Vanessa Moore
The old saying, “The way to my heart is through my stomach” accurately sums up the way I feel about China. Famed for its “small eats” or 小吃, one my main joys venturing across the border is being able to sample the mainland’s incredible variety of street food. While some may scoff at the thought of eating down an alley, I personally think you haven’t lived until you’ve tried it. And no trip would be complete without stuffing my face with a plethora of titbits. Fried, boiled, roasted and steamed, for me, seeking out billowing clouds of smoke down nondescript backstreets is a process almost as cathartic as searching for the Holy Grail. And a couple of weeks ago I was finally able to give in to my cravings by nipping up to Shanghai for the weekend to feast my eyes as well as my belly.
Contemplating the fickle metropolis that is China’s financial capital, what makes Shanghai especially distinctive in my mind – and one of the things China does best – is big contrasts. From old to new, gleaming skyscrapers to dank alleys, mega-uber wealth to grinding poverty, the same can also be said of its food. And Shanghai offers some the most incredible diversity of the good stuff I’ve seen. Take, for example, that noble Shanghainese specialty the xiaolongbao 小笼包, otherwise known as the soup dumpling. Found at five-star restaurants, food courts and humble street stalls, that’s the greatest thing about them: you can get a succulently steaming basket everywhere and anywhere whether you’re a prince or a pauper.
But hang on a second, for those sticklers for historical accuracy among you, I should probably make a little digression. To set the record totally straight, those little parcels of soupy heaven didn’t really originate in Shanghai. They actually came from a separate town called Nanxiang, southwest of the city. But as Shanghai’s macadam fingers stretched out and multiplied, the municipality got swallowed up, digested and assimilated into the outer suburbs. So like a form of culinary synthesis, present-day xiaolongbao are de facto Shanghainese.
Ok, digression over and back to more of Shanghai’s finger-lickingly good street menu. Aside from xiaolongbao, alleyway dining doesn’t get much better than another of my favourites, a deceptively simple carby treat named cong you ban mian 葱油拌面or scallion noodles – literally spring onion oil tossed noodles. Then there’s crispy, oily fried white radish cakes, or you dun zi 油墩子, topped with salty chilli paste sauce. And for the true connoisseur, something I first tried in Taiwan, chou doufu 臭豆腐, also known as stinky tofu. Cut into bite-sized pieces, deep-fried, and liberally pasted with spicy sauce, like durian, once you get over the smell the taste is more than doubly worth the negligible nostril assault. And lastly, for the oil-averse among you who still remember far too many gutter oil stories, baozi 包子, or plump steamed buns filled with a delicious savoury tofu and green herb combination round off my top five open air munches.
While the mainland can be criticised for many things, street food certainly isn’t one of them. Despite decades of communist upheaval and the razing of old neighbourhoods, select areas of Shanghai and Beijing (to a lesser extent) have managed to retain their old world charm. Looking back closer to home, although Macau has fared much better in preserving its traditional streetscapes, its alleys and cul-de-sacs seem to be strangely empty without the tell-tale sizzling of oil and the clatter of pushcarts.
In an effort to sanitise, modernise and air-condition everything in sight, our old Cantonese dai pai dongs, cart noodles and street hawkers are fast becoming an anachronism, much to the detriment of everyone. While we now have some of the best restaurants and Michelin-starred eateries this side of the world, what makes our new-fangled finery even sweeter is the contrast between the two. Sometimes the fanciest dinner is best followed by a steaming alleyway breakfast. Because life is all about contrasts, isn’t it?
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