A school friend of mine had a peculiar food foible. He would insist that his baked beans be served apart from his sausage and chips. Far apart, as in a separate bowl. This inconsequential tic lay dormant in my subconscious for years … until I had the dipping ramen (RMB 29-35) at Moon Concubine Izakaya. Noodles, pork, egg and nori in one bowl, soup in another. The menu warns that on no account should you add the soup to the noodles. Presumably doing so would usher in a reign of Akira-esque chaos. Or maybe it’s just something about dulling the texture of the noodles. Cleverly, the soup is thick and salty enough to ensure each dunking imbues a satisfactorily saucy coating. Lots of fun, but they also have regular ramen for you stick-in-the-muds.

The star of the menu here is the scallop grilled with butter sauce (RMB 90) – meaty and fresh, smooth and scrumptious. “Chocolate burger meat” (RMB 45) may sound like a dessert al carne; actually, these are creative croquettes, stuffed with unsweetened dark chocolate sauce.

For the next year or so, you’re bound to see a few tourists loitering at 29 Nanluogu Xiang, staring dumbly, hungrily, at an abandoned shell. If only they knew to walk 500 meters east for the Korean fix they seek. But they don’t – not until the next edition of their guidebook appears.

Suzumei is to the phrase “best-kept secret” what Quanjude is to “tourist trap.” Just finding this tiny Japanese restaurant makes you feel part of an elite club. The reward? A wooden board plated up with beautifully carved raw fish, Jimi Hendrix on the stereo and a bottle of sake big enough to christen a warship.

It’s no secret that bars (and clubs) are still a fairly new invention in Beijing. Until as recently as the mid-1990s, Hard Rock Cafe was about the only place in town where a mixed drink didn’t mean tea leaves and hot water. Beijingers have traditionally done their serious drinking in restaurants, and most still do.