nanamoose Musings

大情調，小北京

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大約兩年前我在nanamoose旗下的《鳳梨姐菠蘿妹》部落上寫過關於《失物招領》 Lost and Found 的故事。Lost and Found, 北京一個極富特色的生活概念店，有販賣台灣蘑菇的產品、老北京熱水瓶、改裝過的老北京傢具、Moleskine 筆記本, 更是北京第一家銷售Monocle 的店家。北京的 Lost and Found和倫敦的Labour and Wait 一直是我的兩個最愛，同樣販賣生活雜物，取名更同樣洋溢著對生活態度的一種堅持。歐陽老師說的好：

朋友小貓在北京開的雜貨店叫作Lost and Found，翻譯過來很方便，就叫做「失物招領」，大家都很明白。店裡賣的是國內外搜集的以至小量生產的家用生活雜物，諸如盤杯碗碟以至暖水壺呀桌布餐巾 等等。另一位倫敦朋友Simon Watkins跟Rachel Wythe-Moran合伙開的一家異曲同工的雜貨店叫做Labour and Wait，就不是那麼好翻譯，難道叫做「稍後開工」？

時間過的真快，轉眼間我們來到了2012年，teakha 茶。家於上環開業了。teakha 賣的是 tea and zakka， 也是雜貨。因為茶。家，我認識了好多知心的朋友們，當中還包括了Lost and Found 的創辦人之一Paul, 世界真妙！

上個禮拜我去北京進貨，順便拜訪Lost and Found II。《失物招領》 的第二個據點，同樣位於現已變得忙碌的國子監上 （記得兩年前的國子監，樹影婆紗，人煙稀少，卻有一股老北京的滄桑味兒，甚有情調），是我最近見過最有感覺的空間。Lost and Found II，和她的原始店一樣坐落於老房子裡。特別之處是她的中庭，四面玻璃讓人有一種置身於一個倒空的熱帶玻璃屋內，庭院中央卻是一片藍天白雲，滿室（或者應該說是滿「缸」）綠意怏然。店裡賣的大致和原始店差不多，主打日本Fog Linen 的產品和 Jia 富有中國色彩的廚具。樓上是展示空間，也作為員工休息閒聊的地方。

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於Lost and Found II 旁邊，意外地發現美麗的《如洗》。 《如洗》，人如其名，名片上簡單的幾個字：不尚華飾， 質素如洗 － 訴盡《如洗》代表的故事。簡單的設計，舒適的麻料，就是這麼直接，不用多說了。到不如跟你們說一個笑話吧。那天從《如洗》走出來，前面經過的幾個婦人們七嘴八舌地往《如洗》裡頭探，討論著那究竟是個甚麼店。

「洗衣服的！」她們終究的結論如此。

而國子監上方的一片天，碧空如洗。

《失物招領》北京東城區國子監街57號。 tel: 010-64001174
《如洗》位於失物招領旁，tel： 010－64075881

Best Beijing Finds - Dan Dan Noodles, two ways

As a self-proclaimed dan dan noodle specialist (I am, after all, host to a video that’s the first to come up if you type the words “dan dan noodles” into YouTube), I am quite ashamed to say that I only learnt what really goes into authentic dan dan noodles until my recent trip to Beijing.

At Transit Restaurant in Sanlitun North, where they paired authentic, sophisticated Sichuan food with contemporary Sino-French-style décor (think green French windows and chandeliers with gold-rimmed Chinese tassels), dan dan noodles came beautifully plated in Phoenix designed bowls and had the perfect balance of spice, nuttiness and that numbing sensation. It was delicious. And then it revealed itself to me, that interesting dark green vegetable. It tasted like mustard greens, and somewhat like Tianjin preserved vegetables, but I knew it was neither.

The next day we had our second dosage of contemporary Sichuanese at beautifully restored courtyard restaurant the Source, a private kitchen tucked away in a small hutong off Nanluoguxiang and opened by the people behind art gallery Yan Art Space. There it was again. That curious vegetable! This time I had to ask the waitress.

“Yacai” she said after consulting the chef.

Yacai, I later discovered, was in fact a dark, salty aromatic pickle made from the tender leaves of one variety of mustard greens. The leaves are sun-dried, rubbed with salt, and then mixed with spices and sometimes sugar. They are then sealed in jars and left to mature for several months. The city of Yibin is one famous producer, and hence its famous noodle dish, 宜賓燃麵 , or Yibin “kindling” noodles, a vegetarian dish made from yacai. Dan dan noodles in Chengdu are also traditionally cooked with this vegetable, though lots of substitutes are available these days.

That said, when you're missing dan dan noodles anywhere outside of China, the best bet is still to come to Nana's kitchen.

Transit Restaurant is at N4-36, Sanlintun Village North, 11 Sanlitun Lu
渡金湖在三里屯路11号三里屯Village北区N4-36号
Tel: 6417-9090

The Source is at 14, Banchang Hutong, Nanluoguxiang
都江源在南锣鼓巷板厂胡同14号
tel: 6400-3736

My Article on Shanghai is out in this month's Crave Magazine!

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(But they messed up my story and grammer,so please red the following instead)

For quite some time, Shanghai had been relegated second to Beijing on my list of top Chinese cities. The people are rude, there are no historical or cultural sights to explore, and the city reeked of a guilty obsession with cash and all things glamourous. It was also the transcendency perhaps, the fleeting nature of people coming and going that me put off. When is she ever going to slow down and live a little?

Then, magic happened. I think she heard me. Because this time I went to see her, she changed. She slowed down, embraced herself, and emerged more confident and natural than ever (at least the Puxi side of her has). She engaged her past - the little alleys behind brick-walled lane houses, the quiet platane-lined streets where Shanghainese still paddle nonchalantly on their bikes - so that, in the midst of the Expo fervour, she still looked as composed and relaxed as ever. All this, I realized through a sampling of the latest restaurant scene in Shanghai.

Start with Oyama, a fourteen-seat omakase-only restaurant headed by chef Takeo Oyama, who had previously worked with some of the biggest names in sushi in Hong Kong. A short walk from busy Huaihai Zhong Lu, enter through a vaulted corridor on Donghu Lu with dim lights and stone walls to a courtyard opening, where you will be greeted by the laughter of guests from El Willy’s, a Spanish restaurant on the ground floor. A story up, however, and the mood is completely different. Chef Oyama is serious about his food, yet loves to create a bit of a playful banter with his guests which makes dining here more like eating at a friend’s. The omakase menu costs RMB800 per head, but who cares when you have sake, interesting company, and fish fresh from Tokyo and Nagasaki?

Just a short distance from Oyama is the Wagas compound on 195 Anfu Lu, a converted colonial building with high ceilings and a gabled roof housing Baker and Spice on the ground floor, a Thai restaurant on the second and finally, the eponymous Mr. Willis on the third. Baker and Spice is your bread-lover’s-dream come true with its wood-grained marble storefront, rough-hewn communal table and all things artisanal from baguettes, bagels and jams to cupcakes. Mr. Willis is an extension of this theme with its rustic chic designs. Think rough reclaimed wooden floor, Japanese ceramic vases, low-hanging lamps and warm rugs. The fare is simple, comfort bistro style – fig and prosciutto salad, warm goat’s cheese soufflé, and a full pizza menu. In other words, this is the apartment and the dinner party you’d like to have, but never will.

While we’re in the French Concession, hop over to the cutest pho café in town – Pho Real. At first glance you will never have guessed it to be a pho joint with its whitewashed exposed brick walls, baby blue tables, bar seating and fish baskets tastefully hanging from the ceiling. However, the secret is out so expect a half hour wait during lunch times. The pho with beef flank is better than any I’ve had in Hong Kong.

If you’re feeling a bit more adventurous, trek over to Table No. 1 at the Waterhouse Hotel and tackle Jason Atherton (formerly of the Gordon Ramsey clique)’s take on a Shanghainese version of Maze – modern European fare in portions small enough to share – all in a “social dining” environment. This means long unfinished wood communal tables, grey brick floors, and glass panels on either side; one overlooking the street, and one the minimalist interior courtyard. We are located in a half-demolished lanehouse on a remote corner of the Bund, with an “urban-decay chic” design featuring broken tiles, exposed brick, lots of rust and scuffed concrete. The interiors might not be your cup of tea, but do come here for the food – the razor clams with chorizo and coriander were particularly memorable.

For a taste closer to home, try Guyi and Lost Heaven. Guyi is an institution of sorts in terms of Hunan cuisine in Shanghai, with its original location on Fumin Lu perpetually crowded with diners who are willing to wait up to hours for it authentic, fiery food; unaffected by local tastes. Try the cumin-crusted ribs (ziran paigu) and fish-head with picked chilies (xiangxi yutou wang). Lost Heaven, on the other hand, is Chinese ethnic cuisine at its best. Housed in an old colonial house in the French Concession, Lost Heaven is like Yunnan’s version of Hakkasan with its dark wooden beams, embroidered drapery, chic, ethnic décor, and very good food indeed. I came to Lost Heaven for the first time in 2006 and have been coming back on all my visits ever since. Prepared to be spoilt by choices from Dali, Lijiang, and even Burma.

If you have time for only one Shanghainese restaurant, come to Jesse, the cornerstone restaurant of Shanghainese cooking that has sprawled a chain of new “Jesses” around town. This is however, by far the best with its no-nonsense Shanghainese staples like red-braised pork, sticky rice-ball with Chinese dates (xintairuan), and a fish head covered in fried spring onions. Expect drab but clean interiors. Reservations essential.

Finally, although I’m not the biggest fan of Shanghainese street food, preferring the healthier, more delicate Taiwanese xiaolongbaos and shengjianbaos (pan-fried pork bun) to Shanghai’s more rugged versions, a visit to Jia Jia Tangbao and Xiaoyang Shengjian would bring a nice, local touch to this rather sophisticated eating itinerary. The dumplings at Jia Jia get 10 pinches as opposed to Din Tai Fung’s 18, but at RMB19.5 for a basket of a pork and crab xiaolongbaos, what is there to complain? Hit Jia Jia and Xiaoyang in one go at Huanghe Lu, and cross Shanghai street food off your list.

Then of course, if you want the glitz, there is still Prive, M1NT, and hoards of expensive chain hotels mushrooming all over Pudong. But, for those who know her better, Shanghai has a quiet, more cultured side; its in the food, and its here to stay.

OYAMA
2/F, 20 Dong Hu Lu
Tel: 02- 5405 7705

BAKER AND SPICE / MR. WILLIS
1 and 3/F, 195 An Fu Road,
near Wulu Muqi Road
tel: 021- 5404 0200

PHO REAL
166 Fumin Lu,
near Changle Lu
tel: 021-5403 8110

TABLE NO. 1
1/F, The Waterhouse Hotel,
1-3 Maojiayuan Lu,
near Zhongshan Nan Lu
tel: 021-6080 2918

GUYI
89 Fumin Lu,
near Julu Lu
Tel: 021- 6249 5628

LOST HEAVEN
38 Gaoyou Lu, near Fuxing Xi Lu
tel: 021- 6433 5126
(there is a new branch on the Bund at 17 Yan'an Dong Lu, near Sichuan Nan Lu, tel: 021- 6330 0967)

JESSE
41 Tianping Lu,
near Huaihai Xi Lu
tel: 021- 6282 9260

JIA JIA TANGBAO / YANG’S FRIED DUMPLINGS

90 and 97 Huanghe Lu,
near Beijing Lu
tel: 021- 6327 6878 / 5375 1793

No Starbucks please...

I really, really do not fancy calling myself a fan of Aaron Kwok 郭富城. But I have to admit that part of the reason I came to Pingyao in Shanxi was because of him.

Yes, Aaron Kwok, part of the “Four Heavenly Kings” 四大天王as they were affectionately known back in the days. He used to be my least favourite out of the four, but recently he has made a strong comeback thanks to his performance in 白銀帝國， a movie about the history of China’s first commercial bank and set in Pingyao, the “Wall Street of ancient China”. What initially captured me about this movie was the fact that this was Taiwanese multibillionaire 郭台銘’s first foray into the movie industry, and it was no small foray to say the least (the company had invested over USD10 million on production). Curiosity then increased as the lead star was named Aaron Kwok. I experienced a disappointment in the casting director’s judgment so great (as I did watching Sammi Cheung 鄭秀文play a Shanghainese woman in 長恨歌) that I decided I should go see the movie to figure out what went wrong in the production team’s thinking process.

What the heck were they thinking?! This Hong Kong actor spoke the worst possible Mandarin and carries no air of a Qing Chinese whatsoever. At least that was what I thought. But I was wrong. His Mandarin was perfect (to the point of being even better accented than a lot of local Taiwanese stars), his acting heart-wrenching (he played the prodigal son of a Pingyao banker who had fallen in love with his English teacher, who then married his father), and most importantly, he looked oh so very good in his Chinese changshan amidst the backdrop of Pingyao’s ancient city walls.

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This trip to Pingyao is a testimony to just what an impact Aaron Kwok has made upon me. We decided to go during Easter, not the best season to travel as Shanxi would often be plagued by sandstorms during this time, but it also meant little tourists, and that added to the mystery of the ancient city. Pingyao, as I later found out, is surrounded by the last remaining Ming dynasty city wall in China, completely intact and running 6km in total. It was a thriving merchant town during the Ming and Qing dynasties when the earliest 票號s (banks) were set up, and rose to be the financial headquarter of China. However, after its heyday the city fell into poverty and without the cash to modernize, Pingyao’s streets remained unchanged. Thanks to this misfortune, Pingyao today is an exceptionally well-preserved Han Chinese city (it was awarded Unesco World Heritage Site status in 1997) and offers a rare glimpse into the architectural styles and life in general of Imperial China. Its many courtyard houses have even been the set for movies including Zhang Yimou’s “Raise the Red Lantern”.

Banks, “biao jus” (鏢局 － the imperial Chinese escort agency – something like an armed DHL commissioned to deliver valuables or escort people), temples and important figures’ old residences littered the streets. Almost every other house you walk past is a monument to Pingyao’s prime. Coupled with the dusty April air of Northwestern China and the city’s genuine age and lack of modernization, Pingyao seemed a little too real to be true, like something that had walked directly out of a history book. An almost ghostly sheath loomed the streets – a stark contrast to what you normally find in the disneyfied old towns of China’s tourist attractions with their reconstituted ancestry.

I therefore found Jin’s Residence, Pingyao’s only boutique hotel, a little out of place in a town like this. Built around the same concept as the Puli in Shanghai, Jin’s Residence is a humble tribute to Pingyao’s iconic 宅院 with its grey brick walls and carved wooden doors. Inside, however, is a different story. “Understated luxury” is the keyword here, and while lines are clean and the palette a selection of simple, neutral tones, the result is a warm yet stylish home away from home. The owner is a Chinese architect from New Zealand, and his complimentary East meets West style is very much apparent in the designs of Jin’s Residence. Chinese teakwood furniture is used throughout, but redesigned to Western standards such as a long table lined with a bright pink table runner and paired with cushioned benches, or the huge coffee table laden with books such as “Van Gough’s Paintings” and Wallpaper magazines. Upstairs from the main lobby is a library come bar with a fireplace at the rear end surrounded by comfortable sofas and a bar table doubled up as an Internet station.

I just hope that Pingyao stays this way, under-discovered, with only one boutique hotel, for at least a while. Anything else would mean Starbucks at the Palace Museum, KFC in Lijiang, bubble tea in Yangshuo and girls in fake embroidered dresses in Xijiang. I silently pray for that day never to come.

ITINERARY

Jing’s Residence is at 16 Dongjie, Pingyao, Shanxi (354 584 1000). Rooms from 700RMB/night; suites from 2,100RMB.

Getting there

The fast train from Beijing West Railway Station to Taiyuan (the provincial capital) takes just over three hours and costs 157RMB. Pingyao old town is then a one-hour drive away. Otherwise, China Eastern flies daily from Beijing to Taiyuan for about 590RMB return.

Understated Luxury has a New Name in Shanghai

黃潔玲 described in yesterday’s Ming Pao Shanghai’s Puli Hotel as 低調奢華 – understated luxury – what a phrase. We have finally gone beyond the gimmicks and the flashy Philippe Stark era (thank God), beyond the minimalism and the opulent, or the dramas of Park Hyatts to something closer to home. 黃潔玲 described the Puli further in such terms:

窗外的世界很繁華， 室內倒總是安安靜靜， 自個兒活在resort的調子。平淡是福，尤其人家在忙，你在無所事事，這種閒情逸致，說穿了就是奢侈。
The world outside is glamourous, while the one inside is quaint and quiet; it indulges itself in a resort-like rhythm. Simplicity is bliss. This kind of peaceful comfort - especially when others are busy and you alone are procrastinating - in the end, is simply luxury in its own right.

I cannot agree with her more. The Puli, which opened in September last year, is my favourite hotel in recent years for that specific reason. This is a hotel which has all the qualities of a star yet does not like to show off. Even the entrance to the hotel was hidden from the main street. To enter, you have to endure the grumbles of the local taxi driver – 這是甚麼鬼地方啊？！(What kind of shithole is this?) - and past a bamboo barricade before you reach the hotel lobby.

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When you enter, it becomes a whole different story. 中國式隱喻 (Chinese metaphor) is what 黃潔玲 called it. Indeed, the Puli is like an ancient Chinese poet reborn in style. He wears the pared-down Prada mandarin collar suit in traditional Chinese silk, dines at Jean George yet holds a copy of 史湘雲 (a book about one of the main characters in “Dream of the Red Chamber”) in his hands. Indeed, at the Puli, you will find books such as these lying around the library alongside coffee table books about the works of Zaha Hadid, while antique Chinese cabinets lay alongside contemporary Chinese paintings. The traditional reception area is given an interesting makeover as a reception “bar” – an elongated teakwood bench and lowered floors on the other side of the reception table, all the way across the entire length of the lobby until it reaches the back where it becomes a real bar. Even the black marble flooring was apparently measured and designed in meticulous detail by the consultant who works on the Palace Museum in Beijing.

Inside the rooms, a Chinese style fish-scale-patterned screen divides the entrance from rest of the room, while the bathroom is open but could be fenced off using a sliding glass door inlayed with a cream-coloured Chinese silk. For tabletops, marble is swapped for a black Chinese inkstone which gives it an unusual matt finish – all convincing me more and more that this is someone who does not like to be in the spotlight, but prefers to remain in the shadows of his more extravagant competitors.

It is this character of his that had me hooked. And with free wifi, complimentary minibar (YES, complimentary as in “free of charge”), a restaurant headed by Dane Clouston (formerly of critically acclaimed Opia in Hong Kong) and a bill that comes up to merely RMB2880 for three nights, what more can you ask for?

璞麗璞麗, 樸實而華麗, 人如其名啊！
Puli puli, plain but elegant, what a befitting name!

Touches of Affection in Beijing

Check out my latest Chinese post on Beijing's Nanluoguxiang area

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A Four Star Banyan Tree in Hangzhou

(ps: my photos do not do Banyan Tree justice)

I was not in a particularly good mood when I stepped into the Banyan Tree in Xixi, Hangzhou. We had been lost for a good thirty minutes wondering around Hangzhou’s dirty, chaotic train station and been harassed by countless drivers trying to compete for our attention. I was exhausted and hungry after the 40-minute drive from the station to Xixi. And then, as to celebrate all of this misery, there was right in front of me when I stepped out of the car, a 10 feet artificial Christmas tree in the centre of the Banyan Tree lobby, decked out in red and gold plastic garlands and blinking lights. Underneath the tree laid boxes of fake gifts, also wrapped in the same red and gold shiny paper. My heart sank.

I had long been a big fan of Banyan Tree with its eco-conscious developments and pioneering contribution to corporate social responsibility. I remember being especially active during our Banyan Tree case study for Social Responsibility class at INSEAD, asking tons of questions (which was highly unlike me in the MBA environment) and showing off my wonderful Banyan Tree experiences. In a way I was even trying to “collect” these experiences, always eager to be one of the first to try out their new resorts.

However, turned out that this was the worst Banyan Tree experience we have ever had. The nightmare in fact started a few days before our arrival when we received an email explaining that since many of its hotel facilities were not yet ready for use, we would be provided with complimentary dinner as an apology. Well, very nice of them to offer, but something like this should have been relayed to the guests when they made the reservation, and not shortly before their arrival, especially since spas and swimming pools are experiences that come part and parcel with something like Banyan Tree.

The dinner itself was a complete joke. It was like dining in a mainland Chinese four star hotel. The dining room was filled with guests gossiping loudly in Mandarin, apparently having just come out from a conference at the hotel. The waiters, some of them seemingly to personally know the guests, were standing casually along the corridor, chattering away as if in the comfort of their own homes. The lamps hanging above our table were in a bright red shade with beaded tassels of the same colour dangling randomly on the side. In front of us the walls were indented with square pits to hold antique-looking Chinese porcelain bowls, sitting forlornly under a pale fluorescent light.

I turn to the food to cheer myself up, but it was not any better. The fresh noodle section was showcasing supermarket purchased dumplings, packaging and all lying shameless around in the open kitchen. I try not to look at it, and turned to ask the server what the soup base was. “I think this is tofu. Yes, tofu and some vegetables,” he said, after an embarrassing grin.

Being on my vegetarian diet that day I asked again in most skepticism, “Are you sure? This is vegetarian? ”

“Yes. Tofu.” He said again.

Turned out it was a chicken tofu broth. Shortly afterwards my brother experienced the same embarrassed answer from the same man, this time serving ice cream.

“What flavour is this?”

“Um…. I’m not sure.”

“What about this? It looks like strawberry.” He pointed at the pink mush.

“Um… I don’t know.” Perhaps it was my death stare after eating that chicken soup.

And did I mention that the entire meal had been conducted under the most unpleasant of environments with the busy clatter of used cutlery constantly bombarding us as they pile up on the workstation next to us?

So I make a complaint to the front desk. They promise to send the manager on shift to our room in thirty minutes. We waited for two hours. Nobody came and there was not a single phone call to explain. The next day, I woke up to find that the room’s aluminium front doors still had big red Chinese markings on them meant to assist their installation, and the paint in the bathroom chipping in a few places. This Banyan Tree was supposed to have soft-opened just last November 2009.

We try to find solace outside at the Xixi National Wetland Park. This is what Wikipedia says about the Park:

Xixi National Wetland Park is the first and only national wetland park in China, located at the west part of Hangzhou, Zhejiang province, a total of 10.64 square kilometers (26,300 acres). The park is densely crisscrossed with six main watercourses, among which scatter various ponds, lakes and swamps.
XiXi Wetland has a history of more than 1,800 years and an abundant cultural heritage…it contains the vivid life of a water village, featuring silkworm feeding and silk production.

I did not take even a single picture here. There was no wildlife, no cultural heritage, just aimless boat-ride after boat-ride and sign after sign that read “‘If You are the One’ (a blockbuster film directed by mainland director Feng Xiaogang) was shot on location here!” along with character-less shops which sold a bizarre selection of items from blueberry muffins to bubble tea to Chinese paintings.

At the end of all this, Shanghai’s Puli Hotel seemed like heaven. But more of that later.

China's Blue Hill -Literati Style

食物之道，不可隨眾，尤不可務名。－袁枚－

Ah Dai bowed at us gently with his palms together in front of his chest, an amber-coloured mala wrapped loosely around his wrist. He was smiling humbly in his dark linen Mandarin-collared suit.

Mother was the first to notice him. “Oh, that must be the owner?” She turned to the waitress leading us on a tour around Longjing Manor’s Centre Hall.

“Yes, but...” she said hesitantly. I suppose the owner would probably have preferred not to be recognized. However, mother was already on the move with her arms outstretched.

“So nice to meet you! We came all the way from Hong Kong to try your restaurant!” The two were by now shaking hands.

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Thanks to mother, what followed afterwards that night was magical. Ah Dai turned out to be a very jovial and talkative young man who had decided to open Longjing Manor with a few friends out of their sheer passion for food. Inspired by Qing Dynasty poet Yuan Mei’s dedication to gastronomy, Ah Dai set out to create a space which not only provides quality Chinese food loosely based on Yuan Mei’s recipes in “The Food Lists of the Garden of Contentment” (隨園食單), but more importantly respects traditional cooking methods and local agriculture. Longjing Manor was meant for only Ah Dai and his friends at first, but has since grown to its current size which comfortably accommodates 8 individual dining halls scattered around in pavilions around the Ming style garden.

Having just consumed a bowl of MSG-laden beef noodles at Chamate ( 一茶一座) along the banks of the West Lake reluctantly that same afternoon, to hear the following words come out of a Hangzhou man was an almost hallucinogenic experience.

“There are way too many fast food chains in our country these days. Children don’t even know what the real taste of food is anymore. The chicken you eat at KFC do not come from real chickens, they are merely genetically engineered substances that taste like chicken,” Ah Dai said with a sigh. “When I came across the slow food movement which originated from Italy, I decided that I should do something to promote this practice in China. We too need to slow down and learn to respect our land. That was how Longjing Manor came about.”

Ah Dai then instructed the waitress to hand him a computer-generated blueprint of what looked like a siheyuan (Chinese central courtyard) in the remote mountains. “This is a project that is due to be completed by the end of 2010. Here we invite guests to stay with us and to experience life in nature as we do. They are advised to wake up with us, work in the fields with us, watch us cook in the kitchen and then finally to eat with us. Here they will learn about the source of our food and to respect that source. It will be an educational and holistic retreat in one.” I can see mother’s eyes already lit with anticipation.

Moving into our dining hall, Ah Dai instructed his manager Xia Tian (literally Summer in Chinese) to guide us through the entire dining experience. We were first given each a bowl of freshly ground soymilk to warm our stomachs (it was during one of Hangzhou’s coldest winters with snow having fallen just the day prior) while Summer explained in detail the use of elevated serving bowls for the appetizers.

“Our cutlery are all custom made according to Qing tradition in Jingdezhen (the porcelain capital of China). However, the bowls being concaved traditionally you cannot see the food within from the side. Therefore we had the bottom of the bowl elevated as well. The result is something like a plate stacked on top of an elevated bowl,” giggled Summer.

Next came soup 金蟬銀翎 made from “old” duck reared 3 to 5 years cooked with a rare “plant/insect” hybrid called the “golden silkworm flower” (金蠶花). The golden silkworm flower is a silkworm by winter, and infested with pollens in its head by summer to become a flower. It apparently has the same medicinal purposes as the caterpillar fungus and gives the soup its natural sweetness. This insect flower is hard to find nowadays and only available at a small selection of Chinese herb shops.

The vegetable dish, “Can Let Go” (捨得) (the Chinese name of which, is one of those regretful terms that cannot be more beautifully translated into English) is a myriad of vegetables of the brightest, prettiest green I’ve ever seen, made only with the tender, young bulbs of the bak choi. Even simple scrambled eggs with spring onions, is the best I have tasted. Summer informed us that their eggs are sourced directly from farmers’ private stock of chickens kept for their own consumption, which lay eggs on their natural cycle. On the other hand, all of Longjing Manor’s daily purchases are documented in detail in a “Sourcing Log” with the name of the local farmer, the quantity purchased and price.

The rest of the night continued to be an inspirational affair complete with dishes such as the “Loving Mother’s Dish (braised pork belly and eggs cooked for up to 48 hours to reflect the legendary repeated cooking of this dish by the mother while she waited anxiously for the arrival of her son, not knowing exactly when he would return)”, old-style sea cucumber and handmade rice cakes, while Summer continued to wow us with his knowledge of traditional Chinese literature and gastronomy.

I left Longjing Manor in a state of bliss, bemused at how much China seem to have evolved and changed within the last couple of years. I had never thought I would encounter anything of the caliber of Blue Hill, or indeed anyone with the ideal of the Barber brothers, but I got more – an idyllic Chinese garden, true to its origins and the land from which it is surrounded, and a group of modern day Chinese literati working to preserve and combine traditional Chinese cuisine, with a somewhat poetic poise.

Inauguration of "My Favourite Restaurants" in Shanghai

It is easy to become delusional in Shanghai. You often believe yourself to be in Europe only to be immediately transported back to mainland China with the snap of a finger, the yell of “fuwuyuan!” (server!), the sight of a man spitting into a perfectly manicured garden or the typos on the menu. However, to my surprise, my experience at Casa 13 on Huashan Road was rid of all such similar mishaps.

Casa 13 is the latest addition to the ever expanding Eduardo Vargas family (Azul, Viva, iiiit) and features Mediterranean classics in a secluded renovated 1920s house in the heart of the French Concession. My one time experience there was flawless by Shanghai standards – the food was great and perfect for sharing (and those who know me will know that I’m a sucker for all things tapas!), the service polite, and the house tastefully decorated.

This is the perfect place to impress a date or to round up a group of friends, sit out in the terrace while kick starting the meal with the charcuterie board over a glass of sangria. On the night I was there I received a little notebook named “My Favourite Restaurants” from my friend K. Might as well, Casa 13 can the first one listed.

Casa 13 is on No. 13, 1100 Huashan Lu
near Xingguo Lu 华山路1100号13室 近兴国路

Tel: (86) 21-5238-2782

Japanese Influence in Yao Culture? (or Vice Versa?)

After an action packed day in Yangshuo we set off to Lonji Titian. Dragon’s Spine Rice Terraces, as they call Longji in English, is an area a good 4 hour drive north of Guilin and populated by the Zhuang and Yao minorities. On the way we passed by Baisha market and decided to experience the hustle and bustle of a typical Chinese market. Baisha offers almost anything you can imagine, and in the largest scale I have ever seen. Every service, or product, is offered in row-upon-row –folds. There are the prêt-a-manger food stalls offering dog meat, cat meat and rabbit meat and occupying a semi-open air space the size of big delinquent warehouse. Then there are the dentists, a handful of them operating on patients from a single display table (one with a promotional display saying “咳声脱牙”, something which I do not understand to this day. Do dentists in China deal with coughs as well?) and chair on the sidewalk side by side with the chicken vendors. There are the barbers who line the park while men get their shaves sitting on single wooden chairs, and the glutinous rice cake makers by the dozens, all rubbing and churning out the exact same food. Even the patrons shop in the exact same way, live chicken in hand albeit grabbed in slightly different ways, some by the feet and some by the wings.

Arriving at Longji we had to choose between visiting the Zhuang minorities in Ping An or the Yao minorities in Jinkeng due to our time constraints. Being adventurous backpackers as we are (no doubt about that - we left our luggage to the poor village women who charged us RMB20 to carry our suitcases in baskets up for us) we decided to skip the more popular and more easily accessed Ping An and head further inland to the Jinkeng Yao Village.

As we watched the black turbaned and pink jacketed Yao women disappear swiftly uphill with our 15kg suitcases on their backs, we processed slowly up into the Yao village perching alongside the rice terraces. Jinkeng reminded me, much to my surprise, of the set for the Tom Cruise movie the Last Samurai. Even the Yao houses and the cobblestoned streets looked oddly Japanese. The rice terraces, each only a few feet wide, are painted an autumnal golden yellow. Smoke rises gently from some of the houses. I realize it is perhaps inching towards supper time. The only noise that is breaking the quietness and stillness of the valley is the sound of schoolchildren shouting and laughing in the local school playground. Jinkeng seems almost idyllic, an existence that is increasingly hard to find in modern day China.

After a leisurely 3 hour hike we arrive at our hotel, Meijinglou, or Beautiful Scenery Mansion which occupies a typical吊脚楼 (literally - “hanging feet structure” - the sizes of each floor increases slightly as we progress upwards to reveal “feet” – or extended wooden pillars - hanging from the four corners of the floor above). Outside the hotel, where our luggage is being offloaded, gathers a loose crowd of around 20 Yao women selling their wares in various forms. I decide to buy from our porter in acknowledgment of her hard work and paid RMB100 for an extensively embroidered bright pink jacket and RMB20 for a hand woven belt. I will probably never get to wear them but such is the magic spell a beautiful place like Jinkeng casts on its visitors - you feel like you become a Yao, living high amongst the mist, care free.