My husband plays this little game every now and then. I’m not sure whether it’s his way of preparing for the worst thing imaginable to him. His Armageddon. His Apocalypse. His Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Out of the blue he will ask me: “If you had to give up all but one meat, which one would you keep?”. To me, this question was always a bit of a conundrum. Lamb seemed the obvious choice. Ribs, roasted till the fatty bits are all crispy. Shanks, slow cooked in Port till the meat melts off the bone. Chops, cooked on an open fire, surrounded by friends. Leg, done till slightly pink and served with lakes of rich gravy. But then what about bacon? I mean, pork would lose if not for bacon, but bacon complicates matters greatly. A pickle. But like anything, I needed to lose both to realise what mattered most to me. We technically can’t get bacon in Qingpu. Or at least, we can get something that says bacon on the packet. And “Elaborate Bacon” at that. But it’s some sort of processed, smoked meat chopped into bits and reassembled into a shape vaguely resembling that most essential BLT ingredient. And after our favourite teppanyaki restaurant closed its doors overnight despite being an apparent roaring success, we could no longer get mutton or lamb in any shape or form either. So, in those desperate days where I could not tuck into either a lamb chop or a perfectly crisp slice of streaky bacon, lamb is what I would’ve run to if you’d put it opposite bacon and had them both call me at the same time.
I am therefore slightly embarrassed that it took me four months to discover the wonder that is Shanghai’s Friday morning Muslim market. Here, on North Changde Lu in the Jing’an District, you can get lamb in every conceivable style – fresh, cooked, minced, spiced, baked in dough, steamed in dumplings, skewered onto kebabs. And oh. My. Word. As a half blood Afrikaner meisie it pains me to say that the lamb I have eaten in China is better than any Karoo lamb I’ve had back home. Granted, it won’t be to everyone’s taste. As lamb goes, it’s fairly lean (if you don’t have the tail bit) and it has that really strong animal flavour you only ever get when you know someone who knows someone who can get his hands on one of those sheep who was actually destined to provide only wool, but then met an untimely end in a sausage machine.
But wait! Before we get to the market, a little detour is essential. To get to the market, you absolutely have to take the (less than) scenic route via Yanping Road. What you are looking for is Wuyuan bĭngjiā (or W.Y. Fanriy Cake – fancy cake? fairy cake? I don’t know, but look out for the orange sign). Here you will find xie ke huang – tiny, crispy, golden sweet or savoury crab shell pies. The pies don’t necessarily contain crab (although our interpreter did tell us that the ones we had here were crab roe, which I’m a bit dubious about given the pale colour). Rather, they are so called because the finished product resembles golden crab shells. The savoury fillings can contain fresh meat or crab meal, shrimps, spring onion and lard and the sweet ones are filled with sugar, rose water and bean or date paste – the sweet filling when warm has the consistency of thick syrup. The pastry is made from oiled, fermented flour and is wrapped around the filling, rolled in sesame seeds and then baked on the walls of a clay oven. It it hard to say what it is that makes me yearn for these little pies, even now. But there is just something about the crispy, flaky pastry giving way to the warm, soft, delicately flavoured center that is addictively moreish. We hadn’t made it halfway up the block before we’d polished off the lot and had to go back for more. Would I lie to you? It’s worth getting off a stop early for them. 蟹壳黄 – just find these characters on the menu and point – there is no English here. Pay inside and either eat in or collect your pies from the window outside. The queue moves very quickly. The pies are around RMB1 each.
Anyway, back to the Muslim Market. The red awninged carts and stalls of the market line both sides of Changde Lu on the sidewalks outside the Huxi Mosque. Most of the vendors are Uyghurs from Xinjiang province. This is the region that makes the sheeping world go round – the lamb here is the fat bottomed (or fat tailed to be precise) breed of sheep that gives the dishes you’ll find here that hearty, flavoursome edge. You can stock up on incense, carpets, jewellery, ornate daggers (can’t have too many of those), nuts, dates, fruit, a mind-boggling selection of raisins and sultanas, naan, and, most importantly lamb. Lots and lots of lamb!
Our first stop was at the steamed dumpling stall. They’re made just like every other jiaozi in Shanghai, but instead of pork they are filled with minced lamb and onions. There are virtually no other spices added – it’s just unadulterated lamby yumminess! The paper thin dough is folded around the lamb mixture, deftly pinched along the edges to seal in the meat and juices and the dumplings are then steamed in massive bamboo steamers.
One of the most popular dishes at the market is pulao (or polos) – mutton pilaf. To make this Uyghur dish, great, big chunks of mutton are boiled with rice, carrots, onions, garlic and sultanas. But while this was one of the main dishes I came for, it didn’t really appeal to me once I saw the pans full of rice. I think I was expecting a little more oomphf. Maybe some spices or something. Anyway, we skipped the pilaf and moved on to the langman – a cold noodle dish served with chilli flakes and sliced vegetable. We moved along – cold noodles are probably great for balancing the richness of the lamb dishes, but we were not outlambed just yet.
We crossed the road and headed for a stand selling samsa – baked Uyghur pies made with minced lamb, onions and spices, the Turkic Central Asian version of the better known samoosa. At the first such stall we came across (where they also sold their own version of apo zong) the samsa was fried, rather than baked. The vendor was incredibly friendly, standing with a toothless grin from ear to ear. But I’m sorry friendly mister vendor man, I really didn’t like the pies. They were rather oily (a bit like a bad South African vetkoek shell) and the meat was overpoweringly flavoured with cardamom instead of subtle cumin.
Disappointment was soon followed by elation though, as we came to a vendor selling roast lamb shoulder and ribs. The lamb is marinated in yogurt flavoured with just a hint of spices and a generous lashing of turmeric that turns it a gloriously golden hue. It is then slow roasted to fall-off-the-bone perfection. I have thought of this lamb at least once a week since we had it. Truth be told, I get a little melancholic every, single time. Just point at the bits you want and the vendor will cleave it all up into bite sized pieces for you.
Next up was an altogether better samsa stall. Here the pies are baked on the sides of a tandoor oven in the traditional manner. A bit like a hot pocket, the pies are encased in a bread shell – similar to a thin, crispy, smokey pizza crust – and the meat is very subtly spiced so that none of the beautiful flavour of the lamb is overpowered. The little parcels are slapped against the walls of the oven and poked around for a bit until they’re cooked.
I’ve only highlighted a few of the delicacies to be had here, but it was impossible to try everything. It was one of those days I wished I were a cow with a few extra stomachs (okay, I wish that most days). In between there were also various stalls selling kebabs assembled in every possible meaty permutation and slow roasted over coal fires. We didn’t even get to these, but if they’re anything like some of the other mutton kebabs I’ve had on the street, they’d be beautifully tender and perfect sprinkled with a bit of cumin and paprika and a dash of chilli. There are stalls selling homemade, filled pastas, fried and syrup soaked pastries, baklava and other sweets and bowls full of dogh – chipped ice covered in yoghurt and drizzled with honey. There is also fresh lamb for sale – from whole carcasses to stripped down spines and fat encased kidneys and all the bits in between. If a fly on your food puts you off then… well then how do you eat in China? The Friday Muslim Market was a truly memorable culinary experience and is well worth a visit. I suggest you buy at least two of everything because you’ll be sorry by Saturday if you don’t!
Getting there:
Take line 7 on the MTR. If you’re going to stop off for some crab shell pies first, then get off at Changping Road. Head west on Changping Lu until you hit Yanping Lu. Turn left. The bakery is about 300m down the road on your right. From here, head back to Changde Lu and just follow it north until your nose finds the market. If you’re allergic to shellfish (the only conceivable reason why you’d miss out on the crab shell pies), get off at Changshou Road and head north from there.
If you’re a three-hours-or-longer-Friday-lunch kinda person, the Chinese work ethic can take a bit of getting used to. It’s no wonder they’re taking over the world one “Made in China” label at a time – they work like machines. So my husband works really long hours. We hardly see each other on a work day and then he only has one in every twelve days off. Needless to say, rain days have become very precious to us, because he gets to stay home. We get so ridiculously lazy on these days. We COULD use them as a precious opportunity to spend some time together exploring all the fascinating new places around us. But when that call finally comes, confirming there will be no pick up that day, we inevitably turn to each other and, slightly embarrassed at our anti-wanderlust tendencies, timidly suggest simultaneously, “Movies?”. We will then proceed to spend the entire day in bed watching movies, only emerging to make tea or something to eat. On one such day, while one of the many typhoons that battered China’s eastern coast this summer was raging outside, I hit a personal low on the uselessness scale. I got up around four in the afternoon, still in my nightie, and looked in the mirror (probably to check for bedsores). The mirror is behind the bedside lamp and the globe is naked because the hotel uses these ridiculously ostentatious lamp shades that are all shade without the lamp bit. They are so covered in gold they don’t let any actual light through so I’d removed it. Anyway, I leaned into the mirror and accidentally burnt my boob on the globe! I pulled my nightie away and was horrified to discover I had burnt a blister right through the fabric! I was also a little confused as, while it had smarted a bit, it didn’t seen to be as sore as a big, brown blister warranted. Nonetheless, it was not lost on me that I could use my injury as a means of getting out of tea making duty for the rest of the day. So I put on my best quivering-lip face and, nursing my injured appendage, made my way to my husband to garner some sympathy. I was just rounding the corner of the bed, wondering whether limping a little would be overkill, when my blister fell off. We stood there staring at it for a few seconds until realization dawned: The blister was nothing more than an errant popcorn kernel, stuck there from wolfing down a bowl from a prone position hours earlier. So it was on this day – trying to make up for being caught at such an obvious deception just to get out of tea making duty – that this dish was conceived. Adam declared it to be one of his favorites. The inspiration came from my mom’s preferred way of doing prawns. The original recipe (from a Vroue Federasie cook book from yore) used lemon juice (and had a few different tweaks I don’t recall) which is an ideal substitute for when you’d rather drink your wine than cook with it. This pasta dish is perfect for days when you are so lazy, that anything you eat needs to take ten minutes or less to cook from start to finish. Maximum impact with ridiculously little effort.
Serves 2
Ingredients:
2 tablespoons butter
2 cloves garlic, crushed
3ml dried thyme
200g prawns, raw and shelled
about half a cup of dry white wine
half a cup of cream
a pinch or two of paprika
a few drops of Tabasco sauce (If you’re in SA, use a teaspoon of peri-peri Aromat. That’s right, I just said that. Use more if you like things hot. )
salt and pepper to taste
as much or as little pasta as you like
Method:
1) Put the pasta on to cook according to the instructions.
2) Over medium heat, melt the butter in a pan. Add the garlic and fry for a minute. Add the thyme and prawns and fry till the prawns are pink and almost cooked.
3) Add the wine and boil for a minute or two till reduced by half, then add the cream, paprika, tabasco and season to taste. Drain the pasta, toss with the prawns and cream and serve.
Author’s note: If you have made use of this tour, please pop me a note to let me know of any changes that might have occurred so future travelers can be aware of any closures or business location changes. And if you have anything to add, please leave a comment here too. Other travelers would love to hear from you! – LK
So you have 24 hours in China’s biggest city. You’re a world-wise traveler. You have more stamps in your passport than David Attenborough’s cameraman. You prefer to do those things that are off the beaten track, far from the madding crowd, living like the natives do and all that. Hole-in-the-wall eateries, remote temples, out of the way ramshackle buildings with loads of history, original fittings and a little old man out front who will single-handedly change the way you view the world with a story about how he ones saved a shepherd and his goats. You know – all those tips that well-thumbed guidebook has told you and a million other readers to do. I get it. But if you’re only going to have one day in Shanghai, you’re probably going to want to see the Bund and Old Shanghai – probably the two most touristy spots this side of Mongolia (the pavements of Nanjing Road alone are trampled by over a million visitors a day). Nothing wrong with that. Hit the area between Nanjing Road pedestrian street in the north and Fang Bang Road in the south and you’ll see the best of all that is East and West, modern and traditional that Shanghai has to offer. Or that’s what I think.
Pudong skyline. Clearly not reliant on Eskom.
Time: Full day
Distance: 3 miles / 4.8 kilometers plus exploring
START: East Nanjing Road MTR Station (1) END: Yuyuan Garden MTR Station (20)
Exit the station on to Nanjing Road and head west. The pedestrian portion starts a little way up the road. Just because you’ve almost been knocked down four times by speeding, obnoxious scooter drivers and at least one brown car does not mean you’re not in the right place. Sidewalks are where the Chinese like to drive. Nanjing Road is Shanghai’s main shopping street and one of the world’s busiest. It is divided into Nanjing Road East (from the Bund to People’s Square) and Nanjing Road West (from People’s Square towards Jing’an District). Both Nanjing East and Nanjing West boast large department stores as well as a variety of retail outlets and restaurants. For the purpose of this tour we’re only going to head a little way up Nanjing East, mainly to get to the (2) San Yang Food Shop located at no. 630. It is not signposted in English, but you should find it easily from the gallery pic. I suppose one would describe this place as a dried grocery store. If you can dry it and eat it, it is here. And as you know, the Chinese will eat just about anything, so expect to find sea cucumbers, starfish, every possible edible mushroom and bracket fungus, a selection of shellfish that will make your eyes water, fruits, vegetables, seeds, nuts, meats (the appeal of sweet pork floss remains a mystery to me) and mind bogglingly expensive cordyceps fungi with their caterpillar hosts. There is also a massive selection of traditional Shanghainese sweets and snacks as well as cured meats and fowl. It is a fascinating place, especially if it is your first introduction to the oftentimes weird and wonderful world of Chinese cuisine. Find the ladies selling the cookies and palmiers and try a few of their pineapple crisps. Delicious! If time permits you can continue heading west towards People’s Square and Nanjing West with all its luxurious boutiques where all the larny people shop, but we’re going east.
Just outside San Yang is (3) Chez l’Ami. This is a good place to quench your thirst (you have been walking for all of twenty minutes after all) and do a bit of people watching. Yes, it is very, very French and as such is a bit of a shameful cop-out on day one of your big Chinese adventure, but it is one of the few places with seating right on the street.
Nanjing pedestrian road, oui?
Cai Tong De traditional medicines
Continue heading east towards the Bund. (6) South Beauty is a chain restaurant located in the Henderson Metropolitan and is a good bet if you’re looking for traditional Shanghainese and Szechuan food but are too scared to try street food. My suggestion though is to keep walking. Shanghainese street food is safe, delicious and cheap and available everywhere. Get your first taste right here at the little cafe on the street corner (opposite Lao Feng Xiang Jewellers Store with its floral wreaths). It’s easy to spot – there is probably a queue thirty people deep standing in line for (4) pork moonpies sold from a little window on the side. These savoury pastries are absolutely stuffed with pork mince filling and encased in a crispy, flaky shell. And at around US$0.50 a piece, it’s a deliciously cheap way to fill your tank. There’s a veggie version too. Look out for the red lanterns of (5) Cai Tong De pharmacy a little further along. Opened in 1882, this pharmacy is famous for its traditional Chinese medicine. The four-story building sells medicinal herbs, herbal pieces, medicinal liquor, beauty treatments, health care products and some expensive tonics such as ginseng and pilose antler. If you’re running low on sheep placenta, donkey hide gelatin or deer penis, this is the place to stock up. I always wonder who the first person was to think, hmmm, let’s rub a bit of this on and see what it does? The rest of the road down to the Bund is chock full of boutiques and stores including an Apple store and the massive, newly opened Forever 21 if you’d like to kid yourself.
(7) The Swatch Art Peace Hotel is named after the Swatch watch shop on the first floor. The Renaissance style building was constructed as the Palace Hotel in 1908. It has a brick veneer structure with six stories reaching 30 meters in height. The rooftop terrace has spectacular views of the city skyline and is a fantastic place to try a few cocktails (many with champagne if you’re feeling particularly celebratory) as the sun goes down. It also has a lovely view of my favourite art deco building in Shanghai – the Imperial Crown of the Westin Bund Centre.
The rooftop bar at the Swatch Art Peace Hotel. Looks posh, but anything goes.
Right next door is (8) The Bund 18 – a high end commercial bar and restaurant complex in a neoclassical style building that received the UNESCO Asia Pacific Heritage Award in 2006 after two years of careful restoration. The building houses the well known French eatery, Mr. & Mrs. Bund. Stop here for dessert. No, it doesn’t matter if it’s only eleven in the morning and you haven’t even eaten lunch. Just stop here for dessert anyway! With his Lemon & Lemon Tart, chef Paul Pairet does things to this little yellow citrus fruit over a period of 72 hours that will have you jumping up and down in your seat and clapping hands like a giddy little girl. At least, that’s what it did to me. A paper thin, whole candied lemon rind is filled with lemon sorbet, lemon curd and vanilla chantilly and served with sablé (shortbread biscuit to you and me). At 100RMB (US$16) a portion this is a dessert you savour mouthful by creamy, tangy, citrussy mouthful. But you can tuck in to a complimentary amuse-bouche before you start – impossibly light and airy but beautifully flavoured tuna mousse served in a re-purposed tuna can with crispy melba toast and other breads, so you’re getting your money’s worth. If that doesn’t convince you, they have teeny, tiny chairs specially for your bags! Now how cute is that?
Keep heading south along the Bund. Named after the Persian word for embankment, this one mile stretch along the Huangpu River is lined with dozens of historical buildings. There are benches all along the promenade where you can relax and look over the river at the view of the Oriental Pearl Tower, Shanghai World Financial Centre and the Jin Mao Tower that dominates the Pudong skyline. The Shanghai Tower – currently under construction to the right of the Jin Mao Tower – will be the tallest building in China when completed in 2014. The living walls lining the river side are a spectacular site and change with the seasons. (9) The Shanghai Customs House houses a massive clock tower known as Big Ching. At 90 meters tall it is the largest clock tower in Asia, with each of the four clock faces measuring over 5 meters in diameter. The bell was modeled on London’s Big Ben and when it chimes it feels a little like you could run into the Queen at any moment (like you do on an average day in London.)
HSBC Bank & Shanghai Customs House – don’t worry, you’re still in China.
(10) The HSBC Bank (now the Shanghai Pudong Development Bank) is a six storey neoclassical building with 4 storey high columns, archways and a dome, the base of which is decorated with a triangular structure in imitation of Greek temples. Opposite the bank is a bronze sculpture – The Charging Bull Statue. It was designed by Arturo Di Modica – the same artist who created the Wall Street version. It is the same size as the one in NYC however, as requested, the bull is redder, younger and stronger than the Wall Street version, looks up instead of down and is twice as heavy to symbolise the energy of the local economy. Mine is bigger than yours. Due to its anatomical correctness, it’s best to view it from the river side.
El Willy on the Bund
Even though the tuna and gazpacho didn’t make me cry, it was still movingly good.
El Willy is a Spanish tapas restaurant located in the (11) South Bund 22 complex. The restaurant is filled with warm, raw wood and glass panels decorated in hand painted, rainbow hued fish and other sea creatures. It boasts spectacular views over the Huangpu river from every table. It was here that I got a little teary eyed over a plate of food for the first time ever. The dish was the Explosive Balik Salmon with Truffled Honey and Sour Cream. I sat there slowly savouring each earthy, sensory caressing bite and cried a little out of gratitude that I could’ve experienced that. The food, the drink, my Bush Man, our surroundings – all of it was rendered more special by every blessed mouthful. Now I don’t want to be like one of those people who say “OMG! You have GOT to see the new James Bond movie! Best. Bond. Ever. EVER!”. Because you just know it’s going to be disappointing then right? It’s completely possible that that second cocktail had gone to my head and the day leading up to that moment had just been spectacular. But I do want to make sure you don’t miss out on this place. Order a Caipirinha and a few tapas and enjoy the lights, the view, the colours and the miracle that is our sense of taste. Life would be so much bleaker without it.
Continue heading South(ish) until you hit Xinkaihe Road. You will see (12) Gucheng Park across the street. This is the north eastern corner of the Old City. Renmin Road in the North and Zhonghua Road to the South West now run where the city walls used to be. Cross diagonally through the park until you reach Fuyou Road. Turning left will lead you down a narrow little road brimming with mom & pop shops, eateries and vibrant local street life where you can find all sorts of bric & brac, including lovely Chinese calendars. Or turn right and head west. Here you will find the (13) Small Commodities Market. It’s worth going inside to see the conditions some people happily work under, just so that you will never moan about your crappy job again. The market is packed with hundreds of little shops (some only a few feet wide) selling everything from cello-tape to kitchen gadgets, musical instruments to spark plugs, gift boxes to rainbow coloured slinkies. If you need it, it’s here. Haggle hard.
Gucheng Park
If you want to do a bit of cheap and cheerful jewelry and scarf shopping (and let’s face it, who doesn’t?), walk to Jiuxiaochang Road and turn right. Here you will find a strip of (14) 10RMB shops and, as the name suggests, everything here is 10RMB a piece. There are gorgeous silk (or a close approximation) scarves and fabulous costume jewelry pieces, souvenirs, silk purses, figurines, decorative chopsticks and other gift items for sale. I really don’t know how they can make things for these prices, let alone make a profit. You WILL find yourself saying “And this? Is this only 10RMB??” quite a few times. The answer is yes. Yes it is. Try not to think about what that means. There’snosuchthingasasweatshop. There’snosuchthingasasweatshop.
Yuyuan Gardens Bazaar. Watch your pockets.
Now turn back and head South towards Yuyuan Gardens. The buildings surrounding the gardens make up a pedestrian area known as (15) Yuyuan Bazaar (or Yuyuan Tourist Mart or, confusingly, City God Temple), its streets lined with beautiful old buildings (well, ancient but renovated ) and loads of shops and restaurants. It can be a bit kitschy at times, but there’s lots to see and it’s beautiful at night when it is all lit up. There are various entrances to the bazaar, so just get inside and start exploring – there are English signposts on every corner. Entry to the market is free of charge and opening hours are 8:30 – 21:00. Although the area can get incredibly busy, it really is worth spending a few hours here for a quick rundown on Chinese history, culture, religion, architecture and art. Artisans making everything from engraved jade and handmade kites to painted scrolls and intricately woven bamboo leaf figurines eagerly share their knowledge of their wares with you. Goods are priced slightly higher than in the surrounding streets, but not exorbitantly so and you can always haggle. Hefeng Mansion Old Town Snack Palace is a colossal buffet style restaurant serving every conceivable dish and snack from 16 Chinese sub-cuisines. If you need a quick overview of all that this city has to offer in terms of traditional cuisine, this is the place to come. It’s loud, gaudy, commercial and cheap, but you’ll get the idea. Nan Xiang Steamed Bun restaurant is another popular eatery and a good place to try these quintessential Shanghainese snacks. Just head towards the lake in the middle and stand in the queue you see there. In the alley just next to Nan Xiang, there are vendors selling jelly juices (weird, but oddly addictive!), little deep fried birds on a stick and all manner of other snacks. Be warned though that despite this being a tourist hotspot, English is a little thin on the ground (and on the menus) here. Deep fried soft shell crabs are a must try. The market has a variety of kid friendly activities like a puppet show and a photo studio where you can dress up in traditional outfits.
In the center of the market, in the middle of the lake is (16) Huxingting Teahouse. This pagoda style teahouse (the oldest in Shanghai, built in 1784) is built on stilts and is accessible via the zigzagging Nine-Turnings-Bridge, so designed to keep bad spirits away. (Really, if a spirit is so stupid that he can’t figure out how to go forward if he can’t go in a straight line, then he can’t be all that scary now, can he? Just walk around the corner and that’s him, thwarted.). Prices are a tad inflated here, but the tea comes with assorted snacks – soy braised quail eggs, tofu, olives and sticky tea cakes (that’s probably not selling it though…). The teahouse was used as a base of operations by the British army for several days in 1842 and Queen Elizabeth II once stopped here for a cuppa. Find a seat at a window, order one of the beautiful opening flower teas (check the prices first!) and watch the world go by below you. It seems most of it is here anyway. And while we’re on the subject, if it is your first time in China – especially if you’re a gullible, trusting, single guy – familiarise yourself with the teahouse scam. Don’t get caught out just cause she’s pretty!
Yuyuan Gardens.
(17) Yuyan Gardens (“Garden was built to please ones parents” – shees oke, what happened to gift vouchers at the CNA?) was built in 1577. Think about that! Jan van Riebeek wasn’t even an itch in his father’s crotch and these people were gardening! This Ming style garden stretches across 2 hectares and features various bridges, pavilions, towers, ponds, paths, walls and halls.There is also the odd plant. There are many cultural relics to be seen. The Exquisite Jade Rock is one of the centerpieces of the garden. A porous 3.3-meter, 5-ton boulder rumoured to have been salvaged after the boat transporting it to the Imperial Palace in Beijing sank off Shanghai. Entrance is RMB30 per person.
(18) The City God Temple (or Chenghuang Miao) is a Taoist temple established in the 15th century. After undergoing many changes and handovers, it was restored to its former use as a temple in 1994, with resident Taoist priests. The temple is dedicated to three city gods and consists of six halls spread over a thousand square meters. Entrance is RMB10 per person.
Fang Bang Road
(19) Fang Bang Middle Road has absolutely nothing to do with liking vampires a lot. This 825 meter long street (also known as Shanghai Old Street) runs from South Henan Road in the west to Renmin Road in the East. It has miraculously survived the bulldozers that have flattened many other old buildings in the name of progress in this rapidly modernising city. The ancient buildings reflect the architectural style of the Ming & Qing dynasties with black tiles, white washed walls, upturned eaves, smoke spewing dragons and red pillars. Little alleyways branch off from the main road in a maze of shops, homes, eateries, workshops and markets. This is the perfect place to explore and get a sense of the chaos, customs, history, smells and picturesque squalor in which some of the locals still live. All manner of street food is sold here, including stinky tofu (do it! I dare you!). Fang Bang is a typical, Shanghainese, anything goes mishmash of food stalls, clothes shops, art galleries, antique dealers, tea houses and Tibetan crafts and jewelery with everything in between.
Once you are outshopped, outeaten and outcultured, you can head to (20) Yuyan Gardens Station and find your way home or stroll back along the Bund to see the city at night. The metro starts closing at around 22:30, depending on the station.
It turns out that blogging is not like riding a bike. Rather, it is like a gym routine – once you’ve missed a few days, even sorting your sock draw somehow seems to take priority over getting the next post out. And so it is that more than a month has passed since I got back to South Africa and I’ve hardly written a thing. To be fair, I have not touched ground till now. We moved house, saw friends and family and tried to pack in as much of the SA sunshine as we could before hubby headed back to Shanghai without me. But the dust has settled a bit, my sock draw is sorted and there are no more excuses.
Where is the first place you go to eat when you’ve spent a few months away from home and are craving all things South African? Well, apparently my family thinks it’s to a Greek joint. So Mezepoli is where I found myself a few weeks ago the day after I landed back home. I was not expecting to say anything about it here and didn’t even take my camera. The plan was just to catch up with my family. But oh. My. Word. One bite of their decadently thick and creamy tzatziki and I knew I had to spread the word! So I grabbed my phone camera (hence the quality) and started taking notes before the Rosé could go to my head.
Mezepoli is like that guy at school who everyone wants to be like even though he’s only ever in faded jeans and old t-shirts – it is just effortlessly cool. The waitrons are knowledgeable, efficient and attentive without bothering you with too many “Are you okay?”‘s, the decor is simple and fresh and menus are printed onto paper that doubles as your table cloth. This is not the place for a quiet, romantic meal (unless it’s a first date and you’re worried about awkward silences, because there will be none here). Mezepoli is vibey and energetic and brilliant for a big group of friends. All those vague acquaintances you accepted on Facebook? This is why you put up with them! Get together as many people as you can so you can order and taste a bit of everything! Virtually the entire menu consists of meze. Various olives, cheeses and dips and vegetarian, seafood and meat meze can be mixed and matched as you like. You could get stuck here for an entire afternoon working your way through plate after plate. They describe their own dishes as being simple and paired down with unmasked, pure flavours so that matching dishes together is easy. There is even a food pairing suggestion if you just want to have drinks and one plate. Ha! Like you’ll manage to stop after one plate. I am no Mediterranean food expert, but I have never had meze like this! Start at the very beginning and order a bit from each section. Don’t skip the dips just because they might seem pedestrian compared to the rest of the menu. The tzatziki will have your uvula throwing little ceramic plates down and shouting “Opa!”. But if you think that that is expecting a bit much from a bit of yogurt and garlic, then try the melitzanosalata (roasted aubergine blended with garlic) and tirosalata (feta blended with peppers and chili). You’ll be praying for a successful solution to the Greek crisis so your supply never gets cut off. Be sure to mop it all up with lots of their fantastic pitas! Mezepoli is not the place to come if you’re worried about food miles as many of the yummy ingredients on the menu are imported. But I say rather plant a few extra trees and tuck in to the Spanish Jamon Serano ham or Italian prosciutto. And even if you’re lactose intolerant, practice your “it wasn’t me” face, put up with the bloat and have a few of the feta and gruyère cheese croquettes. The calamari grilled with onion and garlic and chicken wings done in delicate peri-peri are two other not-to-be-missed dishes, both bearing testament to the fact that simple, uncluttered flavours are sometimes the best way to go. The bekri meze (beef fillet with peppers and white wine) wasn’t to my taste, but then peppers can be a hit or miss for me at times. I still had two helpings though! Just to make sure. But there is so much more to choose from. I will definitely go back to try the htipiti (feta grilled with tomato, pepper and chilli), baby octopus and fava (split pea and cherry tomato dip). And it goes without saying that you should save a spot for that quintessential Greek dessert – baklava.
The wine list is small, but excellent and has some of everyone’s favourites – Zandvliet Shiraz, Haute Cabriere Chardonnay Pinot Noir and Pierre Jourdan Brut MCC to name a few. Best of all is that you can have any wine on the list by the glass, so you can pair wines to the different dishes. Try the L’Avenir Rosé – like a toffee apple for grownups without all the sweetness, it is happiness in a bottle. There are also all the old standby cocktails to choose from and, of course, ouzo for those who want to go completely native.
There are restaurants in Melrose Arch and Camps Bay. I will try the Camps Bay branch as soon as possible. In the interest of thorough investigative eating of course.
The magical number 7: a movie with Brad Pitt; a trying time for relationships, and of course the time frame Jesuit priests need to make the boy a man. This is also the length of time I had not returned to Geneva: place where I found my passion (early childhood intervention), was very happy (Flanagan’s Pub and Shaker’s Nightclub) and learnt to cook (Faith O’Neill).
Faith not only taught me to cook, she taught me to love food. She taught me that a recipe book is often better reading than the latest bestseller. She taught me to look at a recipe and adapt it to the many needs and dietary requirements of a growing family. But, the most important thing she taught me was the best way to say “I love you” is in a dish. The dish has to be like the emotion itself: consistent, easily recognisable as such, and the culinary cuddle you need on a bad day. Faith and Paul (Mr. Faith) showed the ultimate love when they allowed me, not only to join in what was essentially theirs, but let it morph and grow to fit one more (as love should) and so shit pie became ours. Shit pie was served on bad days, sad days and glad days. Faith dished up shit pie to my backpacking baby brother and reduced him to tears. I will admit to trying to make it once, but failed dismally as it just wasn’t the same without the lashings of red (cue in Paul).
Some misconceptions about shit pie:
It isn’t a pie
And in the same line it contains no shit
It is not the colour of shit
Rather, it was devised by the fantastic Faith (lawyer, mother, culinary expert and awesome lady) pre-kid days in London. Legend has it, Faith opened the kitchen cupboards and announced :”There is just shit here” and proceeded to create one of my favourite dishes ever. She made it TWICE for me in a 9 day visit (four of those nights she was State side), that is how awesome she is. So, without further ado, I give you Shit Pie for 4 (uncle Sticky joined us the last night)
Ingredients
1 tin anchovies
Healthy shake of mixed herbs
2 onions thinly sliced
1 garlic clove minced
2 tins tomatoes (ideally peeled and cubed)
2 tins tuna in brine
1 small tin black olives (not Greek) pitted and sliced
A handful of capers
A squirt of Tabasco
Basmati Rice to serve
Lashings of red wine (for 4 at least 6 to 8 bottles)
Method
In a frying pan, add the anchovies, with the oil and soften and then add the onions and garlic.
Next add the tomatoes and herbs.
Reduce. ( 5 to 7 minutes)
Shake on some Tabasco to taste and add tuna, olives and caper.
I have been back in beautiful, sunny SA for a few weeks now. It is insanely lovely right now. Really. Like living in an HDR photo. Or maybe it’s just my new polarised sunglasses? Either way it’s crazy green and ridiculously blue and just gorgeous! I’m not sure whether to say I’m visiting, touring or home, because I’m not completely sure where we go next really. No wonder the gypsies were always a little miffed at the world. But I am loving it! My life feels a bit like an episode of the Amazing Race (a show I now realise I could never partake in as I would most certainly go postal when dealing with the airlines, will in all likelihood brain someone with one of those little posts used to contain the queues at an airport and then spend the rest of my life in jail. Also, at 35 years old I have been informed by my father that with my back I may not horse ride or go-cart, so there goes half the challenges too.). We spent a few days in the Kruger Park (more on that later) and are now lazing next to the banks of the the Vaal with G&T’s whilst feeding the fish using rods. There has been little time for blogging. And when there has been, I have preferred to use it to read – Kaalkop by Nataniël to be precise so at least I am getting my foodie fix in. Do yourself the favour. Anyhoo, to make up for the lack of posts, herewith a recipe for chicken that my mom made on my last visit home. The original recipe is from the Lifestyle magazine in the Sunday Times but as I was so busy nattering and gulping down ice cold bubbly, I took no notice of what she did really. So I had to sort of chuck in the flavours I remember. The recipe called for a whole chicken stuffed with couscous and took hours to make. This one is done in a jiffy and with drumsticks. It is therefore probably not remotely the same thing, but is a close enough approximation none the less!
Serves 4
Ingredients
2 medium onions, chopped
3 tablespoons oil
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
1/2 cup of raisins or sultanas
1kg chicken pieces
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon coriander
1 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
125ml chicken broth
2 or 3 tablespoons honey, depending on how sweet you like it
a few saffron threads, steeped in 2 tablespoons of hot water (essential! treat yourself!)
couscous for 4
half a cup of whole almonds, halved
1) Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a pan. Season the onions with salt and pepper and slowly saute until translucent and just, just heading towards a pale golden colour. Add the garlic and cook for another two or three minutes.
2)Transfer to an ovenproof dish big enough to hold the onions and all your chicken. Scatter the raisins over the onions.
3) In the same pan, brown the chicken pieces and place on top of the onions and raisins. Deglaze the pan with a little water and add the juices to the dish.
4) Add the remaining oil to the pan and turn the heat down a little. Add the spices and fry until they start releasing their fragrance. Hum a Bollywood tune. Add the broth, honey and saffron, heat for a minute or two more and pour over the chicken. Bake at 180ºC for 1 hour.
5) Prepare the couscous as per the packet instructions (use a bit of chicken broth instead of just water), stir in the almonds and serve with the chicken. The almonds add a beautiful texture to the dish that I have become totally addicted to!
What is it about boerewors that makes it one of the first things South Africans abroad would list when asked what they miss most about home? Like maple syrup, mushy peas and rice noodles, this coriander spiced sausage is one of those dishes that evokes instant images of a nation while simultaneously getting a “meh” from the rest of the world. But for us, boerewors is short winters and long summers, relaxed braais in the sunshine, friends around a fire, cheering for the Boks (or lately, crying together about them) and tapping our feet to “Spirit of the great heart” playing on a loop in our heads. It’s on our whittled down list of 100 reasons why we stay despite the crooks, crime and corruption. Like Africa, it’s in my blood and impossible to forget when I leave it behind. And weirdly, when I am away from home I even start missing things I never even liked at home! Like pap tert. I can’t stand pap tert. But suddenly I really, really wanted pap tert & wors. In China. Needless to say, it’s not big there. But I could easily get everything I needed to create a close approximation without having to try and explain pig intestines to the butcher. That would’ve been fun. This was the result: A kind of posher version of pap en wors (or at least as posh as meatballs can be). Our Tanzanian correspondent believes that this dish is an abomination. Pap should always be pap and should not be poshed up. I can only think of two reasons why she feels this way: a) she hasn’t tried it and b) her mother’s pap lasagne has ruined fusion South African cuisine for her forever. If it helps, then think of it as meatballs and cornbread. Better now, isn’t it? When done this way, the cornbread is very light and crumbly and the bottom bit soaks up the tomato and onion sauce. It’s like krummel pap en sous and that lovely little crunchy bit you get at the bottom of a pot of mieliepap that everyone fights over at the end of a meal! Personally, I thought it was genius.
Serves 4with ease
Ingredients:
For the Ishibo (tomato and onion sauce)
If you can get your hands on a tin of Ishibo then, well, then you’re probably in SA and your car is being stolen from the supermarket parking lot. But chin up because at least you don’t have to chop up onions! If you don’t have Ishibo, fry a chopped onion until translucent, add a tin of chopped tomatoes, salt and pepper and simmer for thirty minutes. If the mixture become too dry, just add a little water. Set aside.
For the sausage mixture:
If you have boerewors, just remove the meat from the sausage casings and shape into meatballs. Otherwise, read on.
750g beef (“beef” is pretty much what we can get in Qingpu, but a well matured chunk would be better) 350g fatty pork 20ml ground coriander, or more to taste – this is what puts the boer in boerewors 10ml salt a bit of black pepper 5ml brown sugar 45ml dark vinegar (I used Zhenjian aromatic vinegar, but brown spirit vinegar would be perfect)
2 tablespoons oil
Directions:
1) In a food processor, mince the beef and pork. Don’t make it too fine – a bit of texture is good.
2) Combine the meat and the rest of the sausage ingredients well and shape into meatballs slightly bigger than golf balls.
3) Brown the meatballs in the oil and place in a single layer in a baking dish. Squish if necessary. Pour over the tomato sauce. This can be done ahead of time and the whole lot stuck in the fridge till you’re ready to bake the bread.
For the corn bread:
(This recipe doesn’t make the type of cornbread needed to satisfy the average Paula Deen fan. It’s more like a crumbly, extremely generously proportioned crust.)
80 ml butter, melted
2 tablespoons sugar
2 eggs
3/4 cup (190ml) flour
3/4 cup (190ml) yellow cornmeal (In China, find it in the aisle with the dried vegetables and legumes. It’s grittier than regular cornmeal, but in my opinion that improves the texture of this dish. Don’t get something too fine, as your bread will be too dense.)
2 heaped teaspoons baking powder
2ml salt
100 milk
Directions
1) Preheat oven to 180ºC.
2) Beat together the butter and sugar and add the eggs one at a time. Sift together the flour and baking powder and add the cornmeal and salt.
3) Combine the egg mixture, flour mixture and milk and stir to create a thick, but pourable batter.
4) Pour the batter over the meatballs and bake until golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. 35 minutes or so.
Pour yourself a glass of wine, eat up and think of home! Meanwhile, that’s exactly where I am, so I’ll be having a bit of the real thing for lunch!
It turns out Pringles are not the only thing that once you pop you can’t stop. Since popping my cherry, every time I so much as make a slice of toast, I am talking myself through it and seeing the process in print. As I firmly believe life is too short to ever eat bad food, or drink instant coffee for that matter, this “what will I blog next” question has taken over my life.
Living in the tropics, with manly man frequently off assembling big manly equipment, I am usually in the position to have chick food. This is not the corn and grain variety, or questionable substances if the sources of anti-battery farming are to be believed, but rather girly food, essentially salad. I am not one of these girls who has bought into the no carb after stupid o’clock diet. I have also never bought into one lettuce leaf and a murmur of carrot salad. So, I created THE SALAD OF CHAMPIONS.
A quick side note. My mobile phone provider gives 200, yes two hundred, free local texts a day. Texting is my communication mode. I seldom require a reply and have been known to reach close to 200 LOCAL texts in a day (this excludes bbm’s, whatsapp messages and international texts). Did I mention I run my own business?
So, due to this texting habit, I know what all my friends are having for dinner every night. And I am a bit competitive so I like to believe, even if it’s just in my head, that I am winning. It is sometimes challenging to remain loyal to TSOC, but I do. My dearest friend and next door neighbour was having chicken livers for dinner and coincidentally so was I. Sadly I knew hers would be the yummy restaurant variety with the cream and rich sauce lovingly mopped up with chapattis. Mine unfortunately would be the healthy variety, ten days until my trip to Switzerland and trying to store up negative calories to use on cheese fondue and hot chocolate being the driving force.
So here goes:
Chicken livers for good girls
2 garlic cloves minced.
1 onion thinly sliced
1 250g punnet of chicken livers washed, cut into the same size pieces (so they all cook at the same rate) and any bits that don’t look like liver removed. This is particularly icky, I find playing cheesy 80’s rock at full volume and singing along makes this a lot more tolerable.
½ cup of white wine – I have finally become an adult and will not drink bad wine. I froze, yes froze, not inhaled, wine I wouldn’t drink brought to a party and used that. I am still not convinced of the whole “do not cook with wine you wouldn’t drink” movement. Basically when you cook with wine, the alcohol burns off and yes, you are left with some toxins, but surely you eat some E numbers now and again. The beauty of cooking with wine is it is fat free, no need for butter or oil, and even olive oil, is still oil and using up the not good stuff means there is more of the good stuff left to enjoy the way it was intended. Cheers!
1 tablespoon of red chilli paste or if you are a martyr, finally slice a red chilli and remember not to touch your face.
A nice handful of parsley finely sliced
Salt and pepper to taste.
SO:
Pour the wine into the pan and bring to a gentle boil.
Add the garlic and onions: sadly these won’t caramelise due to lack of fat, but pour another glass of wine and enjoy calories spent elsewhere.
Once softened (roughly 3 minutes) add the livers and let them do their thing.
Add the chilli and a good grind of salt and pepper.
Let this simmer along nicely and assemble the salad.
I go for red pepper, yellow pepper, cucumber, cherry tomatoes and a mixed lettuce bag. Toss them all up, dress if you must and add a carb. Couscous is a great one, as is just cooked baby potatoes which was tonight’s carb of choice.
Add the parsley to the livers. Pour yourself another glass of wine and toast the magnificence that is you cooking with fresh herbs! I firmly believe in celebrating all of life’s small victories.Pour over the livers, for one you only need 1/3 and the rest is freezer friendly for a Sunday breakfast when manly man is back. Served on toast with poached eggs and large Bloody Mary’s, but more on that next time.
I have been so busy shoveling mooncake into my face, trying to determine which ones are tastiest (in the name of investigative eating of course) that I forgot to write about them before they started disappearing again! Blame the brain slump after the sugar rush. Mooncakes (yuè bĭng) are sweet or savoury cakes eaten all year round, but especially during the Mid-Autumn Festival when the selection on offer balloons from a few choices in the corner of the bakery to what seems like hundreds of sizes, shapes, colours and flavours. During the festival (also known as the Moon Festival or Chinese Lantern Festival) which celebrates the end of the fall harvest, mooncakes are offered between friends, business associates and family. They are packaged in anything from single cakes in simple cellophane wrappers, to a selection of cakes wrapped in delicate tissue paper and nestled in beautifully decorated, elaborate boxes. (You know how you are always thinking it’ll be there tomorrow, I’ll do it tomorrow? Well, that’s what happened with all the beautiful displays of packaged mooncakes I kept swearing I’d photograph the next day. It never happened. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.)
Typical mooncakes are round or rectangular thin pastries with a rich, sweet, dense filling. Traditional mooncakes are made from red bean or lotus seed paste around a salted duck egg yolk that symbolises the full moon. (Salted duck egg in a sweet pie is a lot tastier than it sounds.) The cakes are embossed with various drawings and characters that might say the name of the bakery, the type of filling or the Chinese characters for “longevity” or “harmony”. Other imprints might depict flowers, leaves, vines or one of the various legends surrounding mooncakes:
– Chang’e, the Chinese goddess of the moon – who landed up living there due to an unfortunate string of events involving ten suns in the form of three legged birds living in a mulberry tree, a kick-ass archer and half a coughed up pill – is often depicted. And you thought Scientology was weird.
– Rabbits are another popular choice, with some cakes even baked in the shape of a rabbit. In Chinese mythology, the Jade Rabbit lives on the moon where he pounds away at herbs trying to make another pill for Chang’e so she can get back to earth. I believe this. I’ve seen him. Although to me it looks like he’s lying in a bed with a patchwork quilt, which fits better with the other legend claiming that three fairy sages transformed themselves into pitiful old men and begged for something to eat from a fox, a monkey and a rabbit. The fox and the monkey both had food to give to the old men, but the rabbit, empty-handed, jumped into a fire to cook himself so that they could eat his flesh. Touched by his sacrifice, the sages let him live in the Moon Palace.
– A popular legend claims that moon cakes were instrumental in the overthrow of the Mongol dynasty that ruled China from 1271–1368. As group gatherings were banned, it was impossible to make plans for a rebellion and so the Chinese rebel leader Zhu Yuanzhang had to devise a sneaky plan. Noting that the Mongols didn’t eat mooncakes, he timed the uprising to coincide with the Mid-Autumn Festival. He sought permission to distribute thousands of moon cakes to the Chinese residents in the city to bless the longevity of the Mongol emperor. Inside each cake, they inserted a message on a piece of paper that read: “Kill the Mongols on the 15th day of the 8th lunar month”. On the night of the Moon Festival, the rebels attacked and overthrew the government and the Ming Dynasty was established. Altogether more my kind of coordinated attack than waiting it out in a smelly wooden horse with thousands of other stinky, farting soldiers. A nice little story (unless you’re Mongolian), but as the Ming troops entered the Mongol capital 7days before the festival, it is probably just that – a story. Also, if mooncakes are eaten to commemorate this legend, then how did they use mooncakes to create the legend? A predestination paradox if you ask me.
Image courtesy The Shanghaiist.
But back to the cakes. Bakeries, restaurants, pastry chefs and even ice cream makers have started creating ever more elaborate and interesting mooncakes. If you can stick it in a cake, someone somewhere has made it into a mooncake. Besides the traditional fillings of bean and lotus seed paste, you can also get cakes with jujube (date) and other fruit fillings (MU.Bread’s mango is my absolute favourite!), various chopped nuts and seeds, jams, cheesecake, custard, yams, chocolate and coffee and also savoury fillings like minced pork. (I joined a random food queue in Nanjing East last week on the assumption that if people are queuing for it it must be good and when I got to the counter it was pork mooncakes that had everyone in a frenzy.) And like with all things, you get what you pay for. So you can buy the Twinkie version of a mooncake for a yuan or two at your local supermarket (just with bean paste instead of cream), or splurge on brandied cherry truffle or single malt whisky truffle fillings. Other lavish ingredients include ganache, salted caramel, black truffle, caviar, foie gras and gold leaf to decorate the cakes. And if you’re watching your weight, there are also yoghurt, jelly and fat free ice cream versions. Depending on the region or producer, the crusts can be chewy, crumbly or flaky but will usually contain lard. The mooncakes are cut into little wedges and enjoyed with tea.
You can find mooncakes in just about every bakery, supermarket and corner store in China year round, but the real festival cakes appear in August and for most of September. Outside China you can get them at Asian food shops beginning around mid-August.
Breakfast is a bit of a challenge in China if you’re not near a shop that sells expat goods. You can get the odd cereal, but they’re more into congee and noodles with their morning cuppa. Lucky for you, you’re a thrifty little homemaker, and all the ingredients to make your own granola are readily available. And you don’t need to be Martha Stewart to make this either. It takes all of 5 minutes to prepare, and then just let the oven do the rest!
Makes 3 cups
Ingredients
2 1/2 cups raw oats
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon (or to taste)
1/2 cup of nuts (I used almonds)
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon sunflower oil
5 tablespoons honey
Method
1) Preheat the oven to 100ºC. (If you’re using a little toaster oven, which if you’re a temporary citizen you probably are, make it 120. Don’t be impatient and set it too high or you’ll burn the nuts. You don’t want burnt nuts). Scatter the oats in a baking tray. Sprinkle with the salt, cinnamon and nuts and stir through.
2) In a little bowl, melt the butter and add the oil and honey. Pour over the oats.
3) Stir the honey mixture into the oats. This is about the minimum amount of mixture you would need to get good coverage without it getting to fatty or sweet. Yes, I realise there is no such thing as “TOO fatty or sweet”, but it’s breakfast, so let’s try to start the day right, okay? It won’t look like enough in the beginning, but just keep stirring till it’s all coated and trust that it is enough. If you want more butter and honey, add as much as you like.
4) Place in the oven and toast until golden brown and crunchy, about 90 minutes, stirring occasionally.
