October in Beijing: Street Fashion and Food

Somehow it's almost November, which means we’ve clocked a full four months in Beijing. If the rest of our tour moves this fast, I should probably start packing. This morning, on my way to buy vegetables, it dawned on me that Beijing's novelties—squat toilets, wet market shopping, driving habits—are losing their shine, finally turning into normal life stuff.

Let’s not get ahead of myself, though, I'm no China veteran—still trying to figure out the small stuff. And watching the city adjust to cold weather has been interesting—novel, even. For one thing, people walk faster in the cold. Back in in the U.S., I'd pictured Beijing walking at a New York/DC pace, but I spent the summer elbowing past people wandering down the sidewalk at turtle speed. I’m still a fast walker in comparison, but the cold looks to have put a little pep in the general public’s step. The other standout feature of cold weather is the street apparel on display. Out of necessity, scooters and bikes haven’t been pulled off the street for the winter. Instead, drivers suit up in hefty, oven mitt/blanket combos that protect them from the cold and dirt of the roads. Here’s a look at what I’m talking about:

The best thing about the descending cold, though, is the street food. It's always around, but in the last few weeks, food carts have popped up everywhere. I’m still a street novice, but there are a handful of snacks that I love with a fierceness verging on addiction. I'm still doing field research, but these are few of my favorites:

Jianbing (jyen-bing)

Roadside carts rigged with a round (sometimes spinning) hot plate are where jianbing happen. The whole thing starts with a crepe-like pancake that the chef cracks an egg over. After that comes a brown sauce (some say hoisin, some say other type) and hot pepper oil. Handfuls of chopped scallions and/or cilantro get sprinkled across the sauced plane, and a big, square, fried wonton-ish thing is dropped on top. Finally, the pancake is folded around the wonton and served in a plastic bag.

It is hot, salty, crunchy, and a little spicy. Straight up delicious. (Watch your back, egg and cheese sammich.) Jianbing typically cost 5 yuan (about 75 cents). Here’s a video (taken by somebody else) that shows the whole process—you'll see that sometimes other ingredients like lettuce and meat are included.

Baozi (bow-dzeh)

You’ve probably seen these before at Chinese restaurants. They're fat little packages made of steaming white dough and stuffed with all kinds of good stuff. They’re cooked in round, bamboo steamers that I've trained myself to spot from miles away, usually at hole-in-the-wall type places. These buns are soft and delicious and cost around 2-3 yuan each, depending on how big they are. I buy them to snack on when I’m out for a walk, usually two at a time. I can’t read Chinese or speak it well, so the filling is sometimes a surprise. My favorite, so far, was a mixture of grated carrots, ginger, and vermicelli, but I’ve had mushrooms with greens, mushrooms with hot pepper, beef, and pork. All good.

Vegetable boazi (the dollop of green on top helps the vendor know what kind of filling is inside).

These were filled with hot pepper and sweet onion, and some other mystery ingredient. A+.

Youtiao (yo-tyow)

This one is amazing—just a giant stick of fried dough. Unlike churros, or the sugar-dusted fried dough of county fairs, these sticks are unsweetened—an undisguised, flaming hot, fried carbohydrate bomb. Allegedly, locals like to eat these for breakfast with soy milk, but so far I haven’t had this combination. Next time I write about street food I’ll report on this. Youtiao cost me about 3 yuan—for (almost) more than I could eat.

Youtiao standing up on the left, untried curly fried things on the right.

Hongshu (hong-shoo, means red potato)

This, friends, is a giant roasted sweet potato. I bought one the other day because their scent was enchanting (think caramel, thanksgiving, joy) and I wasn’t disappointed. They’re usually sold by the “jin” (about half a kilo/1 pound) and, like everything else, get dropped into a plastic bag and handed to you. Then you try to figure out how to eat it—I ripped mine in half and sort of stuck my face in it, but there’s probably a better way. There’s no sauce, topping, mashing, etc., only the sweet, sweet, sweet potato all by itself. It’s better than you'd think. To find them, I look for a barrel on the back of a cart with the potatoes perched on top.

If you're lifting a judgmental eyebrow at the idea of eating “street food," I understand. Especially after seeing the hygiene habits practiced by the vendors around here. But I'm a Beijing resident now, so I’ve shelved my food safety principles and embraced the grimy fingernails, street dust, and oil-slicked prep surfaces of here. It may be dirty, but the local attitude towards food is inherently reverential —eating well is a pillar of this culture—so I'm willing to trust that strangers selling snacks on the street are interested in giving me good food. I’ve had no stomach issues to date, so things are going well.

That’s the update on Beijing in October. More to come soon!

In the meantime: