Li Qun Peking Duck

Today when I got home, I was happy to find a pair of American teachers in residence. They had just a day or so in Beijing as part of a very whirlwind tour before a summer of teaching writing to high school students. We talked about some strategies to wrench students away from the concrete, and planned to meet the next evening for Peking Duck, after their trip to the Great Wall at Simatai, the place I had meant to go but missed. So happy to find companionship for this meal: the time I ate at a *real* restaurant by myself was wretched. In China, eating is a very social activity. Even the menu is designed that way. So if you order one dish, the waiter questions you, though one dish is more than enough actual food. It is not like being by oneself in a cafe here. And the tourist treatment becomes glaringly obvious. Unfortunately, I got back and waited. And waited. And at 8:00 went around the corner for something to eat. They didn't get back until 9:30, after I had turned in. Simastai is quite a trip, it seems. Nothing for it but to undertake the adventure myself!

The place I wanted to try was called Li Qun, and was a famous courtyard restaurant in the hutong not far south of the Forbidden City. (Originally, Peking Duck was invented as an exotic imperial dish.)  It was, needless to say, not even marked, much less named, on any of my maps, but that adds to the challenge. Early in the afternoon, I decided to do some recon to locate Li Qun and make a reservation. I walked around and around without finding it. . . eventually I found a place surrounded by other major buildings, tucked inside and behind, between a hotel lobby and a mysterious indoor garden. I thought that was Li Qun, since maybe construction had changed everything, and the person there seemed happy to agree to the idea. But later when I went back, it was clearly not what I was looking for. I tried asking many non-Chinese tourist types with varying responses. Once a couple enthusiastically pointed in opposite directions. Probably they were both right. Even when people pointed me in the right direction, there were so many identical-looking alleys with disorienting turns.  Boyish policemen didn't seem to know what I was talking about. I found it is pronounced more like Lu Cheur in Beijing. 

This way to ducks!

 Finally, I asked a wiry guy about my age who was leaning on his big white van, being cool: Once he understood what I was asking (I'd had plenty of practice getting the pronunciation right by then) he said he had never heard of it, but whipped out his smartphone and called some Save the English Tourist number. But she did not speak English, in fact, and also had never heard of the place. I tried naming the hutong, to no avail. But wait!  I had the street name and could pronounce it satisfactorily (I wish the guide had addresses and essential info in Mandarin) ; but he couldn't find it on his map app. I showed him the picture in the guide on the off chance it was familiar; it looked like it could be anywhere in the neighborhood to me. But the guy noticed that the picture included a sign with the phone number!So he called, and called again and guided me to the place (down an unpromising alley very near where I was). 

the oven and some ducks

I can only hope that visitors to the US find similar experiences, but I fear it may not always be so. So there was a line, which consisted of people sitting on dilapidated chairs in the alley outside the restaurant. A peek in the door revealed the maw of a huge oven, loaded with burning wood and hung with ducks. Boys wearing toques kept running to the woodpile stacked outside the door for fruitwood logs to replenish the oven. I could not order half a duck: it was one or nothing. Soon enough I viewed my glistening, crispy duck, the cook sliced it (I longed to give him a really good knife) and I got a brief lesson on how to eat it. I got the bones, too: too bad I can't use them.  The place couldn't have held more than 40 or so in 3 rooms.

 The duck was tasty, very dramatic, but I'm not the biggest fan of hoisin and I was alone. Many customers were drinking Coke with their duck! I guess in China, you can have no shame. The tea was very expensive, 48 RMB; and booze was in the thousands. When I was done, they actually boxed up the leftovers, so that's lunch tomorrow! Then when, when I left, I left my journal and the waitress chased me down the block with it. Good thing, I don't know whether I would have found the place again! 

I notice that most Americans, well, most westerners, are traveling in supervised herds. I have to say, my Chinese has not improved and in practice I use only a few phrases, but it isn't that hard communicating basic things. No conversation, of course: silent cab rides.  But the guided tourist trail is pretty Disneyfied and they are missing a lot. It feels totally safe to me-- shopkeepers keep their till in a box on the counter. And while you may get lost for awhile, that's when the possibility for the unexpected adventure arises.