Adventures at a Chinese Noodle Shop - Beijing, China

In talking about my vacation journeys, I normally talk about specific places we visit and not so much the adventures. This post will not be about an attraction, but rather an adventure. I don't have a photo journal to share, other than the picture posted above. This is the actual noodle shop. I have no idea what the name of this restaurant is. But it is the backdrop for a story of hijinks and shenanigans.

Pulled noodles (lamian) are a Chinese tradition. The description for making pulled noodles dates back as far as 1504 when the process was first described in written text from a Chinese scholar named Huang Chaoying. Written records of noodle dishes date back far beyond this period, but this was the first record of the process for making lamian.

On our third night in China, our tour group did not have a scheduled event. Dinner was on our own. I saw this as a great opportunity for my wife and I to venture out and find lamian. Neither my wife nor I speak Chinese. I spoke to our tour guide about our objective and he mentioned that he saw a pulled noodle shop near the hotel. He wrote something down on a sheet of paper and handed it to us. He told us that we should exit the hotel and turn left and then show the paper to someone. He said they should understand and point us in the right direction.

Now, I should note that our guide was from the southern part of China. Beijing is in the north. While he wrote the characters in the same language, they writing style is different. However, it is close enough for our purposes. We headed towards the lobby, paper in hand. We had a plan, we had a piece of paper with Chinese characters on it and we had an appetite.

As we were walking towards the lobby, we were stopped by a guy who was traveling by himself. He asked if we were headed to dinner and whether he could join us. He was traveling along, so hey, why not? Right? Well, I have never considered myself the trend-setter type, but by the time we hit the hotel exit, we had an entourage of eight people. Upon hearing we were going on an adventure to find pulled noodles the intrigue of our fellow travelers was piqued. I explained to the group that we did not know anything about this restaurant, we did not even know where it was. We were armed with nothing more than a paper with Chinese writing. No directions, just the name of what we were searching for.

This is when things got interesting. The first person we approached read the paper and pointed towards the other end of the street we were on. He said something that none of us understood, but understood the direction his finger pointed. Fair enough. We ventured that direction. There were no restaurants in sight. A few people we attempted to approach took one look at this scraggly group of haggard tourists and decided they wanted nothing to do with us and scampered off. Eventually, one kind soul stopped and pointed us back the way we came.

As we approached the hotel again, we stopped another local resident and showed our paper. He pointed down a dim alley behind the hotel (almost exactly where we started our adventure). The alley didn't look like the place one would find a restaurant, and it was after dark, but we could see some lights along the left side of the alley. We boldly made the decision to investigate and headed down the alley.

The very first building we approached appeared to be a tiny restaurant. I looked at the paper and looked at the sign and couldn't make heads or tails of either. An elderly man was standing at the top of a small flight of stairs. I walked up to him and showed him the paper. He read it and shook his head side-to-side as if to say "no." The restaurant had a small concrete porch with a couple of diminutive tables on one side and tiny hibachi on the other. There were a few skewers of something on the hibachi giving off a pleasant aroma. I dejectedly headed back down the steps when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

The elderly man grabbed the paper from my hand and excitedly started pointing to each character and then pointing at his sign. The writing wasn't exact, but it was apparent that they said the same thing. My fellow travelers were not convinced. The New Yorkers in the group, naturally jaded, said "he just doesn't want to lose our business." I handed the paper to them to look for themselves. They still were not convinced. I started to make a pulling motion with my hands while saying "pulled noodles" (which meant absolutely nothing to this shop owner, I am certain). He shook his head rapidly and said "yes, yes." He ushered us into the small dining room and opened a plastic curtain where the closet sized kitchen was located. There, a man was pulling noodles.

We sat down at the only table that would moderately accommodate us. I have seen elementary schools with larger tables. Here, you had eight giant Americans scrunched around this tiny table (actually two tables put together). The tables were so thin, you could easily eat out of the bowl of the person sitting opposite you. An elderly lady appeared with an angelic smile and handed us menus. The menus were in Chinese. With no photographs.

I knew what I wanted. I wanted pulled noodles with pork. I drew a picture of a pig on a napkin and did my best pulled noodle impersonation. That was okay, but the elderly lady realized that it was probably not the most effective way to take our order. There was a young couple already dining inside the restaurant. She approached the young lady and asked for her help. This fellow diner graciously stepped in to interpret for us. Her English wasn't perfect, but it was far better than our combination of Chinese, sketches and hand gestures.

The young lady did an exceptional job taking our orders. Everyone ordered what they wanted, mostly either soup with noodles or regular noodle dishes. We ordered a bunch of appetizers, which included some vegetables that were amazing. We had a large plate of broccoli that was bright green, as visually appetizing as it was delicious. There was also a bowl of skewers on the table next to us. The elderly lady was placing meat on the skewers. One among our party inquired of our stand-in hostess what type of meat was on the skewers. At a loss for the word, she promptly smiled and replied "baaa, baaa." Lamb skewers appetizers were added to the bill as well.

The beer in most of the Chinese restaurants we dined in came in bomber sized bottles. The one liter bottles were accompanied with juice glasses. Even at fancy restaurants. That just seemed to be the way it was done in the places we dined. We drained quite a few of those bottles while we enjoyed an amazing dinner. When the bill came, the total was barely four dollars per person. Everyone just rounded up to five dollars and we paid the equivalent of forty US dollars for dinner. For eight people. Which included multiple rounds of beer. Unbelievable. The lady returned with change. I told her it was a tip. Tipping at the tourist places in China is sort of expected now. But it is not traditional in places where locals dined. She seemed embarrassed to take it. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate to insist of not. Our stand in waitress had already departed. So we couldn't really communicate. I decided I would insist one time and if she refused, I would accept it back. She accepted our tip and we accepted her graciousness.

The following morning, we were scheduled to fly to the Yangtze River to begin a four day river cruise. I got up early and returned to this spot behind the hotel so I could take a photograph. I snapped a shot so I could retain my fond memories of our great noodle adventure. It was a story we shared over and over for the remainder of the trip. A great cultural interaction and an opportunity for American strangers to bond over a meal.

Stay tuned for more adventures from our China Trip!

[//]:# (!steemitworldmap 39.889923 lat 116.439873 long Pulled Noodle House (unknown name), Beijing, China d3scr)