Beijing Muslim History: Old Halal Notes from the Southern City (Part 4 of 5) — Section 2 of 2
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 retry section is 2 of 2.
Section 2 of 2
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 retry section is 2 of 2.
Section 2 of 2
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.
