Noodles bar none

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.

The kungfu noodles

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.