Beijing Muslim History: Old Halal Notes from the Southern City (Part 4 of 5)
Reposted from the web
Summary: Beijing Muslim History: Old Halal Notes from the Southern City is presented here as a firsthand travel account in clear English, beginning with this scene: Chongwen:. The account keeps its focus on Beijing Muslim History, Southern Beijing, Hui Muslims while preserving the names, places, food, and historical details from the Chinese source. This is part 4 of 5.
Part 4 of 5
The front carrying pole holds a large square wooden basin, and a copper plaque reading 'Western Regions Hui Muslim' (Xiyu Huihui) is displayed on the tray. In the center of the tray sits a copper pot filled with a savory sauce made from beef or lamb and button mushrooms (koumo). A long-handled flat copper spoon is used to serve the sauce, and spare bowls, small enamel spoons, and seasonings are placed on the edge of the tray. The rear carrying pole holds a deep, straight-sided pot filled with soft tofu custard (doufunao). The pot is wrapped in a cotton cover to keep it warm, as this tofu custard is much softer than standard firm tofu (laodoufu); eating a bowl of tofu custard topped with savory sauce, with garlic juice or chili oil added to taste, and served with sesame flatbread (shaobing) or baked wheat cake (huoshao), makes for an affordable and delicious meal. The tofu custard vendor does not travel through the alleys but stays parked at the street corner.
The vendor selling starch jelly sheets (fenpi) with sauce arrives, carrying a pot of beef or lamb and button mushroom sauce along with stacks of prepared starch jelly sheets, though some vendors make the sheets fresh on the spot; this is another unique food made by Hui Muslims. Every day after noon, the starch jelly sheet vendor goes out to walk the streets and alleys; some residents in the alleys bring their own bowls to take the food home, while passersby eat right at the stall using the bowls and chopsticks provided by the vendor. On a hot summer day, buying a bowl of sliced starch jelly sheets topped with a handful of shredded cucumber, even with the savory sauce, feels refreshing and light rather than greasy.
'Beef liver, beef!' 'Beef head!' The vendor pushes a single-wheeled cart with a cutting board and round bamboo steamers containing soy-braised beef, soy-braised beef tripe, beef tripe, beef offal, and beef head meat. to selling while walking the streets during the day, they also do business at night. The cart also hangs a 'Western Regions Hui Muslim' (Xiyu Huihui) copper plaque, so at a glance, you know it is a business run by Hui Muslims.
Customs and Anecdotes: Walking the streets and alleys to sell snacks. Liu Jiuru
2. A halal rice cake (niangao) stall at the temple fair.
The halal rice cake (nian gao) stalls at temple fairs change with the seasons and have everything you could want. In summer, they sell iced rice cakes and sticky rice dumplings (zongzi). In spring and autumn, they offer fried cakes (zha gao), cold rice cakes, lotus root with sticky rice (nuomi ou), steamed rice flour cakes (aiwowo), and rolled soybean flour cakes (ludagun). Only the "vegetarian dish" (su cai) is sold for three seasons.
The "vegetarian dish" is a type of honey-preserved tea snack. It is mainly made of fried sweet potato chips, mixed with honey dates, dried apricots, fried lotus root pieces, hawthorn cake, and green plums. It is then tossed in honey syrup and sold by weight. Fried sweet potato chips make up eighty percent of this dish, and they are the tastiest and most popular part. They are crispy, sweet, and crunchy, and the honey is not sticky, so you do not get tired of eating them even if you have a lot. The other ingredients have their own candied flavors and cost more than the sweet potato chips. As a tea snack, it is a top-tier treat. As for why it is called a "vegetarian dish," the reason is not clear.
Fried cakes (zha gao) are also a halal food, made by wrapping red bean paste in yellow millet flour and deep-frying it. They are also sweet, sticky, and crispy, but unlike the "vegetarian dish," they are not only found at temple fair stalls. Fried cakes can be seen everywhere. Products from halal stalls share one common advantage: they are clean and hygienic, which gives people peace of mind.
Memories of Snacks: Jin Yunzhen
3. Mutton stall (yangrou chuangzi).
Look at how clean the larger mutton stalls (yangrou chuangzi) are. The table for the mutton and the poles for hanging the meat are scrubbed until they are spotless. The edges of the table are lined with copper nails that are always polished until they shine.
The scale on the counter has a white copper pan, white copper chains, and a white copper weight. The Hui Muslim shopkeeper always handles it with a loud clatter, banging and crashing it down. He picks it up and drops it several times; I guess that is just the custom at the mutton stall (yangrou chuangzi).
In the old days, Beijing did not seem to have slaughterhouses, because sheep were slaughtered right at the door of the mutton stall. At a large mutton stall, early every morning, five or six large sheep would be tied up with a wooden blood basin placed nearby, waiting for the head imam (ahong) to come and recite prayers.
The Muslim imam, wearing a grey cotton robe and a black mandarin jacket (magua), would arrive by rickshaw—since he had to visit many mutton stalls each morning, he traveled by rickshaw to make his rounds—carrying a cloth bag containing the knives for slaughtering the sheep. When he reached the counter, he would take out his knife, mutter a prayer, and with one swift stroke across the sheep's neck held down by two young men, the blood would pour out; the sheep would stretch its legs, twitch a few times, and then go still.
Afterward, they would peel off the skin, cut off the head, chop off the hooves, remove the offal, wash everything clean with water, and hang the meat on a pole using copper meat hooks. Look at how fatty it is!
When it comes to northern sheep, few can compare to them, except for those from the Northwest. In the summer, they graze on green grass, becoming round and plump with thick wool, and their large tails drag behind them like a big pot lid.
If you go to a large mutton stall in the winter to buy meat for hot pot (shuan guozi), they will always take good care of you. There are cuts of meat like the neck (shangnao'er), the leg muscle (huangguatiao), the flank (yaowo), and the brisket (sancha'er); they cut exactly what you point to, and they have everything you could want. Once you leave Beijing, you can find mutton hot pot everywhere, but it is just mutton!
I remember before the war, in the old capital, one silver dollar could buy four jin of good mutton delivered to your door. Add some cabbage and glass noodles (fentiao), and one dollar's worth of meat was enough to feed three or four people. It was warm and satisfying; it was wonderful.
In the summer, every mutton stall sells fried mutton (shao yangrou). The meat, just out of the fryer, is placed on a large copper tray, and the aroma is so strong you can smell it from a mile away.
For an afternoon snack, if you have a few coins, you can buy a pair of sheep hooves or a piece of shank (jianzi), and eat it with two sesame flatbreads (shaobing); it is incredibly delicious. If you bring home a large sheep head, your family can make some pancakes, boil a pot of rice porridge (shui fan), and on a hot day, it is neither greasy nor too heavy, and it really satisfies your cravings. The sheep neck has a bit more meat and is even better to eat than the head.
If your family is small, dinner is easy to put together. Just take a pot to the mutton stall, buy seven or eight mao worth of fried mutton, and tell the shopkeeper, 'Boss, add some extra broth!' Once you get home, bring the pot of meat and broth to a boil, add a few coins' worth of noodles, and you have fried mutton noodles. Forget about leaving Beiping.
Most lamb stalls (yangrou chuangzi) have a separate area to sell lamb buns (yangrou baozi) to go. They squeeze the dough into shape with their hands. In winter, they are filled with lamb and cabbage, and in summer, lamb and chives. Every time a steamer is ready, the apprentice shouts: 'Lamb buns are here!' Fresh from the steamer, get them while they're hot!
Some lamb stalls also sell medicine. They hang a sign nearby that says 'Lamb Liver Eye-Brightening Pills' (yanggan mingmu wan), and they are all tested and approved with a license from the health bureau. Some also sell sesame paste flatbread (zhima jiang shaobing) and brown sugar cakes (tang huoshao), which are made with flour and brown sugar. They are yellowish and stamped with a red mark on top. They also carry honey-glazed fried dough twists (mi mahua), which are extremely sweet. That is the full range of side businesses found at a lamb stall.
Some lamb stalls also sell pickled cabbage (suancai). Whatever amount you buy, they tie it up with a piece of iris grass (malian cao) and hand it to you. If you buy some lamb to go with it, you can make a pot of hot lamb and pickled cabbage noodle soup. It is warm, refreshing, and delicious!
Mentioning pickled cabbage reminds me of winters in the old capital, when every family used small coal-ball stoves. Impatient people couldn't wait for the fire to catch properly, so they would bring the stove inside while it was still emitting blue flames. The coal gas could suffocate a person. Every winter, quite a few people actually died from this. The special remedy for 'coal gas poisoning' didn't require going to a pharmacy or calling a doctor. You just had to go to a lamb stall, buy a large portion of pickled cabbage, ask for extra broth, and pour the ice-cold, teeth-chattering cabbage soup into the victim's mouth. For mild cases, a few sips of the sour, cool liquid would make them feel better in no time.
Beiping Customs: Lamb Stalls. Chen Hongnian
4. Shopkeeper Hua, who sells beef head meat from a wheelbarrow.
Back then, the street cry went like this: 'Beef liver!' Beef head meat! Beef liver for sale, hey, hey! Beef head meat for sale! The wheelbarrow creaked as it rolled over the fallen leaves of late autumn, sometimes accompanied by a few drifting snowflakes. With the weather turning hot and cold, it is the perfect time for nourishing food. Most families can afford a few ounces of beef head meat, which is reasonably priced and tastes pretty good. My grandmother never bought from strangers; she only trusted the halal shop run by Manager Hua.
Manager Hua told me his ancestors had been doing this for generations. They never opened a storefront, but followed the tradition of walking through the streets and alleys to sell their goods. Manager Hua’s beef head meat was so popular that even if he went as far as Qianmen, he would always sell out completely. Whether they wore long gowns or mandarin jackets, everyone loved this treat. If he ran into military officers or police, he had to bow and scrape, and even offer a little bribe.
Halal means being particular. The slaughter is handled by an imam, who performs the proper rites before the blade draws blood, showing respect for a life. When you think about it, a cow works hard its whole life, only occasionally rolling its eyes or acting stubborn, but it never misses a day of work. Even when it can no longer walk, it gives its life for humans, making it a creature worthy of respect. Halal means being clean. There is not a single flaw, as they always strive for perfection. For so many years, as long as a shop has a halal sign, I trust it. I can eat the meat with peace of mind. Halal means being honest. They do not cheat people, shortchange them, or take advantage of the small, perhaps because these rules have been passed down for so many years. Halal means being loyal. As long as you visit his business often and become a regular customer, he will never overcharge you. Instead, he will always give you a little extra on the house.
Shopkeeper Hua lived in the crowded courtyard behind my grandmother's house, where a dozen families all ran small businesses to make a living. When the northwest wind blew, the smell of meat would drift right into our noses, and we knew for sure Shopkeeper Hua was processing beef head (niutourou)! To be honest, beef head is the only real meat, while everything else is just beef offal (niuzasui). Besides beef liver, he had beef tendon, beef lung, and beef tripe. After Shopkeeper Hua added spices to remove the gamey smell, clear away the bad taste, and bring out the aroma, it smelled so good you wanted to grab a few bites right away to satisfy your cravings. Shopkeeper Hua's beef offal had a unique, fragrant taste, and chatty neighbors often asked him for his secret. It is not any different from what everyone else makes, is it? Shopkeeper Hua just smiled honestly, saying nothing at all. Yellow rice wine, star anise, green onion, ginger, garlic, cardamom, bay leaves, Sichuan peppercorns, and salt—these are all common kitchen spices, but the taste of Shopkeeper Hua's food was different from the usual street stalls. People said he used a few traditional Chinese medicinal herbs that were the secret of the Hua family, passed down through generations and never revealed to outsiders. Shopkeeper Hua's honest smile was just his way of being polite to people.
Shopkeeper Hua's wheelbarrow was very distinctive. It had a wooden wheel with a copper axle, and the wheel was inlaid with shiny copper nails inside and out. The top of the cart was covered in galvanized sheet metal, polished until it shone. The cooked beef head and various types of beef offal were kept in separate round wicker baskets. A long, sharp knife was fixed in one spot to keep it from shaking. A white cloth covered all the cooked food tightly.
When Auntie Zhang saw the cart hadn't moved from the doorway, she quickly greeted him, 'Give me half a jin of beef head, with Sichuan peppercorn salt!' Shopkeeper Hua lifted the cloth, picked up a small piece, and asked, 'How about this piece?' Seeing Auntie Zhang nod, he put it on the scale. It is a generous portion, don't you see? As he spoke, he used a long knife to slice the meat so thin that if you held a piece of paper with writing on it behind the slice, you could still read the words!
Shopkeeper, please put together a pound of mixed offal (zasui), add plenty of tendon (tijin), serve it cold, and put in lots of chili oil! Whenever guests come to Uncle Li's house, they all love this dish with their drinks. While Shopkeeper Hua finished slicing and mixing, Uncle Li quickly popped a piece into his mouth while waiting for his change. To use one word: impatient. His mouth was even more eager than his hands. Just like that, before the wheelbarrow even left the alley, several pounds were already gone.
You might ask, do Shopkeeper Hua's descendants still do this business? To tell you the truth, his sons are all highly educated, and his grandchildren are either studying abroad or working as white-collar professionals in the capital. Selling beef head meat and using a wheelbarrow? That seems to have nothing to do with their life paths. Whenever someone mentions how good the beef tasted when Shopkeeper Hua was alive, no one in the Hua family picks up the conversation. Well! The ancestral flavor of the Hua family just ended right there! People say one white-collar grandson had the intention to change careers, but who could he ask for the secret recipe? What happened then? There was no follow-up. Even if there were a resolution, no one knows. Think about it, the urban jungle is a maze; even in the same building, who really knows anyone else?
Old Beijing Stories 3 by Liu Hui
5. Bai Family Sesame Flatbread Shop (shaobing pu).
Since I dare to say that sesame flatbread (shaobing) shops aren't as good as they used to be, I can give you a hundred reasons why. When I lived in the alleyway (hutong), there was a sesame flatbread (shaobing) shop right next door. The owner was named Bai, a Hui Muslim who always wore a white cap, a white shirt, and a white apron without a single speck of dirt on them. He was about sixty, so I had to call him Grandpa. He never made a big deal about selling authentic Beijing-style sesame flatbread (shaobing), but I heard all the old folks say they grew up eating the Bai family's bread. Thinking about it, I was the same; if the alleyway hadn't been torn down, I would still be eating the bread made by the younger generation of the Bai family.
The Bai Family Sesame Flatbread Shop had a simple sign with white characters on a blue background. The sign marked as halal lets you rest easy knowing that this shop is clean. The Bai family mainly sold pepper-salt baked flatbread (jiaoyan huoshao), spiral-shaped rolls (luosizhuan), brown sugar baked flatbread (hongtang huoshao), and leavened baked flatbread (famian huoshao). The most popular item was the sesame flatbread (shaobing), which had three things in abundance: lots of sesame seeds, lots of sesame paste, and lots of layers. It had two types of crispness: a crispy crust and crispy sesame seeds. It had five types of fragrance: the fragrance of the crust, the sesame seeds, the sesame paste, the inside, and the lingering taste in your mouth. Through all the years, winter or summer, it always tasted the same. One time, my grandmother was waiting in line and casually asked about the secret to his baking, and he replied, "The ingredients must never change; you have to keep a clear conscience." Old Man Bai answered while spreading sesame paste onto the dough. It seemed like he didn't give away the real secret, but when you think about it, it was actually quite clear and he wasn't hiding anything.
Summary: Beijing Muslim History: Old Halal Notes from the Southern City is presented here as a firsthand travel account in clear English, beginning with this scene: Chongwen:. The account keeps its focus on Beijing Muslim History, Southern Beijing, Hui Muslims while preserving the names, places, food, and historical details from the Chinese source. This is part 4 of 5.
Part 4 of 5
The front carrying pole holds a large square wooden basin, and a copper plaque reading 'Western Regions Hui Muslim' (Xiyu Huihui) is displayed on the tray. In the center of the tray sits a copper pot filled with a savory sauce made from beef or lamb and button mushrooms (koumo). A long-handled flat copper spoon is used to serve the sauce, and spare bowls, small enamel spoons, and seasonings are placed on the edge of the tray. The rear carrying pole holds a deep, straight-sided pot filled with soft tofu custard (doufunao). The pot is wrapped in a cotton cover to keep it warm, as this tofu custard is much softer than standard firm tofu (laodoufu); eating a bowl of tofu custard topped with savory sauce, with garlic juice or chili oil added to taste, and served with sesame flatbread (shaobing) or baked wheat cake (huoshao), makes for an affordable and delicious meal. The tofu custard vendor does not travel through the alleys but stays parked at the street corner.
The vendor selling starch jelly sheets (fenpi) with sauce arrives, carrying a pot of beef or lamb and button mushroom sauce along with stacks of prepared starch jelly sheets, though some vendors make the sheets fresh on the spot; this is another unique food made by Hui Muslims. Every day after noon, the starch jelly sheet vendor goes out to walk the streets and alleys; some residents in the alleys bring their own bowls to take the food home, while passersby eat right at the stall using the bowls and chopsticks provided by the vendor. On a hot summer day, buying a bowl of sliced starch jelly sheets topped with a handful of shredded cucumber, even with the savory sauce, feels refreshing and light rather than greasy.
'Beef liver, beef!' 'Beef head!' The vendor pushes a single-wheeled cart with a cutting board and round bamboo steamers containing soy-braised beef, soy-braised beef tripe, beef tripe, beef offal, and beef head meat. to selling while walking the streets during the day, they also do business at night. The cart also hangs a 'Western Regions Hui Muslim' (Xiyu Huihui) copper plaque, so at a glance, you know it is a business run by Hui Muslims.
Customs and Anecdotes: Walking the streets and alleys to sell snacks. Liu Jiuru
2. A halal rice cake (niangao) stall at the temple fair.
The halal rice cake (nian gao) stalls at temple fairs change with the seasons and have everything you could want. In summer, they sell iced rice cakes and sticky rice dumplings (zongzi). In spring and autumn, they offer fried cakes (zha gao), cold rice cakes, lotus root with sticky rice (nuomi ou), steamed rice flour cakes (aiwowo), and rolled soybean flour cakes (ludagun). Only the "vegetarian dish" (su cai) is sold for three seasons.
The "vegetarian dish" is a type of honey-preserved tea snack. It is mainly made of fried sweet potato chips, mixed with honey dates, dried apricots, fried lotus root pieces, hawthorn cake, and green plums. It is then tossed in honey syrup and sold by weight. Fried sweet potato chips make up eighty percent of this dish, and they are the tastiest and most popular part. They are crispy, sweet, and crunchy, and the honey is not sticky, so you do not get tired of eating them even if you have a lot. The other ingredients have their own candied flavors and cost more than the sweet potato chips. As a tea snack, it is a top-tier treat. As for why it is called a "vegetarian dish," the reason is not clear.
Fried cakes (zha gao) are also a halal food, made by wrapping red bean paste in yellow millet flour and deep-frying it. They are also sweet, sticky, and crispy, but unlike the "vegetarian dish," they are not only found at temple fair stalls. Fried cakes can be seen everywhere. Products from halal stalls share one common advantage: they are clean and hygienic, which gives people peace of mind.
Memories of Snacks: Jin Yunzhen
3. Mutton stall (yangrou chuangzi).
Look at how clean the larger mutton stalls (yangrou chuangzi) are. The table for the mutton and the poles for hanging the meat are scrubbed until they are spotless. The edges of the table are lined with copper nails that are always polished until they shine.
The scale on the counter has a white copper pan, white copper chains, and a white copper weight. The Hui Muslim shopkeeper always handles it with a loud clatter, banging and crashing it down. He picks it up and drops it several times; I guess that is just the custom at the mutton stall (yangrou chuangzi).
In the old days, Beijing did not seem to have slaughterhouses, because sheep were slaughtered right at the door of the mutton stall. At a large mutton stall, early every morning, five or six large sheep would be tied up with a wooden blood basin placed nearby, waiting for the head imam (ahong) to come and recite prayers.
The Muslim imam, wearing a grey cotton robe and a black mandarin jacket (magua), would arrive by rickshaw—since he had to visit many mutton stalls each morning, he traveled by rickshaw to make his rounds—carrying a cloth bag containing the knives for slaughtering the sheep. When he reached the counter, he would take out his knife, mutter a prayer, and with one swift stroke across the sheep's neck held down by two young men, the blood would pour out; the sheep would stretch its legs, twitch a few times, and then go still.
Afterward, they would peel off the skin, cut off the head, chop off the hooves, remove the offal, wash everything clean with water, and hang the meat on a pole using copper meat hooks. Look at how fatty it is!
When it comes to northern sheep, few can compare to them, except for those from the Northwest. In the summer, they graze on green grass, becoming round and plump with thick wool, and their large tails drag behind them like a big pot lid.
If you go to a large mutton stall in the winter to buy meat for hot pot (shuan guozi), they will always take good care of you. There are cuts of meat like the neck (shangnao'er), the leg muscle (huangguatiao), the flank (yaowo), and the brisket (sancha'er); they cut exactly what you point to, and they have everything you could want. Once you leave Beijing, you can find mutton hot pot everywhere, but it is just mutton!
I remember before the war, in the old capital, one silver dollar could buy four jin of good mutton delivered to your door. Add some cabbage and glass noodles (fentiao), and one dollar's worth of meat was enough to feed three or four people. It was warm and satisfying; it was wonderful.
In the summer, every mutton stall sells fried mutton (shao yangrou). The meat, just out of the fryer, is placed on a large copper tray, and the aroma is so strong you can smell it from a mile away.
For an afternoon snack, if you have a few coins, you can buy a pair of sheep hooves or a piece of shank (jianzi), and eat it with two sesame flatbreads (shaobing); it is incredibly delicious. If you bring home a large sheep head, your family can make some pancakes, boil a pot of rice porridge (shui fan), and on a hot day, it is neither greasy nor too heavy, and it really satisfies your cravings. The sheep neck has a bit more meat and is even better to eat than the head.
If your family is small, dinner is easy to put together. Just take a pot to the mutton stall, buy seven or eight mao worth of fried mutton, and tell the shopkeeper, 'Boss, add some extra broth!' Once you get home, bring the pot of meat and broth to a boil, add a few coins' worth of noodles, and you have fried mutton noodles. Forget about leaving Beiping.
Most lamb stalls (yangrou chuangzi) have a separate area to sell lamb buns (yangrou baozi) to go. They squeeze the dough into shape with their hands. In winter, they are filled with lamb and cabbage, and in summer, lamb and chives. Every time a steamer is ready, the apprentice shouts: 'Lamb buns are here!' Fresh from the steamer, get them while they're hot!
Some lamb stalls also sell medicine. They hang a sign nearby that says 'Lamb Liver Eye-Brightening Pills' (yanggan mingmu wan), and they are all tested and approved with a license from the health bureau. Some also sell sesame paste flatbread (zhima jiang shaobing) and brown sugar cakes (tang huoshao), which are made with flour and brown sugar. They are yellowish and stamped with a red mark on top. They also carry honey-glazed fried dough twists (mi mahua), which are extremely sweet. That is the full range of side businesses found at a lamb stall.
Some lamb stalls also sell pickled cabbage (suancai). Whatever amount you buy, they tie it up with a piece of iris grass (malian cao) and hand it to you. If you buy some lamb to go with it, you can make a pot of hot lamb and pickled cabbage noodle soup. It is warm, refreshing, and delicious!
Mentioning pickled cabbage reminds me of winters in the old capital, when every family used small coal-ball stoves. Impatient people couldn't wait for the fire to catch properly, so they would bring the stove inside while it was still emitting blue flames. The coal gas could suffocate a person. Every winter, quite a few people actually died from this. The special remedy for 'coal gas poisoning' didn't require going to a pharmacy or calling a doctor. You just had to go to a lamb stall, buy a large portion of pickled cabbage, ask for extra broth, and pour the ice-cold, teeth-chattering cabbage soup into the victim's mouth. For mild cases, a few sips of the sour, cool liquid would make them feel better in no time.
Beiping Customs: Lamb Stalls. Chen Hongnian
4. Shopkeeper Hua, who sells beef head meat from a wheelbarrow.
Back then, the street cry went like this: 'Beef liver!' Beef head meat! Beef liver for sale, hey, hey! Beef head meat for sale! The wheelbarrow creaked as it rolled over the fallen leaves of late autumn, sometimes accompanied by a few drifting snowflakes. With the weather turning hot and cold, it is the perfect time for nourishing food. Most families can afford a few ounces of beef head meat, which is reasonably priced and tastes pretty good. My grandmother never bought from strangers; she only trusted the halal shop run by Manager Hua.
Manager Hua told me his ancestors had been doing this for generations. They never opened a storefront, but followed the tradition of walking through the streets and alleys to sell their goods. Manager Hua’s beef head meat was so popular that even if he went as far as Qianmen, he would always sell out completely. Whether they wore long gowns or mandarin jackets, everyone loved this treat. If he ran into military officers or police, he had to bow and scrape, and even offer a little bribe.
Halal means being particular. The slaughter is handled by an imam, who performs the proper rites before the blade draws blood, showing respect for a life. When you think about it, a cow works hard its whole life, only occasionally rolling its eyes or acting stubborn, but it never misses a day of work. Even when it can no longer walk, it gives its life for humans, making it a creature worthy of respect. Halal means being clean. There is not a single flaw, as they always strive for perfection. For so many years, as long as a shop has a halal sign, I trust it. I can eat the meat with peace of mind. Halal means being honest. They do not cheat people, shortchange them, or take advantage of the small, perhaps because these rules have been passed down for so many years. Halal means being loyal. As long as you visit his business often and become a regular customer, he will never overcharge you. Instead, he will always give you a little extra on the house.
Shopkeeper Hua lived in the crowded courtyard behind my grandmother's house, where a dozen families all ran small businesses to make a living. When the northwest wind blew, the smell of meat would drift right into our noses, and we knew for sure Shopkeeper Hua was processing beef head (niutourou)! To be honest, beef head is the only real meat, while everything else is just beef offal (niuzasui). Besides beef liver, he had beef tendon, beef lung, and beef tripe. After Shopkeeper Hua added spices to remove the gamey smell, clear away the bad taste, and bring out the aroma, it smelled so good you wanted to grab a few bites right away to satisfy your cravings. Shopkeeper Hua's beef offal had a unique, fragrant taste, and chatty neighbors often asked him for his secret. It is not any different from what everyone else makes, is it? Shopkeeper Hua just smiled honestly, saying nothing at all. Yellow rice wine, star anise, green onion, ginger, garlic, cardamom, bay leaves, Sichuan peppercorns, and salt—these are all common kitchen spices, but the taste of Shopkeeper Hua's food was different from the usual street stalls. People said he used a few traditional Chinese medicinal herbs that were the secret of the Hua family, passed down through generations and never revealed to outsiders. Shopkeeper Hua's honest smile was just his way of being polite to people.
Shopkeeper Hua's wheelbarrow was very distinctive. It had a wooden wheel with a copper axle, and the wheel was inlaid with shiny copper nails inside and out. The top of the cart was covered in galvanized sheet metal, polished until it shone. The cooked beef head and various types of beef offal were kept in separate round wicker baskets. A long, sharp knife was fixed in one spot to keep it from shaking. A white cloth covered all the cooked food tightly.
When Auntie Zhang saw the cart hadn't moved from the doorway, she quickly greeted him, 'Give me half a jin of beef head, with Sichuan peppercorn salt!' Shopkeeper Hua lifted the cloth, picked up a small piece, and asked, 'How about this piece?' Seeing Auntie Zhang nod, he put it on the scale. It is a generous portion, don't you see? As he spoke, he used a long knife to slice the meat so thin that if you held a piece of paper with writing on it behind the slice, you could still read the words!
Shopkeeper, please put together a pound of mixed offal (zasui), add plenty of tendon (tijin), serve it cold, and put in lots of chili oil! Whenever guests come to Uncle Li's house, they all love this dish with their drinks. While Shopkeeper Hua finished slicing and mixing, Uncle Li quickly popped a piece into his mouth while waiting for his change. To use one word: impatient. His mouth was even more eager than his hands. Just like that, before the wheelbarrow even left the alley, several pounds were already gone.
You might ask, do Shopkeeper Hua's descendants still do this business? To tell you the truth, his sons are all highly educated, and his grandchildren are either studying abroad or working as white-collar professionals in the capital. Selling beef head meat and using a wheelbarrow? That seems to have nothing to do with their life paths. Whenever someone mentions how good the beef tasted when Shopkeeper Hua was alive, no one in the Hua family picks up the conversation. Well! The ancestral flavor of the Hua family just ended right there! People say one white-collar grandson had the intention to change careers, but who could he ask for the secret recipe? What happened then? There was no follow-up. Even if there were a resolution, no one knows. Think about it, the urban jungle is a maze; even in the same building, who really knows anyone else?
Old Beijing Stories 3 by Liu Hui
5. Bai Family Sesame Flatbread Shop (shaobing pu).
Since I dare to say that sesame flatbread (shaobing) shops aren't as good as they used to be, I can give you a hundred reasons why. When I lived in the alleyway (hutong), there was a sesame flatbread (shaobing) shop right next door. The owner was named Bai, a Hui Muslim who always wore a white cap, a white shirt, and a white apron without a single speck of dirt on them. He was about sixty, so I had to call him Grandpa. He never made a big deal about selling authentic Beijing-style sesame flatbread (shaobing), but I heard all the old folks say they grew up eating the Bai family's bread. Thinking about it, I was the same; if the alleyway hadn't been torn down, I would still be eating the bread made by the younger generation of the Bai family.
The Bai Family Sesame Flatbread Shop had a simple sign with white characters on a blue background. The sign marked as halal lets you rest easy knowing that this shop is clean. The Bai family mainly sold pepper-salt baked flatbread (jiaoyan huoshao), spiral-shaped rolls (luosizhuan), brown sugar baked flatbread (hongtang huoshao), and leavened baked flatbread (famian huoshao). The most popular item was the sesame flatbread (shaobing), which had three things in abundance: lots of sesame seeds, lots of sesame paste, and lots of layers. It had two types of crispness: a crispy crust and crispy sesame seeds. It had five types of fragrance: the fragrance of the crust, the sesame seeds, the sesame paste, the inside, and the lingering taste in your mouth. Through all the years, winter or summer, it always tasted the same. One time, my grandmother was waiting in line and casually asked about the secret to his baking, and he replied, "The ingredients must never change; you have to keep a clear conscience." Old Man Bai answered while spreading sesame paste onto the dough. It seemed like he didn't give away the real secret, but when you think about it, it was actually quite clear and he wasn't hiding anything.
