Food Shopping in Beijing — scribbler at large

Well, an unacceptable amount of time has passed since my last post and I hope you’ll forgive me. My excuses are lame, so I won’t list them. I WILL say, though, that I’ve been baking up a storm—sticky buns, pies, cakes, cookies—because ’tis the season, even when you live in China. I’m probably the slowest baker this side of the Pacific (which is saying something, because the locals here don’t even really bake), so that’s one excuse for not writing. All this baking did remind me to tell you about food shopping and wet markets in Beijing, because—surprise!—they're not what westerners are used to.

Baking projects here involve the emotional rollercoaster of hunting for western ingredients—think vanilla extract, pecans, corn syrup, etc. I live in Chaoyang District, which gives me a leg up (full of foreigners), and, even more noteworthy, I have the enormous privilege of access to the U.S. Embassy’s commissary where I can find things like brown sugar, Betty Crocker cake mixes (as if!), and Trident. But even so, when I’m standing in my kitchen in need of, say, sliced almonds, I have to first figure out if I’ve seen them on a shelf at one of the four places nearby that sell western goods. If yes, then I have to recall which place it was and hope my memory isn't lying. Then I’ll head out, always with a plan B location in mind. To give you an idea of how this goes, a couple of weeks ago I went looking for marshmallow creme (hold your judgement, folks, it was for a good cause). I was sure the commissary had it (wrong), but I ended up walking six miles and visiting four stores with no luck.

Oil and grains booth at Sanyuanli wet market.

Aside from the flat out search for items that may not exist, there’s the question of where to buy the things that I know where to find—stuff like produce and milk and bread. Important questions like, which store’s eggs probably expired last week, rather than last month? Where can I get the best bargain on cherry tomatoes? must be weighed in advance, on top of the fact that there's no Shaw’s or Price Chopper experience for us here, so even a basic stock-up trip calls for more than one destination. Caveat: this multi-stop shopping is partially self-inflicted because we choose to buy imported meat and dairy products. BUT even the locals hit up more than one place in search of good deals and quality produce.

The football-field wet market (aka Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market).

The final level of data that I apply to my planning before leaving the house is the giant price-gap between imported goods and local goods. A quart of shelf-stable milk (from Australia or Germany, for example) is usually $3 and up, while 10 Chinese-grown oranges will cost me 75 cents. Some stores that cater to foreigners from the West will charge $6 for milk, while others are more reasonable. In an emergency, I can always go to the supermarket on the ground floor of my building, where a dozen eggs costs $10 and a single carrot is $2...but that's desperation shopping.

An average shopping trip, like the one I did today, goes like this: walk 35 minutes to the best wet market, where I buy lemons, bell peppers, hot peppers, and snow peas. From there, walk 15 minutes to the supermarket where I buy eggs (that expired four days ago: SCORE) and cherry tomatoes (because I can get them for less that $5 per lb). Then walk five minutes to another wet market that has a booth where I can buy butter, cream, peppermint extract, and raspberry jam. Then walk 20 minutes home. Three and a half miles, a backpack and a handheld bag, friends.

Rice, grains, beans at Sanyuanli Market.

What’s a wet market, you might ask? It’s a fabulous place packed with vendors selling vegetables, fruit, beef, chicken, pork, seafood, grains, spices, teas and sometimes more—like nonperishables from the U.S. and Europe. My favorite wet market is basically a covered cement football field that opens at the crack of dawn (or before) and closes by 2p.m. It's loud and usually crowded with locals—lots of older folks wheeling granny carts, throwing elbows, and squeezing vegetables.

Sanyuanli—my second favorite wet market.

Looking down one row of Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market.

If you stop in front of a vendor, he’ll throw you a plastic bag to fill with whatever you want. Then he’ll weigh the bag and yell the total at you. You hand over the money and move on. Prices are posted on little hand-written signs. This place isn’t a bargaining venue. Some other wet markets don't have posted prices, so it’s easier to get screwed—but even so, most vegetables don’t cost much (unless we’re talking red and yellow bell peppers or things like fennel and parsnips that aren’t a regular part of the Chinese diet). Fruit is more of a wildcard, especially things like cherries or plums, which can get exorbitant.

Stringy mushrooms at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market.

Friends of mine here sometimes go glassy-eyed when I start talking about my shopping strategies (or the quirks of my oven), so feel lucky that you can just close this page before dying of boredom (if you haven't already). Without further obnoxious detail, here are more pictures from the wet markets I frequent. It’s not the full experience, but it’ll give you an idea (if you click on the photos, most of them will expand).

Chinese yams at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market. Kind of potatoey to eat, but slightly grainier.

These tiny oranges are super sweet and refreshing.

Lotus root at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market. Very tasty hotpot option or dumpling filling ingredient.

The prettiest mushrooms at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market.

Ginger heap at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market

Not sure what these are? Embarrassing. Please help.

Noodles at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market. Not sure what kind?

Sanyuanli Market. We don't usually buy seafood here, but friends of ours sometimes do.

Quail eggs at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market.

Zuojiazhuang Shengfu Market. That stuff up front is tiny dried shrimp. I think.

The meat vendors at Zuojiazhuang Shengfu (my favorite market).

ORGANZ AND FEET. The blood smell of the wet market meat stalls tends to hang out in my nasal passage for a few hours after I leave.

MURDER SCENE. The red lighting isn't a photo filter, it's the actual way these meat stalls are lit. — MURDER SCENE. The red lighting isn't a photo filter, it's the actual way these meat stalls are lit.

There you have it, a potentially tedious overview of how I shop for foodstuffs here. The convenience of U.S. supermarkets cannot be beat, but I already know that when I leave here I'lll sorely miss the ambiance, deals, good-and-bad-smells, and shiny produce of the wet markets. (Sure, I may not know how many/what kind of chemicals were dumped on my cucumbers, but that’s what washing is for.) And yes, it's cumbersome that every shopping trip demands a couple of miles on foot, but I've heard exercise is good for you.

One more thing: