming enclave of Beijing I can never get sick of, the restaurant has a chic and clean decor, nicely lit in the day with generous daylight.

Some reviewers have even hailed the place as "Italian cuisine at its finest", so naturally, I went there with high expectations. But alas, the supposedly star-studded meal failed to move the heavens.

It got off to a really good start though. The bread basket (more plate than basket actually) came with five different types of dough delights and an amazing pre-appetiser before the three-course lunch. It was a mousse made from parmesan cheese, garnished with a crispy fried parmesan fritter and balsamic vinegar gelatin (below). Soft, creamy and a great spread on the warm and fluffy bread.

The dishes that followed were a little less impressive. The pasta appetiser was tasty but also a tad unusual on the palate - spaghetti tossed with zucchinis and cherry tomatoes, accompanied by dashes of green and brown sauces with a hint of fish stock and roasted vegetable and breadcrumbs (I think). It was just an all-round odd combination. The breadcrumbs in particular, did not go well with the spaghetti.

Next was seafood soup, very much like a stew of fish and shellfish. It was aromatic and the seafood, very fresh - always a treat in Beijing, where fresh seafood is as rare as clean air. But what spoilt it was the cous cous inside the soup. It soaked up the soup even before you could slurp much of it.

Finally, the dessert of panna cotta. It tasted of sweet vanilla, but somehow did not really sweeten the meal. Rather bland way to end a rather ordinary meal.

To be fair, the wine and wait staff were superb. The waiters and waitresses were friendly and attentive, without being overbearing. Also, I was there for the set lunch, which was about 160 yuan per person (without alcohol). Perhaps, just perhaps, the best is saved for dinner?

The Duck Nazi

2010-01-01T21:51:00.021+08:00

A new year, a fresh discovery - Liqun Peking Duck. This is the place where foreigners come so that they can eat like the locals. But when so many expats flock over, erm, where are the locals? Case in point: I had French and Japanese as neighbours at adjacent tables earlier tonight.

The reason why foreigners love Liqun is because it is local. It is buried in a hutong (traditional Beijing alleyways), it is squeezy, greasy and presentation is not present. Basically, it feels like China.

Forget exquisite personal servings of sauces and cucumbers. Here, they are slopped on a common plate for everyone. Forget bamboo steamers that can keep your dough skin warm. At Liqun, it is served on a plate, that's that.

But still the customers come and they are happy to be treated as pesky irritants to be brushed off rather than pampered. Here's an actual conversation that I overheard:

Chief Bitch Waitress (CBW): Your bill is 426 yuan.

Japanese girl: Erm, I didn't ask for the bill.

CBW: It's time to leave.

Poor Jap chick: But...but, we haven't finished our meal.

CBW: I told you on the phone that everyone has only an hour to eat. You came at 6.40pm. It is 8.20pm now. Can you see the long line there (pointing)? You have to go. There are kids waiting, they are hungry. You have to go.

The poor Jap girl was seen packing whatever remained of her dinner into plastic boxes. How do you like that for customer service? But for Liqun, this is how it is. When I made my reservation, I was told of their bizarre rule - they accept reservations for a duck, but not for a table. This is so they can roast your duck in time, to be served to you quickly upon arrival since you have only an hour to eat. The 60 minutes countdown starts once you get a table.

I guess when your clientele includes Al Gore, Christopher Hill, Jet Li and just about every known and unknown Chinese celebrity - all their pictures greasily plastered on its grimy walls - you can get away with treating your customers like they are ducks with venereal disease.

It helps that they serve up a fine bird too. But the winner in Liqun's emsemble was the dough skin. It was so amazingly thin it was almost trunslucent. I have been to plenty of renowned Peking Duck places around this city, but I had never seen anything quite like this. The best part about it was that despite its thinness, it did not tear easily. It could still easily wrap up the oily slices of duck meat and skin. Fantastic!

At just 190 for a full bird, including the condiments, Liqun (010-67055578), which is southeast of the Tiananmen Square, is slightly cheaper than Duck de Chine and Dadong. Just put up with the surly service and make sure you wolf down your duck real fast.

Dimsum de Chine

2009-12-19T21:18:00.014+08:00

Here's my idea of an ideal Sunday in Beijing: Get up early at about 11am. Work off some calories with my 2-kg dumbbells. Pile back the calories with a lovely dim sum lunch. But with my favourite haunt having some kind of extreme makeover for the last few months and will open only in the new year, I have had to search for alternatives.

It has been a disappointing hunt. So disappointing that I shouldn't call it a hunt. I gave up after just one try. It was the darn Westin and despite charging a premium and having Chinese Cirque du Soleil-like acrobats performing in their restaurant, their dim sum sucked. The siew mais were lumpy, the egg tarts were lukewarm and the pork ribs were, gasp, undercooked. Even my grandmother could do better.

As you can see, the restaurant looked lovely. But I was there for the food and I expected better when I was paying more than S$20. That was some months back. I was disheartened. My ideal Sunday routine was in ruins. I could try harder to find another dim sum restaurant or I could sulk. Like any mature adult, I chose to sleep later and skip Sunday lunch altogether.

But fortuitously, on a wild night out to attack a Peking Duck, I realised that the bird restaurant Duck de Chin e serves dim sum for lunch too. I did my mental Logic 101. Premise 1 - it was set up by a Hong Konger. Premise 2 - its duck is good shit. So Conclusion - Dim Sum must also be good shit. My university lecturers must be so proud of me.

So last Sunday, I re-embraced an early Sunday morning and popped lovely tiny pieces of exquisite dim sum into the Forbidden Stomach. It was, to be honest, not the best. But it was definitely more than competent. The chye tow kuay did not have Comfort Inn's crispy edges, but it was tender and did not overload the rice flour. I thought the bean sprouts was a nice touch too.

The standard dim sum dishes like siew mai and hakao were not bad either, having thin skins and fairly juice insides. And at Duck de Chine, you can never fault the service. Ever attentive staff, quick to top up my cup of chrysathemum tea. It was reasonably priced too, with quite a few items at half price. Me and my party of five paid about 80 yuan (S$16) each, no complaints. DDC's dim sum may not make the Dim Sum Olympics. But it is certainly good enough for, erm, the Asian Games?

Sergeant grabs attention

2009-12-12T16:26:00.016+08:00

For chicken rice lovers, Beijing is a fowl haven. While I still struggle to find a decent plate of char kway teow here, there is no lack of yummy Hainanese chicken rice. I have blogged about the bizarrely good plate at Hard Rock Cafe and there have been other decent offerings in the Chinese capital. But this latest entry into the crowded scene has been getting rave reviews from Singaporeans.

Sergeant's Chicken Rice is reportedly set up by one of the original Mandarin Hotel Chatterbox chefs - the same dudes who somehow managed to convince a generation of Singaporeans to pay S$20 for a plate of room-temperature chicken and rice. I know it is good, but I could never understand those willing to pay obscene money for hawker food.

Anyway, Sergeant seems very much like the Siamese twin of Food Republic, following the food court brand rather faithfully - even to Beijing. Food Republic has an outlet here at Viva Plaza （富丽广场） and not surprisingly, the military chicken brand came along. In no time, Singaporeans here have been calling it the "Best Chicken Rice in Beijing". And no one consulted me??? Basket.

Whatever lah, all these self-styled food critics. They don't even have like a proper food blog. Hmph! Sulk. (Ok ok, I have not been blogging very frequently, but hey, this blog is still active, alive and it did take me 15 minutes to set it up). Bloody hell.

Well, after weeks of hearing good things about the Sergeant from those non-qualified critics, I checked it out earlier today. After getting past the dumbass food court system of paying for a prepaid card before you could order food, I managed to get my hands on a nicely put-together plate of chicken rice. The presentation would be familiar to most Singaporeans, an arrangement which I believe came from Chatterbox.

Now for the verdict. It was good. But the best in Beijing? I would withold that honour, for now. I believe the plate at Prima Taste Kitchen gives it a good fight. While the chicken was tender and nicely drenched in soya sauce, it was a tad too cold for me. The meat was supposed to be in room temperature, but not cold. The rice was fragrant and the chilli - possibly the most important part of the chicken rice for me - was sour and slightly pungent with excessive garlic, as it should be.

But the biggest winner? Its price. At only 25 yuan (S$5), it is possibly the cheapest plate of Hainanese chicken rice in a city where Singapore hawker fare is regarded as expat food. Prima charges more than 50 yuan, for example. Good on the stomach, easy on the wallet. Looks like I will be back. Maybe tomorrow.

All-Star burger

2009-11-07T18:23:00.015+08:00

I have not blogged for three months, and of course, it is not my fault. The darn Chinese government still refuses to lift the ban on Blogspot and it has been having a big buffet of events, leaving me with more meal times with Maggi than Maison Boulud.

But fret not, my dear clan of fans. The Forbidden Stomach is back from its three-month long diet! And it just ate a whopper of a meal. I have been wanting to try the All-Star Sports Bar & Grill ever since I read that Californians tagged its hamburgers as the next best thing to In-N-Out's.

Its burgers have also been named by a local magazine as the city's best last year. So naturally, I went for the cheese hotdog.

Thankfully, my friends had the good sense to order the All-Star Hamburgers and thankfully, I was shameless enough to just pinch their burgers. It was quite lovely and the reviews did not over hype it. There was horseradish and that gave it an extra bit of zing and the buns were well grilled with the edges dark brown and crispy. There was also a nice big juicy slice of tomato, which is always a treat for me. Add in a splash of hot sauce, and it is quite the perfect burger.

Can't say the same for my cheese hotdog though. It was decent enough, but nothing to shout about. If the hamburgers can match California's In-N-Out, the dogs aren't even close to Manhattan's Gray's Papayas. The side dishes were disappointing too. Coleslaw seemed to have some odd spices and the slim fries were nowhere close to McDonald's famed golden crisps.

But for the burger and the 65 plasma screens that broadcast just about any sports events in the world, it is worth a trip to this rather quiet and lonely strip by the edge of Solana Centre. It is supposed to operate round the clock, but call to check (10-5905-6999).

Perverted hot wings

2009-08-05T16:28:00.025+08:00

Its name is strangely boring - Hot Bean Cooperative (炒豆合作社）. The word "cooperative" makes me think of NTUC and stunningly awesome music videos like this.

But there is nothing to cringe at Hot Bean. It is one of the hippest and coolest local joints in Beijing, and perhaps one of the best places for tourists who want a quick snapshot of where creative young Beijingers head to for a chill night out on a hot summer's night.

Located inside one of the traditional Beijing alleyways called hutong (named Hot Bean hutong, hence the name of the eatery), the Cooperative has a crummy entrance bathed in a red light that really reminds me of Geylang brothels from decades back (I was there for the beef hor fun).

The walls of Hot Bean are plastered with spacey murals like these, reminding some of Ultraman, others of Star Trek. I find them cute, but strangely spooky and sends me back to a macho period in my life when I sat with my baby nephew as he watched Teletubbies in the middle of the night.

That somewhat odd and kooky feeling was made worse by the two cats that the young owners of Hot Bean kept in a cage above the entrance. Really weird. I guess you can say I don't really like pussies on top.

But if the whole place felt a bit out of step with my old bones, then the food was a right match. Hot Bean (10-8401-6165) is more or less like a Chinese Yakitori restaurant, serving barbequed wings and other BBQ delights. Of course, it is at a mere fraction of what you would pay at Jap yakitori restaurant. Budget about 40 yuan per person, cold beer included.

The main draw was the chicken wings and I highly recommend the "Perverted Hot Wings". It was too spicy for most normal human beings, so just sit back, watch your idiotic friends torture themselves and revel in their misery. Hahaha...

Go for the BBQ Bacon, which is supposed to be a favourite among the guys. Certainly true for me. The wings and the bacon were served in a metal bucket, on metal skewers. There's something quite barbaric and manly about biting those wings off a metal skewer. I like.

The Orchard Rude

2009-07-12T21:08:00.015+08:00

After a rough week in Xinjiang, I was looking forward to a brunch excursion which I had tied down with a bunch of friends earlier. It is an "excursion" because unlike pretty much all the restaurants that I go to, The Orchard is in the boondocks of Beijing.

For good ol' Beijingers, it would not even be considered part of the city. The Orchard is located in Shunyi, some 30 minutes' drive from downtown and near the Fifth Ring Road - which means it is like the backside of Beijing.

But Shunyi is quite a piece of ass. Located near the airport, it has been developed into something like a mini-Florida suburb for expats, with big bungalows, gated communities and old people. Of course, such a crowd usually have quite a bit of renminbi to burn, so a nice crop of restaurants have popped up in this crevice of the capital.

The Orchard, which comes with a lake, is among the most famous and quite highly recommended by expats, especially those old enough to stay in Shunyi.

The restaurant is located in, yup, an orchard. It's supposedly a big deal because you see fruit trees. Why? I have no clue. I guess some city folk swoon and get orgasmic when they see fruit trees - "Check out those apples on the tree!! Wow!!". To me, they are just trees. Give me the juice anyday sir.

Still, I have to admit that it was nice to be in a fruit orchard on a Sunday afternoon. The Sun was out and its Beijing brother, the Smog, was there too. Ah, lovely. Sunny Beijing pollution. It's no wonder I missed this city when I was in Xinjiang.

But first impressions last and The Orchard screwed that up BIG BIG time with me. We reached the place at about 11.40am and since I was hungry, I decided to go check out the buffet spread. We were in a restaurant after all. If I wasn't thinking of looking for food, why be there? But no no no. The Orchard had other ideas. We were unceremoniously shooed out of the buffet area because brunch could only be served at 12 sharp. "You have to leave this area now!," commanded a waitress. Or maybe it was because she wasn't pleased that my friend astutely pointed out that there was a cockroach in the bread baskets. This door (below) was then slammed shut. Bitch.

Anyway, just before the door was closed, I took out my camera to snap a few pictures of the spread (not the roach), but the waitress barked: "You cannot take pictures here!" There was none of the, "I'm sorry Sir, but we do not allow photography in our premises." The rudeness cheesed me off big time. And to make things worse, I later saw signs plastered on the walls saying that if anyone wanted to take pics, they have to pay the restaurant 300 yuan for 30 minutes of shooting time.

Seriously, were they serving bread rolls on naked women? Who the hell in the right frame of mind would pay 300 yuan (that's about S$65) to take pictures? And at 180 yuan per person for the buffet (which is majorly expensive by Beijing's standards), I jolly well think I deserve to take pictures of the stuff I pay and eat.

I was hoping the food - continental spread - would salvage the outing, but I was sorely disappointed. Except for the bread which was quite fluffy and delicious when served without the roach, the other dishes were awfully ordinary. The roast beef was rather stiff and cream pasta was forgettable.

But the place was packed. Maybe that's why they can afford to be rude and harbour insects. I guess some people do like food in the boondocks. As for me, I will stick to the city. Not really an ass kind of man.

Belly belly warm

2009-06-26T15:23:00.014+08:00

Summer is here and Beijing is so bloody hot that I almost wish for winter to return. When such moronic thoughts enter my mind, I know I am close to a heat stroke as the mercury approaches 39 degrees celsius.

In times of such unbearable sauna, I look to the locals to find ways to get used to the heat. Here's what I have learnt.

One, roll your T-shirt up to your chest, revealing your belly. Ladies can try it too. I have seen young Beijing chicks doing it. Sexy, right?

Two, do not switch on the air-conditioner. That's what most Beijing taxi drivers do. Some people tell me it's because they want to save petrol. I don't believe them. I think the cabbies are just trying to help me get used to the Beijing heat.

Three, embrace the heat and dine al fresco. All of a sudden, the pavements of Beijing are filled with tables spilling out of restaurants. Just three months ago, if someone told me to go for al fresco dining here, I would probably tell them to go suck my thermometer. But now, wow, it is like no one is eating indoors anymore.

To fit in, I decided to have drinks outdoors the other day at Fez Bar (10-6559-6266), a chic watering hole at the historic Legation Quarter. If the place was charming and serene in the day, it was also charming and serene at night.

The bar takes on a Moroccan theme, which means that I have absolutely no idea what it means. But there were a few tents and some days beds, giving some sort of Arabian flavour. Set on the third floor, the bar offered a nice view of the peaceful Legation Quarter, especially on a quiet warm summer weeknight. Enjoy the view!

Five-star dim sum

2009-06-18T18:14:00.025+08:00

Ask someone in Singapore for the best dim sum in town and chances are, they will point you to a couple of top-end hotels - Goodwood Park and Shangri-La. Now ask someone in Beijing for the best dim sum in town and they will say "Comfort Inn". What? Comfort what? This is just wrong. Three-star hotels are not supposed to have five-star restaurants.

But such is the peculiarity of the food scene here that you get good stuff in places least expected, especially for those establishments which have been around for a long time. You have yummylicious Hainanese Chicken Rice at Hard Roc k Ca fe, so I guess top notch dim sum at Comfort Inn should not be that shocking.

Still, I approached Comfort Inn last Sunday with quite a bit of hungry skepticism. Perhaps it was good donkey years ago when Beijing had more carts than cars, when desperate expats gratefully lapped up anything? But is it still "the best", as claimed by some longtime Beijing Singaporeans?

It is. Pure and simple. Victory hands down. Call off the contest. The Golden Tripod Attic is like S-League compared to the Comfort's English Premier League standards. The dim sum at this place is out of this world and into the next.

The hotel's restaurant, which was first set up in Guangdong province, is actually named Kaiyue. But what the heck, let's just call it Comfort Inn. It's easier. And as you can tell from the pics below, the restaurant is really quite comfortable. Lots of private rooms to choose from.

We ordered a bunch of dim sum, which is really the best way to enjoy the Cantonese delight. And every basket or plate that was served met the salivating approval of me and my friends.

Carrot cake, sliced into little and almost symmetrical cubes, crispy edges, tender insides.

Chee cheong fun, cut into short sticks with a skin so thin it was translucent.

Siew mai and har kow, steamed to perfection, juicy and not oily, allowing you to savour the freshness of the shrimps.

Lo mai kai, killer. Absolute killer. It was so good it was unreal. The glutinous rice so soft that the slightest touch with your chopsticks cut apart the rectangular delight. Slices of shiitake mushrooms and pork belly within. Awesome.

Only the char siew bao (in the background) was not world class. It was still good, but I thought the buns could have been softer and more fluffier.

But as with any place which is popular with Singaporeans, you know it's because there's something free. At Comfort Inn (10-8523-6668), you get free fruits and .... 豆花! (How do you translate that? Bean curd jelly? Any suggestions?) Sorry for this blurry pic. A stupid auntie started scooping furiously when I was about to snap.

Budget about 70 yuan per person. Quite a cheap price to pay for the best dim sum in town.

Bird bird yakitori

2009-06-13T16:59:00.015+08:00

I really should apologise for not posting in the last few weeks. But I'm not going to. The Chinese government should be the one saying sorry. Those dicksters bloody hell banned Blogspot recently, making it damn troublesome for me to access my blog, not to mention post on it. So my legions of fans here in Beijing, I'm afraid you won't be able to check out The Forbidden Stomach for some time. Let's hope those dicksters lift the ban soon.

Enough complaining. Let's talk about something happy - Tori Tei, a Japanese yakitori restaurant. Its Chinese name is 鸟亭, which literally means Bird Pavilion. I know it may be childish, but somehow, I find it a really funny name. No self-respecting restaurant in Singapore would be caught dead with "bird" as its name. I think it has something to do with the fact that the Hokkien phrase for "penis" sounds just like the Hokkien word for "bird". So back home, it is quite common for parents, especially those from my parents' generation, to refer to a young boy's missile as "bird bird" (yes, in English!).

Not that I would ever try to tell the Tori Tei boss to change the name. Given how good the business is, I doubt he would really care if his restaurant reminds a cock Singaporean of penis. Check out the packed house.

I have been to Tori Tei three times and this tiny hut was always packed - usually with lots of Japanese men. That, as always, is the surest sign that this joint meets the high standards of the Japanese. You don't see a lot of Japanese at Yoshinoya, do you?

With the BBQ-ing done just next to the tables, smoke truly does get in your eyes if you are seated rather near the pit. But the smoke, the cosiness of the eatery, the loud chattering by the Japanese execs make the restaurant special. In the company of fellow white-collared workers knocking back whiskey and beer, it is the perfect place to unwind after a long day in the office.

The best way to enjoy Tori Tei, in my opinion, is to order a whole variety of yakitori in one go, some bottles of Asahi or Kirin (only 15 yuan per bottle!) and just sit back and enjoy the evening. I would highly recommend the chicken wings (my favouritest), sliced pork belly, chicken balls (tsukune), chicken liver and also the mackerel - superbly well done with a crispy skin and tender meat. But to be honest, everything is good. If you are adventurous, go for the chicken cartilage (nankotsu) too.

I have never ordered any of the noodles or rice, but if you are an old grandmother who must have your carbo, the gyoza is lovely. And rest assured that the ramen is good stuff too. Tori Tei belongs to the same boss as Original Come House (remember??), and you can have your choice of Miso Ramen etc. Isn't this place wonderful?

Budget about 70 yuan per person, including alcohol. For top-notch yakitori, it is a steal. It is not easy to find the place so here's the number 10-6461-4513 to call for directions. Be sure to make a reservation too. But if you really can't get a seat, go to the adjacent Original Come House and order the yakitori from there. The name is just as funny, but it won't be half as fun.

The perfect dish

2009-05-22T18:54:00.027+08:00

Think of a dish which pretty much has everything that you want in food. In other words, if you have to choose a last meal and there is only going to be one dish served, what would it be? I know mine. It's a Korean dish called Budae Jigae.

If you have never heard of it, you need help. It is the best. Let me tell you the story behind the dish first. Budae Jigae means "army stew" and the name came about because of the Korean War. Meat was scarce and grateful South Koreans lapped up the spam given to them by the American soldiers. They threw the spam into a spicy hotpot with kimchi as its soup base, and Budae Jigae was born!

Today, a lot more than spam is added into the stew. There are sausages, ham, salami and even instant noodles. Why do I like it? Because it is spicy, sour, warm, and it has instant noodles and spam! What's there not to like? It's just awesome. It's luncheon meat spicy noodles. The PERFECT dish.

Many people asked me after I blogged about Dear Leader's babes what is the difference between South and North Korean dishes. I think the best answer is Budae Jigae. It is the one dish that the North definitely does not serve - not surprising if you think about how the dish came about.

Anyway, since I arrived in Beijing, I have been desperately trying to find a restaurant that serves it and does it well. Hit a couple of places, but no luck. One night recently, I decided to try Suraon, which has been getting good reviews. It is clearly a restaurant with one of the prettiest exterior designs. Check out this mini Water Cube lookalike.

The interior was surprisingly boring, with most of the space carved out into plenty of private dining rooms. But once I saw Budae Jigae listed on the menu, I didn't give a shit if they had shit painted on the walls. I have found my perfect dish in Beijing!

There were other dishes and the steamed egg, I must say, was soft and fluffy, quite delicious. But frankly, I didn't care much about the other dishes or the myriad of complementary side dishes. Budae Jigae, Budae Jigae!

In some other restaurants where I have had this dish, they usually just cook the food right at the table, somewhat like a steamboat except that all the cooking is done for you. But at Suraon (10-8456-8008), they cooked it by the side and was going to serve it into bowls when I stopped the waitress and asked her to just bring the entire pot to the table. I prefer to see my favourite dish bubbling along as I attacked the spam and ramen.

It was, of course, lovely. Spicy, sour and with instant noodles. I can die happy now. How much was it? I have no idea. Money is not an issue when you are talking about your last meal.

Hard Rock chicken

2009-05-14T22:30:00.019+08:00

There are only five types of people who still go to the Hard Rock Cafe in Beijing.

1) Losers who still think that Hard Rock T-shirts are cool.

2) Clueless tourists staying at the adjacent Sheraton who have no idea where to grab a decent bite in Beijing.

3) Prostitutes.

4) Men looking for prostitutes.

5) Singaporeans.

Yes, I am not kidding. There really are a lot of prostitutes in the Beijing Hard Rock. In fact, it is a well-known fact of the city. Need hookers? Go Hard Rock - at night, preferably after 10pm. A reliable source told me that there are so many ladies of the night that the restaurant should be renamed Hard Cock Cafe.

As for Singaporeans, that is the other weird bit about the Beijing HRC, and the reason why I was there earlier this evening (contrary to what you may think, I do not belong to Category 4). Besides being well-known for its hookers and mud pie, the Hard Rock here is also famous for its Hainanese Chicken Rice. It is the most bizarre of things, I know. But not long after arriving in Beijing and hunting desperately for good Singapore hawker fare, someone told me that the Hard Rock Cafe is the place to go for chicken rice. I went: "What? Hard Rock? Chicken Rice? Don't bluff." But veteran Singaporeans here verified it and since then whenever I told other Singapore friends of this chickadee nugget, they went: "What? Hard Rock? Chicken Rice? Don't bluff."

Apparently, when the Beijing Hard Rock was opened in 1994, they had a Singaporean chef and he introduced Hainanese Chicken Rice, Singapore style, to the rockers. I had to find out if the dish still sits there in the Dynasty of Rock and so tonight, I gathered two Singapore friends and headed down memory lane.

I was there early and quickly checked the menu. Holy chickens, there it was! Right next to Seafood Spaghetti and sharing pride of place with New York Strip Steak was the Hainanese Chicken Rice! My goodness, maybe Elvis really is alive.

And although the poor waiter shot us funny looks because we asked for metal forks and spoons, it really was quite an enjoyable meal. Presented like the "high-end" chicken rice served in Singapore hotels at 10 times the price of hawker centres, it came as a set, with a soup, a tray of chicken and even a tray of fried bean curd. The wait staff even asked beforehand if we wanted breast or leg meat. They have obviously been well trained on the finer points of Hainanese Chicken Rice.

The meat was rather tender, although if you compare it to the Kees of Singapore (you know, Boon Tong Kee, Wee Nam Kee et al), then of course, it was at least a notch below. But the rice was fragrant and not soggy like how most Beijing rice is served. The chilli was also authentic, although I would have preferred it to be a little spicier. At 79 yuan, it was expensive. But it beats the other chicken rice I have tried so far in the Chinese capital.

It was, as my friend Pat said, a rather "surreal" experience to be eating Hainanese Chicken Rice in a Hard Rock. Glance up from the table and there was Janet Jackson's blue silk blouse. The music videos showed Patty Smyth and New Order. The band played Creedence's Susie Q. It was time to leave. We had finished our chicken rice. And the hookers were about to take over their turf.

Quarter of peace

2009-04-29T17:43:00.038+08:00

I have a feeling we are not in Beijing anymore.

Beautiful isn't it? It sure doesn't look like the Chinese capital. Clear blue skies, beautiful Spring sunshine and the lovely scent of manicured lawn. A jazz band playing to a tiny crowd. Kids running around, their parents' SUVs parked neatly by Western colonial buildings. It could have been a scene from any university towns in the US. But it is Beijing. In fact, it is right next to the heart of the city - the Tiananmen Square.

Named the Legation Quarter, this place can be best described to Singaporeans as Beijing's Chijmes. But it is far quieter, more exclusive and with a richer history. So named because it used to house embassies of Western powers in the last days of the Qing Dynasty, much of it was destroyed and vandalised because of the Cultural Revolution and Beijing's development. What's left is the former premises of the American Embassy and it now hosts restaurants and bars.

The top draw among the restaurants is Maison Boulud (10-6559-9200) - a Michelin-rated French restaurant by celebrity Manhattan chef Daniel Boulud. Located in a two-story European building with high ceilings and a grand double staircase, it screams high end from top to bottom. And since the closest I had been to a Michelin was when watching F1, it seemed about time for me to embrace the culinary tyre man.

I chose Sunday brunch. Because it was cheap. It was 98 yuan for a course, 158 for two and 208 for three. If you order four, it would be 238, but no one should be eating that much so don't be a greedy bastard and go for four courses. Anyway, it's a reasonable rate for a chef who once served President Barack Obama. Yes, as you can tell, I am so bragging. Have you had what Obama had? No? So there. Shuddup. It is not "Yes We Can". It is "Yes I Can".

The brunch got off to a good start with a lovely selection of pastries and danish, delightfully laid out on the table with flowers, slabs of butter and apple sauce among others.

The Fettucini Carbonara with poached yolk and black pepper pork belly was not too creamy, and with the yolk mixing in the pasta, it had a nice eggy stickiness.

But the real winner is the signature DB (named after the chef, not Donkey Balls) burger, which came with a thick layer of patty complete with pieces of foie gras. The accompanying fries were heavenly. I also had a bite of the Lamb on Ciabatta, with mayonnaise and some brown special sauce over the thin and soft slices of lamb.

Tribute must also be given to the service staff. Attentive, but not obsequious. Poised, but not arrogant. They earned every cent of the service charge. They go perfectly with Maison Boulud's classic early 20th century design.

But for Legation Quarter, the events of early 20th century have evidently still not passed it by. When I was leaving the compound, I noticed that the name "Legation Quarter" has been scratched out, leaving only "Qianmen 23" (its new name). After some research, I found out that the management has done away with the historic name - likely as a result of pressure from the government. The original Legation Quarter has remained a sore place for some Chinese, who see it as a sign of foreign aggression. The Western powers established the quarter after hammering the Qing government and they enjoyed extra-territorial rights in the complex. It is still regarded as a humiliating episode for many Chinese today.

It's yet another disappointing instance of unnecessary and overbearing Chinese nationalism. Shanghai's French Concession is still called the French Concession. I certainly don't see the Shanghainese moping around feeling humiliated. Isn't it a stronger nationalist statement that these places which once banned the natives are now still bearing the same name, but owned and patronised by Chinese?

Emperor's siew mai

2009-04-25T19:31:00.038+08:00

One of the delights of dining in Beijing is the chance to sample food with a heritage so long it is only matched by the queues outside their restaurants. I know I have written of imperial food claims which cannot be proven. But Duyichu is one which is verifiable and certifiable - by the Chinese government no less. And if you are a good Singaporean, you know that governments don't lie.

But Duyichu is truly genuine stuff. The name itself says it all, giving the famous eatery a story which is really quite lovely. Duyichu, or 都一处 - which simply means A Place in the Capital - is a name given to the restaurant by the famous Qianlong Emperor (the dude below) of the Qing Dynasty.

Now, for those of you who are not familiar with imperial Chinese history, this is highly significant because emperors did not visit restaurants or fast food joints like presidents or prime ministers would today. Happily cloistered within the Forbidden City with their 3,000 concubines (lucky bastards!), they did not venture out to mingle with the ordinary folk like you. So how did Qianlong come to give this place a name?

The story went that he was heading back to Beijing after a visit to Tongzhou dressed in ordinary clothes (Qianlong loved to tour China incognito so that he could see the real country). When he reached the gates of Beijing, he was tired and wanted a place to eat and rest his half-dead horses. But it was late in the day and it was on the eve of the Chinese New Year. All shops were closed except for this shabby little place called Mr Wang's Tavern.

Nonetheless, the thirsty Son of Heaven went in and was charmed by the dishes whipped up by Mr Wang. When he subsequently revealed his identity to Mr Wang, the boss asked the Emperor to give him a better name for his restaurant. Qianlong said: "All shops are closed. Yours is the only place in the capital still opened. Let's just call it A Place in the Capital!"

That was not the end of the story. Qianlong, who must have been damn bloody free, went back to his palace, wrote out Duyichu in Chinese calligraphy, had eunuchs mounted it on a signboard and delivered it to Mr Wang.

Okay seriously, this is like big shit. Don't think this is just like a Singapore hawker happily posing with Kym Ng at her stall and showing off that picture. This is way way way bigger. This is like striking massive lottery and knowing that the next 10 generations of your family can smoke opium, shoot marbles or play catching AND still be rolling in riches. It is that big.

That was 1738. Yes my friends, it's nearly three centuries ago. And guess what, Duyichu is still rolling in riches!! Milking Qianlong's visit till today - and seriously, they will be dumb not to - his sculptures were prominently displayed at the entrance and the story was repeated on the menu, the posters on the wall and even the paper wrapper they used for the chopsticks. The line outside the restaurant is almost perpetually there - even in winter. The waitress in charge of the queue seemed to get a kick out of telling desperate customers like me that even after getting in, you had to wait at least 40 minutes for your food. Bloody Qianlong.

For some reason, Duyichu came to be known for its siew mai, which has been labelled a national heritage by the Chinese government. (PS: I will continue my work to do likewise for laksa, chwee kueh, chicken rice and maggi mee goreng). Even the lamps in the restaurant were shaped like siew mais (see below). Haha. While Singaporeans are used to the Cantonese variant of siew mai with shrimps and pork, Duyichu served a variety of fillings and the siew mai itself was done quite differently from what you would get from dim sum restaurants around the world.

The Cantonese siew mai is small and yellowish, while the Beijing variant is big and white with the top bunched up like a flower. My suggestion is to go for the Assorted Basket (32 yuan), which is 10 siew mai of five different fillings - pork with scalllion; pork with sea cucumber and shrimps; lamb; vegetarian; and shrimps with leek. It allowed me to sample as wide a variety of the siew mais as possible. To be honest, I prefer the Cantonese-styled siew mais. It is cuter and more exquisite.

That is not to say that Duyichu was a disappointment. The pan-fried pork floss (12 yuan), which came in sticks, was surprisingly good. I have never had pork floss deep fried before. The starchy bowl of sauteed pork livers (8 yuan) was yummy too. But the best, of course, must be a dish which Mr Qianlong had on that fateful 1738 day. Named "Qianlong Cabbage", it is a cold dish with peanut sesame paste drenched over the cabbage, adding a sprinkle of vinegar. It was wonderful. Truly good enough for an Emperor.

As befits the status of Duyichu, it is now located at Qianmen (literally "Front Door"), which is one of Beijing's oldest areas as well as the traditional gate to enter the imperial city proper back in Qianlong's days.

Located south of the Tiananmen Square, Qianmen main street has been converted into a horrendously fake tourist wonderland, looking more like Disneyland Main Street than an authentic ancient Beijing street. That's modernity in Beijing, where heritage usually gives way to headless commercialism. I don't have a problem with them remaking a place to keep it modern, relevant and hygienic. But this effort is a joke. Check out the dumb ass big bird cages which lined the street.

So enjoy the joke of a scene while you queue up at Duyichu (10-6702-1555), which does not take reservations. Too bad, you are not an emperor.

Dear Leader's babes

2009-04-13T20:57:00.017+08:00

There are memorable dining experiences in Beijing and then there are the plain weird ones. Hae Dang Hwa (海棠花）belonged to the latter. Ostensibly, it looked like a regular Korean restaurant, off a busy street in central Beijing. But it was not. This was Dear Leader's territory. Yes, my dear bourgeois friends, it was a North Korean restaurant. And not just any North Korean restaurant. Hae Dang Hwa was reportedly operated by the North Korean government itself. In Singapore, we would call it Government Linked Companies. In Beijing, it is State Owned Enterprises. I guess in Pyongyang, it should just be called Dear Leader's Playboy Mansion yah?

Well, that would not be a moniker too far off. Uncle Kim sure knew how to stack his playground with what Beijingers would call "liang mei" and Singaporeans refer to as "chio bu". In short, babes. The waitresses were North Koreans who were apparently specially selected and came from the right family backgrounds. Almost all had smooth fair complexion, donned traditional Korean costumes and wore make up so thick a Taepodong missile would have trouble penetrating. Rumours in the Beijing food circle are that they are not allowed to wander around the Chinese capital and are cloistered from unnecessary interaction with the outside world.

I know, you are thinking of pictures. Sorry, I have to disappoint you. It's not that I did not want to take any photographs. But after snapping a couple of shots of the restaurant, our waitress - let's call her Lil' Kim - politely told me that phototaking was not allowed. I don't know about you guys, but for me, when the Dear Leader's comrades tell me no pictures, I oblige. I didn't need my neck broken into two by a Taekwondo expert waiting in the Gents. After all, as Mr L kindly reminded me, those dudes just launched a missile a few days back. Since Mr L is a high-ranking Third Sergeant in the Singapore Armed Forces, I obeyed his orders.

So yes, I don't have any pictures of the food either. Better to live to eat another day. I can tell you that the food ain't bad though. We ordered two bowls of Cold Noodles - Hae Dang Hwa's specialty - one sweet and sour, the other salty. Both came with typical sticky Korean-style vermicelli, which was grey in colour (see pic below, taken off the menu). I have had better Korean Cold Noodles in Jersey, but this one wasn't half bad especially as we are approaching summer. Mr L ordered the Bibimbap and swore that it was heavenly.

Unfortunately, the BBQ beef we ordered was disappointing, served to the table cooked, instead by being barbequed at the table like how it would be done at most South Korean restaurants. The meat was tender enough, but maybe because I have been used to eating it straight off the stove, the beef tasted a tad lukewarm. We also had two huge servings of kimchi, including one which came minus the chilli. Interesting, but give me the regular kimchi please.

So I guess the question is: What is the difference between South Korean and North Korean food? Based on Hae Dang Hwa (010-8561-2925) alone, the Dear Leader's people don't serve plates of free appetisers like what his enemies across the 38th parallel do. Presentation is also not as slick. Last, the North serves dog meat. Yes, you can have the woof woof in Hae Dang Hwa. South Korean restaurants, perhaps as a result of greater international interaction, rarely feature dog meat unless it is in South Korea itself.

When it was time to say goodbye, I was pleased to know that despite regular anti-west rhetoric from Pyongyang, their restaurants still accept American Express, Master and Visa. Ah, don't you just love globalisation? Budget about 90 yuan per person if you eat simply and do not order dog meat.

Upon payment, Lil' Kim profusely apologised for her bad servce. She said: "I am very sorry that my service was not good. I believe you did not enjoy your meal because my service was not good. I hope you can come back again and I will do a better job so that you can enjoy your meal next time." It was a rather strange thing to say since neither me nor my friends raised a complaint. Mr L, Third Sergeant with the Singapore Armed Forces, for example, despite his high rank in the military reserve force, is hardly one for confrontation with the Dear Leader's babes. (You can catch a glimpse of them in the background in this picture which I took on the threat of death.)

But despite her rather over-the-top apology, Lil' Kim still refused to make up for it with a pic with me. She said, while shaking her head vigorously, that she "never liked to take pictures." What a shame, would have been nice to show you her fake double eyelids.

Come Come House

2009-04-07T22:20:00.000+08:00

When you could not find a place called Come Come House, then it could only mean two things. One, you need a GPS; or two, Come Come House should be renamed Don't Come House.

After being tipped off about this great Jap ramen place called Lai Lai Ken (来来轩, which literally means Come Come House), I have been on a hopeless hunt for it. I searched for it online, found the numbers but the line was dead. But since it was highly recommended by Orangeclouds, I perservered and actually went looking for it on a winter's day. I failed. Very cold. Shit.

Today, I decided to try again. My idiotic friend (let's call him Mr L) who has been bunking with me for what feels like the last two decades, managed to make a reservation through Fantong - a popular online food review portal that also helps you make reservations (the restaurants pay them a small fee). Yeah! At least it showed that Come Come was still around.

But when I reached the dark alley where it was supposed to be located, it was nowhere to be found. There were lots of Japanese eateries, but no Come Come. There was even a Gen Lai Ken (源来轩, or Original Come House) but where the hell was Come Come House? Frustrated and close to giving up, I finally asked a waiter in a yakitori place what happened to Come Come. Thankfully, he cured my heartache and eased the hunger in my Forbidden Stomach.

Apparently, Come Come has changed owners and has been renamed Original Come. But none of the lousy Beijing city magazines, or Fantong for that matter, bothered to check and update their listings. Lazy buggers. So yes, you read it here first on the Forbidden Stomach: Original Come House is the new name of Come Come House.

I have never been to the original Come Come, but my guess is that Original Come has upheld the standards of its predecessor. The ambience though, was disappointingly bland, with a few black square tables dotting blank walls. A listless shelf of sake bottles was placed next to a small LCD monitor. In many ways, this place failed quite spectacularly on first impressions. It was quite unlike the usual small Japanese eateries you see, whether in Beijing or Tokyo, where it usually felt cosy and comfortable even if it was not splendid or lavish.

But the ramen was excellent. I had the Soy Sauce Ramen (below), which had springy noodles mixed nicely with crunchy bean sprouts. The broth was a tad too thick, but it was definitely tasty. My friends had the Miso Soup Ramen (just 30 yuan, bottom) and I would strongly recommend it. Noodles just as good and the clear soup was done to perfection.

Special mention must be reserved for the selection of yakitori, especially the chicken wings which were so good we ordered a second serving. Sorry no pictures. We ate too fast. Haha.

Original Come was quite empty when I was there, so I guess reservations are not a must. But it is not easy an easy place to find, so to spare you the pain I went through, here's the number 010-6468-5579 so you can get the waitress to give directions to your taxi driver. I am so nice right? It opens from 11am to 2pm and from 5.30 to 10.30pm.

Budget about 60 yuan per person inclusive of beer. The Beijing Beer is only 10 yuan per mug, good value for money. It may not be called Come Come House anymore, but I will definitely be going back.

Dongs and ducks

2009-04-05T17:10:00.000+08:00

The Chinese say that good things come in pairs. So you get yin and yang, Tuan Tuan and Yuan Yuan, and Gong Li's pair of tuan tuan and yuan yuan. In the spirit of twosomes, I decided to offer another Peking Duck review, coming right after the previous one on Duck de Chine. The restaurant in focus is named Dadong (or Big Dong), which I believe is named after the chef and not Ms Gong's famed assets.

While not many have heard of Duck de Chine, Dadong is a well-known name in the culinary bird circles of Beijing since 1996. It has been frequented by many luminaries including, ahem, Singapore's President S R Nathan (check out his Chinese autograph!) and Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong.

There is good reason why Singapore's top leaders have been to this restaurant. It, somehow, is the favourite Peking Duck choice of most Singaporeans in Beijing. Ask any Singaporean here to recommend and chances are they will point you in the direction of Dadong. I don't really know why because it's not like Dadong serves Peking Duck with chilli (oh yes, yummy idea...). But anyhow, you know you can trust a Singaporean on birds. We used to have them on our dollar notes, and every kid growing up in the 1970s and 80s has been to the Jurong Bird Park.

Enough bird talk. As I mentioned in my earlier post, most good Peking Ducks taste the same to me. Crispy and fragrant. Dadong claims that its ducks are "super lean" and with half the usual fat of other roast ducks. But I can't really tell the difference. It is definitely good. But what makes Dadong my favourite Peking Duck restaurant is its finer touches and its attention to details. Here is its magnificent 7.

1. A lovely plain duck broth soup, made from the remainder of the duck.

2. Free fruit plate and desserts - the sesame paste is heavenly.

3. A brief tutorial by a waitress on the three different ways in which the duck can be eaten. One, dipping the crispy skin in sugar; two, roll in the pancake; three, as part of a "Chinese duck hamburger with sesame buns" and garlic paste.

4. Cheaper ducks than Duck de Chine (228 yuan). Just 198 yuan per bird here.

5. Thinner pancakes and crispier sesame buns than Duck de Chine.

6. Chic presentation of dishes, check out pictures below.

7. Stupendous dishes to accompany the duck. Dadong's menu was so thick and heavy it was actually a strain on my arms. Its dishes have been widely lauded for its creativity, blending the east and west. Try Chef Dong's braised eggplant (58 yuan, below) and the stewed squid egg soup (26 yuan).

There are two Dadong outlets, but go for the newer one at Nanxincang complex (10-5169-0329), which is a restored 600-year-old Ming Dynasty imperial granary. The chic interior decor of Dadong draws a nice contrast to the old-world exterior charm. Reservations are essential.

PS: In case you are wondering why there are so many pictures in this post, it's because of two idiotic friends who insist that my blog must have more pictures. Who the hell says good things come in pairs?

Duck of China

2009-03-23T21:43:00.000+08:00

For any self-respecting Beijing food blog, it would be a joke to have gone so long without a post on the city's most famous dish, the Peking Duck. Thankfully, The Forbidden Stomach is shameless. Still, after a particularly memorable night out with the famed bird dish, I feel inspired to embrace social norms and share with you, my three faithful readers, about the duck.

The Peking Duck is one of the few institutions in this city that stubbornly clings on to the old English spelling for Beijing. The other being Peking University. I believe part of the reason is because the Beijingers don't really care a duck's butt if foreigners call it Peking Duck or Beijing Duck. To them, it is simply "kao ya" (烤鸭) or roasted duck.

But while they may call it by the same name, the people of Beijing love to debate on which place serves the best duck. It is somewhat akin to Singaporeans' incessant discussion on the best chicken rice. But here, there is what I call a "duck divide" in the discussion, a chasm between the locals and the foreigners. The options for the locals and foreigners are quite different, mainly because of the differences in price. A local restaurant can serve a duck for just 35 yuan, while an expat place can easily charge seven times that price. So while locals talk about the cheaper range of restaurants, expats exchange details on the more high-end ones.

Duck de Chine, as the name makes clear, belongs to the latter category. At 228 yuan per bird, it serves one of the most expensive Peking Ducks here. It is also among the newest, hippest and most popular restaurants now. Opened just before the Olympics, it is housed in Hidden City 1949, that cool place which also has the Noodle Bar.

The menu was not extensive, with a lot of dishes that were, erm, duck-related. In fact, the restaurant was very keen on the duck theme. The duck was served on a plate shaped like a duck. My chopsticks stand was also a duck. There were even display porcelain ducks just sitting around. Like sitting ducks. Haha, sorry, I couldn't resist. There were also two stone ducks (below) at the entrance.

To be honest, I can't really tell the difference between different Peking Ducks....unless they are horrible. Usually, if you go to a top place like Duck de Chine in Beijing, you can be pretty assured that the ducks are crispy and the wraps are thin and warm. So to me, it is usually the attention to details which edge a place over the others. For Duck de Chine, that extra splash of sesame sauce added to the standard Hoi Sin sauce gave it a plus. That the sauce was drawn in a shape of a heart (for ladies) was sweet too.

Another nice touch was serving sesame buns (below) as an alternative to dough wraps for the crispy bird. It was something I had not seen in other places. And in terms of ambience, Duck de Chine (10-6501-8881) scores very highly, as it is set up more as a Western-style diner than a standard Chinese restaurant. So it is quiet, dressed with industrial chic (pipes running across the roof) and with exquisite red lamps above each table, offering enough light for you to see your duck while keeping that cosy feel for the restaurant.

A gong that informs me that my duck had arrived was a tad showy I think, but well, it's something which diners would remember. There was a small selection of non-duck dishes, but really, no one comes to a place named Duck of China for the mutton or the pork. Anyway, you can only order a full duck at Duck de Chine (other restaurants usually allow half-duck orders), so better keep your tummy for the bird.

Imperial Brother Bull

2009-03-14T19:15:00.000+08:00

If I am to go into the food business, I would choose Beijing over Singapore. It is not only because the market here is so much bigger. But really, it is so much easier to bullshit your customers in Beijing. You can say pretty much what you like and no one would know.

Let me give you an example. Take my post about the Changshan Island Dalian dumplings restaurant. It claims to be from Dalian. But can you verify it? No way. China is too damn big for that. But in Singapore, it is much tougher to bluff your way through. Like here, Singapore eateries love to lay claim to being from somewhere else. So at Tiong Bahru, some would say they were from Ang Mo Kio. In Hougang, some would claim to have originated from Paya Lebar. It is almost like the food has to be better if it used to be at another place. Bizaare trend, but as you can see, it is the same here in Beijing.

The difference is that if you say you used to be from Hill Street in Singapore, you better be! Chances are, your customers would know a cousin whose grandmother used to wash dishes at Hill Street and can prove, or disprove, your heritage claim. This is especially so if your hawker stall/restaurant becomes successful. That's when the media would pounce, dig through archives, interview old grandmothers to uncover the true history. If it turns out that you lied, that your bloody Katong laksa was actually more Siglap than Katong, then good luck to your business. Singaporeans don't tolerate food liars very well.

No such problems in Beijing. You can lie through your armpits and no one can prove or disprove it. Niu Ge Dumplings, or Brother Bull Dumplings, is one such example. This small eatery off the main Chang'an Avenue, the gigantic thoroughfare that cuts across Beijing, claims to be using an ancient Imperial Palace recipe to make its dumplings.

The owner, Brother Bull that is, said that he is a descendant of Qing Dynasty Imperial family. For those who can read Chinese and have super eyes, check out the writing below which was prominently displayed in the restaurant. He added that the dumplings he made came from a palace secret recipe. Now, I am not saying Brother Bull here is lying. All I am saying is that there is no way for me, or any of his customers, to verify it, is there?

I mean, the Qing Dynasty kaput in 1911, two years short of a century ago, so who the hell can I double check if (1) Brother Bull is indeed of imperial lineage; and (2) there was even a palace secret dumplings recipe in the first place?

I can't check with the last emperor, because Mr Pu Yi (below) died in 1966. The last eunuch Sun Yaoting apparently also joined the Son of Heaven in heaven in 1996. So both the Qing's top balls and top ballless are gone. I can hunt down other imperial descendants, but it would be too much work. I am not paid for this blog. Let's not even go on to the veracity of the secret imperial recipe. Bottomline is this - it is just too difficult to verify claims made by Beijing eateries.

So you just go for the food and if it is good, be happy. That is where Brother Bull scores very highly. Whether his grandmother used to be a Manchu who smuggled the secret recipe out of the Forbidden City is really not that important since the dumplings were really damn good. Juicy filling wrapped by a thin layer of dough skin. Definitely on par with Changshan. The sweet and sour soup was a winner too, with enough pepper to leave a eunuch clutching his non-existent testicles.

Brother Bull (10-6525-7472) has the added advantage of making the dumplings in full view of customers, which usually means they are fairly confident of their hygiene standards.

It also serves wonderful chilli sauce to be mixed with the vinegar, giving Singaporeans who must have chilli sauce with everything that bonus kick. It really reminds of that Serangoon Hokkien Mee and that River Valley char kway teow and that Tanjong Pagar beef noodles...

Burgers without toothpicks

2009-03-09T01:03:00.000+08:00

I'm usually not quite into what Singaporeans refer to broadly as "Western" food. On airplanes, I always choose the Oriental selection even if it's sucky fried noodles or tasteless fried rice. (Btw, Northwest Airlines, despite being one of the crappiest around, serves some really nice oily fried noodles).

But I actually have a secret fetish for American food, especially burgers and hot dogs. I think it has something to do with the Archie comics I read growing up. There was this character Jughead who was always eating burgers. He made them look damn yummy.

Still, I don't fancy those burgers served up at fast food joints. In-N-Out being an exception. But no one seems to have any plans to bring it to Singapore, or Asia for that matter, just yet. So I have had to settle for more upscale burger joints, where more effort is put in rather just slapping a patty between two buns. I am classy like that.

YF told me about Let's Burger at Sanlitun and swears by it. That means it is good shit. It was. First, the ambience is lovely, more cafe than diner. It looks quintessential European, quaint but not stuffy. A French contact who lives in Shenzhen visited me and I brought him here. He loved the place, saying that it could be in anywhere, London, Paris. Can't go wrong with a French appraisal right?

Yet the first thing that hits you after stepping into Let's Burger is the smell of grease - not exactly European but it is far more fragrant than the stale oil smell in American diners. The aroma of grilled beef patties wafting from the open kitchen, however, stays with you all the way home as it clings on to your clothes. But the laundry bill is worth it.

The burgers are succulent, soft and sinful. With more than a dozen to choose from, I had a tough time making up my mind as I stood by the counter (it's not fast food, but you still place your orders by the counter). The wait staff took pity on me and finally recommended the Australian Classic (98 yuan) - a hearty burger with double Ridgefield Farms Angus beef patties, topped with bacon and eggs. "It's very popular with the men," she said with a cheerful smile.

I went for the Paris Romantique (68 yuan) instead - single patty, beet and pickled relish. I am manly like that. The staff was probably trying to stifle a giggle, but it's ok, I am confident of my masculinity. And despite having a sissy name, Paris Romantique (below) packed a nice punch with the pickled relish. The buns were also done nicely, with a slight crisp top and big enough to hold the patty and all the gooey stuff in.

It's really important that a burger doesn't disintegrate. Some places do their big burgers tall, topping it with small buns. That makes it harder to keep the burger intact. Then they try to keep it together with a long toothpick. I hate that. Do you keep the toothpick and eat around it so as to keep the burger as a burger rather than a mess; or do you take away the toothpick and eat what was once a burger? I hate to have to make that decision. Let's Burger (10-5208-6036) makes it big, but wide, making sure that the burger stays firm and sturdy. Brilliant! The Hong Kong owners must have attended the hamburger college.

And did I mention the dipping sauces? Oh boy, there were 13 of them - from wasabi mayo to honey mustard to the usual chilli and ketchup - lined up in a row.

The best part is: You can take as much as you want, and they are free. Yes, it brought out the Singaporean in me. I wanted to sample all the sauces. But I didn't, lah. I just took the wasabi mayo...and you guessed it, the chilli sauce.

Pink fruity LKY

2009-03-03T02:12:00.000+08:00

Hi, I would like the ham and eggs with a side of pancakes. Oh yes, give me a Lee Kuan Yew too. But serve it before the coffee please, thanks, xie xie.

Life throws you the strangest curve balls sometimes. You go looking for brunch on a sunny Spring day and the "Minister Mentor" pops up on a menu. Yup, just like that, No. 67, Lee Kwan Yew (see below, second column, second from bottom). The wrong spelling may be intentional to avoid legal problems. But that's just my guess.

Anyway, for some strange reason, Blue Frog restaurant decided to name one of its 100 shots after Singapore's dear leader, giving LKY pride of place alongside Chairman Mao, Tony Blair, John Howard and Nelson Mandela. No place for Deng Xiaoping. I guess the criteria must be height.

Although it seemed odd to have a shot before brunch, I just could not turn down the chance to down an LKY for 30 yuan (about S$6). I was tempted to go for the leaders' platter (5 shots for 130 yuan), but after seeing another shot named Ken, I had to have it. It's a tribute to a buddy who once went one on one with the old man. Five shots before bacon seem a little excessive anyway.

LKY the drink arrived and it was a shocking pink (below: on the right, Ken is dark brown on the left). Took a quick gulp and it was, erm, fruity. A LKY shot that is pink and fruity, haha, who would have thought? I was expecting it to be robust, hard and white. It also tasted somewhat like cough mixture - certainly not the minister mentor of drinks.

Still, at least Blue Frog served up a sumptuous brunch which would make the Gifted programme of any meritocratic streaming food system. Its Big Blue plate (85 yuan, below) is certified elitist. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, diced potatoes, two pancakes, a slice of bread and a cup of coffee. It's definitely an A++.

But if you have abnormal heart rhythm, it may be advisable to go for the Two Eggs selection (60 yuan), which is similar to the Big Blue but minus the pancakes and only bacon OR ham OR sausage. Brunch goes from 10am to 4pm, which means you can laze in bed like you would during a Singapore Elections' polling day and then go for a nice long brunch since in all likelihood you wouldn't have a chance to vote anyway.

But unlike a Singapore GE, the LKY in this instance is not a definite winner.

Noodles bar none

2009-02-23T22:33:00.000+08:00

To be honest, it took me a long time before deciding to blog about this place. The reason is because I didn't really feel like sharing it with you guys. Yes, I know, I am a selfish prick. But before you call me names like selfish prick, hear me out please.

Noodle Bar is tiny. It is one of those eateries that believe small is beautiful - very much like Yotsuba. It seats just about a dozen and unlike Yotsuba, it doesn't take reservations. Yes, it is even more a pain in the ass than that sushi bar. So when you consider the fact that I already have to contest with 16 million Beijingers who are almost all faster and more desperate for noodles than me, I am sure you can understand why I would prefer to keep it hush hush.

As it is, turning up at Noodle Bar during lunch is already a contest in desperation. Hidden in this place called 1949 Hidden City - a former factory - Noodle Bar offers you three options when they politely tell you that they are full. One, stand in the cold and wait. Two, go to the nice coffeeshop (below) and wait. Three, be a super cock, order the noodles right away and eat at the bench in the cold in your five layers of winter clothes.

Most people go for Option 2. I was so hungry I chose Option 3. The wait staff was none too pleased because that meant they had to serve me in the sub zero degrees too. Haha. But credit to them for not showing their displeasure too openly, and perhaps knowing that I would freeze to death soon, served me a yummy bowl of beef noodles in less than 5 minutes.

With hands that were fast resembling frozen fish fingers, I scooped up the noodles and ate like my life depended on it. Come to think of it, that may not just be a figure of speech. But if Beijing's cruel cold was going to take away my life, the noodles breathed warm dough into my existence. It was the best beef noodles I have tried here.

The noodles were springy but not too hard and the thick wedge of winter melon in the dark soup was a delight in, erm, winter. A tray of shallots, spring unions, chilli and garlic allowed me to further spice up my soup and the delightful bottle of vinegar that they placed in front of every customer gave the noodles extra zing. Ah, perfecto!

Noodle Bar serves basically just beef noodles (32 yuan each bowl). You can choose either thick or thin noodles and really, they are both good. There was the chef's special lamb noodles when I was there, but I didn't have a chance to try. Despite a thin menu, it offers superb cold side dishes to go with the noodles. Try the century egg with tofu, which is drenched with lots of vinegar. The spicy beef shanks is a good bet too. But of course, try the side dishes only if you get a seat indoors. Not funny to eat cold dishes in such cold.

Midway through my slurping, seats opened up indoors and the kind waiters ushered me in. The place is cosy and just like Yotsuba, the meal is prepared in the open, right by your stool. It is infinitely better than Noodle Loft. Its contact is 10-6501-1949, but it is kinda useless to have its number since it doesn't take reservations. Just head to the Hidden City, walk past the art galleries and you will find the nondescript hut (below). See, told you I am not a selfish prick.

Gentry sushi bar

2009-02-17T23:57:00.001+08:00

After Yotsuba, you can kiss conveyor belt sushi chains good bye. There is no chance in hell that you will ever go back to those days of coloured plates where you ate like an assembly line proletariat. You have stepped into the world of aristocratic sushi.

Like an exclusive country club, Yotsuba makes sure that entry is not taken for granted. I first heard about the restaurant from a friend who said that he tried twice, but failed to get into the tiny 14-seater place. Usually, I hate such pain in the ass establishments who are too much of a pain in the ass. If it takes too much pain to pay to eat, I am taking my stomach somewhere else.

But somehow, I was piqued by Yotsuba and its reputation of fresh seafood air flown daily from Japan and a Japanese sushi chef serving to an exclusive group. Maybe it is because fresh seafood is so hard to come by in Beijing. Seriously, if you want to do the pervy Jap thing of eating sushi off a naked woman here, it is probably easier to find the nude lady than fresh sushi. (Don't be a perv and start looking for one. The ever moralistic Chinese government banned it in 2005, no kidding!)

So I tried - to get a seat at Yotsuba that is. First call to make a reservation found that it is fully booked for a few days. And it is open only for dinner. There are three tw0-hour seatings, starting from 5pm. If you want the prized 7pm slot, you may have to sleep with the sushi chef. I decided not to be a slut and settled for the ungodly experience of having dinner at 5pm.

At first look, Yotsuba didn't inspire much confidence. Shutters were down and it seemed like a restaurant that would prefer not to be seen. But once I stepped in and ordered my first sushi, I knew that there was no need for it to flaunt with neon lights and screaming signboards. Word of mouth alone would be enough.

Sitting by the sushi bar, I placed my orders directly with the chef: "Sushi, unagi, yes." Every piece that I placed into my mouth blew my mind. Yellowtail, tuna, mackeral, it didn't matter what I ordered, they were just awesome. The chef placed a piece in front of me each time he was done with one, and I swallowed them so fast it seemed he had tossed the sushis directly into my mouth. They were so good I decided to take smaller bites with each piece so that I could savour the freshness of the sashimi and the fragrant vinegared rice.

At about 300 yuan per person (not inclusive of alcohol), Yotsuba (10-6467-1837) is not cheap by local standards. But for two hours of absolute sushi bliss, it is a price worth paying.

The kungfu noodles

2009-02-07T17:44:00.000+08:00

When a place calls itself Noodle Loft, I just can't look away. I love noodles. I love it so much that I don't think it is an exaggeration to say that I have at least a serving of it a day. It can come in any form. Instant, thick, flat, Chinese, Korean, soba, udon, spaghetti, it has all found loving in my tummy. As long as it is part of the stringy family, count me in. If noodles is a banned drug, I will be Michael Phelps. Anyway, you get the point.

During the Chinese New Year break, Noodle Loft was one of the few restaurants that remained opened and so it seemed as good a time to pay it a visit. But first impression, which is very important for a restaurant, didn't go down that well.

This elegantly-named eatery was housed in its own building and yet, the entrance was run down, with two odd gigantic pots of plants and a few bicycles. Not very elegant at all. Inside, it felt like a concept gone wrong. The owner obviously wanted the place to be "cool" and like some cock Singapore civil servants, that equates to officially-sanctioned graffiti (remember the Youth Park at Somerset in Singapore?). Ugly graffiti filled a wall in the restaurant, looking as out of place and manufactured as Pamela Anderson's third boob if she ever had one.

But at least the centrepiece of Noodle Loft (10-6774-9950) got it right. It was an open kitchen, with the noodle chefs doing as much as they can to make sure you looked at them. It was hard not to anyway because the graffiti was hideous and the cooks made hell a lot of noise by slapping the dough really hard on the counter.

The marquee act from the chefs' performances was the Loft's specialty: The One Chopstick Noodle, so named because there is really just one strand of noodle for your entire bowl, measuring 5m long. The chef somehow managed to keep stringing the noodle along, flying the green noodle (because of the spinach juice) like a real kungfu master into a big pot. If there is a Cirque Du Soleil act on noodle making, this dude will be a real crowd pleaser in the big tent.

While I did not try the One Chopstick Noodle (I don't like the colour green), I did give other kungfu-styled noodles a bite, including the Scissors Cut Noodles, the Knife Sliced Noodles (12 yuan each) and one which would give PETA a fright - Buckwheat Pasta in Shape of Cat's Ears (see below). I am not partial to the meow meow creature in any way, but rest assured that no animals were hurt in the production of my meals.

I did not like my pussy-shaped pasta, because it was too chunky and doughy and did not allow the spicy sauce to get into the, erm, cat ears. You get to choose a variety of sauces (spicy beef, tomato etc) which is then served to you in a small bowl to be mixed with very naked looking noodles.

The Scissors Cut Noodles were delicious though. The Chinese in the north tend to like their noodles thicker than those I am used to back home, but this Scissors Noodles were just of the right thickness and texture, blending perfectly with the spicy beef sauce that I chose for it.

There are plenty of other options on the menu, most of which are non-noodles dishes, which I didn't bother to try much (the stir-fried vegetables were ordinary). I did say I went there for the noodles, didn't I? For a place named Noodles Loft, it is strange that noodles are tucked all the way at the back of a thick menu, and occuping just two pages. Bring your friends here for the exquisite kungfu noodle-making performance. In terms of food and environs, well, not exactly Shaolin standards.

Burn after eating

2009-01-30T22:42:00.000+08:00

Did I say I like that burning sensation at the posterior the morning after having Indian curries? Sorry, I lied. I don't. It sucks. It is a horrible feeling.

After the last post, I felt that it was timely for me to get some real curry. So I went for the easy option - Ganges Indian Restaurant, which is a stone's throw from home. But it was by no means a poor choice just because I was a lazy twirp. Ganges won the best Indian restaurant award in a local expat magazine last year.

It was not hard to see why. It has three branches in Beijing alone. And as McDonald's have shown, if you have a lot of outlets, your food must be good. But unlike the Golden Arches, Ganges comes with a wide selection of more than 150 dishes. As it proudly claims, it offers "all your favourite Northern Indian recipes, highlights from the Southern Indian style of cooking, and the latest from the exciting fusion style of modern Mumbai." Yes, rest assured that even though it tries to look Chinese with red lanterns next to chandeliers, it is authentically Indian.

Need further evidence? Well, it has Indian waiters. That's usually a good sign. And their food is spicy too. Being kind to Chinese who might not be too hot on spiciness, there is even a legend to warn off non chilli fans. But since I am a true blue Singaporean who takes to chilli like frog legs to porridge, the legend merely encouraged me to go for the maximum pain.

Three chillis for me! Yes sir, bring it on. Nothing less will do. The Chicken Vindaloo (48 yuan) was one of the few marked for maximum spiciness and it was my sadistic choice. It did not disappoint. Together with my fragrant Vegetable Biryani (38 yuan), it was a lovely combination. The biryani used Basmati rice, mixed with pieces of boneless chicken and it was not oily. KF ordered the Lamb Rojan Josh and picked Onion Naan (15 yuan) to go with it and he said it was delightful too.

The only downside to Ganges was the snooty service. The waiters were overbearing, urging us repeatedly to order more dishes, especially the expensive ones. When I preferred the local Tsingtao beer (15 yuan a mug) instead of the imported Tiger draft (35 yuan), the waiter actually snorted and quickly walked off, seemingly in disgust. Seriously, why would I want Tiger in Beijing? Asshole.

Speaking of assholes....the Vindaloo made sure I remembered it the next morning. I shall not elaborate. The rest, as they said, is lavatory.

My feminine Coco

2009-01-23T23:04:00.000+08:00

It has been more than a decade, but I still think of Coco. On that fateful first day of bloody darn conscription, she waltzed into the barracks and turned every army boy's head. She had such smooth fair skin, lovely curves and luscious long hair that was a sharp contrast to the shaven heads that me and my new-found buddies had. But an hour later, we realised that we do share some similarities with Coco. She had a penis too.

You see, Coco belonged to that category of almost there, but yet not really. She looked like a hot chick and spoke like one thanks to regular hormone jabs. Unfortunately, she was not yet one. Her identity card said Male, and in Singapore, that means compulsory military service when you are 18. In common speak, she is a transvestite. In Singapore, they are often called derogatory terms like "bapok" or "ah kua". In ancient China, they would be likened to eunuchs. In the Singapore Armed Forces, she was classified as a Pes 302. I never quite figure out why 302 was used and not 123.

I never saw Coco again after those early months of bloody darn conscription and quite frankly, had clean forgotten her (I think she must have snipped off her manhood by now). But this ancient city of Beijing has a strange way of connecting you to your past. In my case, it is usually done through my Forbidden Stomach.

Some weeks back, YF suggested lunch at Coco Curry House. I said yes instantly. I may have a hopelessly weak tummy, but I love curry. I love that fiery monster that leaves me crippled and moaning on the throne the next morning. Muthu's, Apollo, Samy's, you name it, I love them all in Singapore.

But alas, Coco Curry House is as Indian as me - ie, not very. It serves Japanese curry. For those who have never had Japanese curry, just know that it is basically an imposter. It is not spicy, not fiery and certainly won't leave you moaning on the throne with a burning arse. In fact, any other names for that brown paste Japanese thing would be more appropriate than "curry". How about "nibushijiali"? Or "zheyidiandoubuxiangjiali"?

But curry the Japanese called it and Coco Curry House has more than a thousand restaurants all over Japan, China and even LA. Someone must obviously like this weird thing. The outlet we went to at high-end 美美百货 or Maison Mode mall (10-8571-2230) was really very Japanese - clean, neat and complete with oddly-phrased English like "Good Smell, Good Curry". The restaurant was squeaky clean, with crisp table paper mats and overeager wait staff whose wages must depend on how megawatt their smiles can get.

When my beef rice with egg omelette was served, the rice was wrapped up in the omelette with curry swimming around it. Very clean, neat and cute. The curry though, was, well, somewhat effeminate. Easy to eat, but hardly hot stuff. Coco - the Curry House and not my old army mate - has pasta too, but again, I have never been keen on Jap takes on Italian cuisine. YF said their spaghetti was not bad, so I may give it a chance next time. Expect to pay about 40 yuan per head.

For those who like Jap curry, give Coco Curry House a try. For me, one delicate Coco in my life is more than enough.

Massive shit grub

2009-01-08T22:04:00.000+08:00

One of the down sides of dining out in Beijing is the amount of MSG you have to deal with. They put MSG in everything. Noodles, rice, soup, you name it. Except milk of course, where the preferred ingredient is usually melamine.

The general equation that I have learnt in Beijing is that the price of the food has an inverse relationship with the amount of MSG. The cheaper the food, the more MSG. So if you are thinking of losing a lot of hair soon, it's a good idea to save on your meals.

Yesterday, I found the MSG depot of Beijing. It pretends to be a restaurant, but really, I believe it is the place where they store all the MSG supplies for the capital. After my regular sophisticated night out at a China Philharmonic Orchestra concert at the Forbidden City Concert Hall, me and some friends just wanted a convenient, quick bite. A Hong Kong-style cafe was what we needed - cheap, fast, tasty. We wanted to go to this place (below) but it was closed.

So we ended up in this MSG dump. It is called Station Kitchen （又一栈）at Wangfujing's The Malls at Oriental Plaza (东方新天地). What a horrible experience. The food was shit. My char siew+chicken rice was bland and dry. The rice was hard. The only thing the restaurant could stir fry to perfection was MSG. To me, if you want to add tons of MSG, then at least make the bloody food tasty. Despite dumping the whole crate of food additive, the food still struggled to have any flavour.

Service sucked too. Perhaps it was because we went in an hour before closing. But hey, there was still an hour. The waitresses rushed through our orders, couldn't wait to snatch the menus off us and asked us to pay up while we poisoned ourselves with more monosodium glutamate.

I downed two big mugs of water when I got home and still felt thirsty. So if you are on a suicide mission, here is its contact: 10-8518-6181. Bring lots of water and plenty of hair nourishing cream.

The laksa dynasty

2009-01-03T17:11:00.000+08:00

The conquerors of Beijing had always come in a pair - the Manchus Dorgon and Shunzhi; the communists Mao Zedong and Zhu De; and Kublai Khan and his Mongolian BBQ. So it is perhaps no surprise that the latest invaders of this former imperial city are also a duo - Laksa and Mee Siam. It may be hard to believe, but this pair of spicy Singapore favourite noodle dishes are actually taking Beijing by storm.

On New Year's Day, after climbing the Western Hills' Badachu on feet and descending on a horse, I thought it would be nice to eat like one too. And when you are in sub-zero temperature and smelling like a beast, you want something safe, predictable and super spicy. TK suggested Toastbox at Xidan for its laksa and mee siam and the rest of us neighed in agreement.

Most Singaporeans would be very familiar with homegrown Toastbox - a retro cafe chain serving Singapore-style beverages and snacks. But in Beijing, it is not that well-known. While its buns brother Breadtalk is all over town, there are only two Toastbox outlets (in Xidan's Joy City Basement 1, 010-59716268). Judging by the sight that greeted us, maybe it is time they open up a few more.

There was a persistent line at the cashier and the 30-odd seats were almost all taken. But the biggest shocker was that at almost every table, there was a bowl of laksa or mee siam. I had assumed that most of the Chinese would be there for the pork floss toast and other bakery stuff. But the spicy stufff with weird names? No way!

Curiosity got the better of me and I chatted up this sweet young thing sitting next to me, who was attacking her mee siam like how Kublai used to beat up her ancestors. Let's just call her Mixian, since that is how the Chinese pronounce "mee siam".

Me: Hi, I am from Singapore and I am just wondering if you like what you are eating?

Mixian: It's wonderful! There are no noodles like this in Beijing! I have no idea what is its name or what goes into it, but this is really good.

Me: Have you tried the laksa (pointing at my empty bowl)?

Mixian: I had that the last time and it was fabulous too. I didn't want to go for the same thing this time, so I decided to try this (gesturing at her half-empty plate). If this place is at my office building, I would be having it every day!

By the way, the above conversation is true. I didn't make it up. Mixian really loved the mee siam, and laksa. And she was really quite sweet-looking.

Her appraisal wasn't that far off too. The laksa gravy did not come with too much coconut milk and was not dripping with chili oil too. The noodles were springy and the topping of fish cake and tiny sliced prawn did not clutter the bowl. It allowed me to focus on the most important components of laksa - the noodles and the gravy.

I didn't have a chance to try the mee siam. But I trust Mixian. Beijing, bow to your new conquerors: Emperor Laksa and Empress Mee Siam.

Dim sum brothel

2008-12-30T21:58:00.000+08:00

Almost everything was wrong with the Golden Tripod Attic. The decor was off, the music was wrong and even the name was just, well, weird. Seriously, what kind of name is "Golden Tripod Attic"? Given that the Chinese name is 金鼎轩, I will venture that a better translation should be "House of Golden Peak"? Sounds better already doesn't it?

The architecture of the restaurant was like a faux imperial-style mansion and it ended up just looking like a faux imperial-style brothel. The bloody red lanterns didn't help. The restaurant blasted techno music outside its doors, perhaps in the hope that its loud, repetitive beats would warm up the crowd. My goodness, this place was a joke.

Until you try its dim sum that is. The only thing funny after that was how good and how cheap it was. I actually stumbled into the Attic by accident. Being the smart ass that I am, I decided to check out a job fair on a Monday morning at 8.30, thinking that I may be able to catch a sight of shivering job seekers waiting in line to fill in their resumes. I was wrong. The only shivering dude was me. Young Beijingers may be having a hard time finding employment, but they are not so dumb as to hunt for one at -6C.

Disappointed and cold, I dashed into the hideous-looking Attic, which was just next to the job fair. The waiters wore ridiculous Santa hats. But at least they were employed. I asked for Chinese tea, didn't even bother to take off my jacket, and grabbed the menu. Ordered chee cheong fun (rice flour roll), lo mai kai (glutinous rice with chicken), carrot cake and Sichuan noodles.

What was served just warmed my frozen belly. The chee cheong fun had smooth, silky skin with a delightful sauce over it. But it was the fried carrot cake that made me a tripod too. Now, I may not be an expert of anthropology or other ant-like studies, but I do know my carrot cake. In Singapore, it is called "chye tow kway" and if it is a subject in the university, I ought to be a lecturer. My professorship was earned by my close examination of all famous carrot cake stalls in Singapore. I love them black, white or brown, which was how the Attic does it. Crispy on the edges and fluffy and soft inside. It may be more oily than Crystal Jade's, but it sure beats it pants down. I usually take my carrot cake with some chilli, but this one was so good that it had to be eaten au natural.

It costs just 8.80 yuan for a plate, and a sumptuous dim sum meal would not set you back by more than 40 yuan or about S$8. It gets even cheaper if you go during its extraordinarily-long Happy Hours (2 to 5pm; 10pm to 11am). Oh yes, it is opened 24 hours. So you can get awesome dim sum round the clock!

The restaurant has five branches. I was at the Temple of Earth - where the emperors used to make offerings to the deities of earth - outlet (10-6429-6888), but there is also one at the swanky Shin Kong Place. Don't bother going to the Temple itself. It is a poor cousin of the Temple of Heaven - one of Beijing's most breathtaking ancient architecture. Just go to the adjacent whorehouse-looking Golden Tripod Attic. And be the slut to its dim sum mastery. I am, and I'm damn proud of it.

Little dumpling heaven

2008-12-28T22:17:00.000+08:00

A week before Christmas, a few Singaporeans gathered at a party in Beijing and promptly talked about the only topic which our Government allows - food. We are permitted to discuss sex as well, but food seemed more exciting.

So as we exchanged notes on where to find the best Peking Duck, I thought it may not be a bad idea to start a blog on food in Beijing. Also, it is winter and I'm bored shivering at home.

Since I am hardly the foodie and known among friends for a hopelessly weak stomach (hence the title of the blog), I wonder if this is sustainable. But well, the impetus kicked in earlier this evening after gulping down some of the best dumplings I have ever had.

This "jiao zi" eatery is hardly well-known and will not be found in any food guides or websites or blogs (except this one, of course). It is, in the words of KT, who brought us there, a "rather insignificant looking" restaurant. And given that it has trouble spelling "restaurant" in English (see pic below), it does not take long for anyone to realise that it is a place that caters to locals.

That usually means three things in Beijing: hard to locate; hygiene standards suspect; and dirt cheap. In the case of Changshan Island Dalian Seafood Dumpling Restaurant (yes the Chinese like very very long names for companies and restaurants), it also means very good food.

Located just metres from the northeastern corner of the Forbidden City, the eatery serves up dumplings fit for emperors. They have some 30 types of jiaozi. We tried just two - fish and pork with corn - and they were both delicious. In fact, we pretty much put the first dumplings into our mouths and then ordered a second serving right away. It was that good. The filling was soft and juicy and the dough skin was of the right texture - not as thick as the frozen jiaozi that you buy from supermarkets, but with enough on it to keep the gravy in.

We had veg and pork chops too, but really, the main attraction was the jiaozi. I have had enough dumplings across China to say that this one's up there with the best. Wash it down with a few glasses of Yanjing beer and it was a happy night. The meal set us back by just 30 yuan, or about S$6, per person.

But be warned: the heating in the restaurant is not enough to keep you warm. The waitresses wear thick jackets. And the only toilet available is the public one across the street. Hardly the dirtiest I have been to, but well....may be best not to down that many Yanjing.

Call the restaurant at 10-6403-5009 for directions to this little dumpling heaven. If the cabbie drives into a street full of rubbish on both sides, you are on the right path.