What Would Goldilocks Make of China? 金发姑娘怎么看待中国？

Awful pollution like this weekend’s always puts me in a bad mood. So here’s a little bit of nitpicking for you, or TiāoMáoBìng (挑毛病 literally: ‘picking at feathers sickness’).

Much like Goldilocks’ porridge, some things in China are not quite right.

The public toilets are plentiful but they never have soap or toilet paper; the socialism is in your face but I can never tell where the Chinese characteristics end and it begins; a cup of coffee costs me the same as a 40 minute taxi ride (that’s fine with me, actually); daily life relies heavily on the internet but the wifi is some of the patchiest and slowest I’ve ever seen.

BUT.

Most fruits in Beijing come in miniature which more than makes up for all the above issues.

These ‘granulated sugar tangerines’ (沙糖桔子 ShāTáng JúZi) are the size of large grapes (large grapes, I say! Amazing!) and have popped up everywhere over the last week. I love running my hands through piles of them, they’re just too cute and I’m just too easily amused.

On that note, I’ve noticed that all my favourite foods here are orange (get in on the persimmon and sweet potato hype).

I have a very scientific theory that it’s because my air pollution app turns orange to indicate ‘moderate pollution’. Moderate pollution/the colour orange always puts me in a good mood because it’s not bad enough to have congealed into the infamous Beijing smog-soup, making it easier to ignore and get on with life without worrying about what kind of substances might be throwing a carcinogenic party in your lungs. Red (lock up the kids and throw away the key) on my pollution app makes me sad and green (what does green look like again?) is too much to ask for. So no steak or salad for me. Bring on the tangerines.

‘Tis but a mist. Nothing but a mist. A romantic mist. Completely natural. Not poisonous. Definitely not poisonous. When Keats wrote ‘To Autumn’, he was probably thinking of Beijing’s ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’. Thank you, Keats.

 

Winter Is Coming 凛冬将至

How do I know? Because the winter snacks have arrived!
Seemingly overnight, the number of roast sweet potato 烤地瓜 (Kǎo DìGuā：literally ‘roast ground melon’¹）street vendors have quadrupled.

Your average sweet potato dealer has a certain look: male, accessorized with beat-up leather or canvas jacket and a cool one-hand-on-the-hip-hand-over-the-RMB slouch. Ovens are pretty makeshift, usually what looks like a dusty oil drum, on top of which rest the finished products with more potatoes cooking inside.

A variation on the potato-motorcycle

 

Following the lead of my host family, I always ask to the see the inside of the drums before I buy to check they’re not using any nasty fuels. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to be looking for (glowing bars with ‘radioactive waste’ stamped on the side?) but I’ll take an expert look and give an authoritative nod before I buy and instantly inhale.

A barrel of fun

 

Having eaten many a sweet potato in Taiwan where I was studying last year (I was up to six a day at the height of my addiction), I like to think of myself as somewhat of an expert. In my humble opinion, the perfect sweet potato should be roasted until the juices run out of the end, the inside should be soft but not mushy and the skin should be nice and crispy and separate easily from the flesh. If you can bear to wait a few minutes, let your potato cool slightly in order not burn the skin off the roof of your mouth. An unpleasant experience which I’ve inflicted on myself several times.

All Potatoes Are Equal But Some Potatoes Are More Equal Than Others: Taiwanese specimen

Fancy Beijing Potato: came in a little paper bag claiming that this snack originated in Taiwan

One of the joys of eating street food (and any food) in Beijing is the opportunity to eat with the seasons so look forward to more snacks to come.

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¹ Typing this, I see that there is even a sweet potato emoji available 🍠