Alleyway Gourmet: Pig In The City
“I would love to read Tom’s take on it!” enthused the usual writer of this column. On what, you may ask? A near-legendary octogenarian who peddles pig trotters in the far, far reaches of west Beijing. So, obediently, off I pedalled to get my pork on.
I rattled past miles of unfamiliar buildings: the brutalist Millennium Monument, endless outlet stores, a naval building guarded by men in tight sailors’ whites. Until there it was. 酱肘子猪蹄 (jiang zhouzi zhuti, soy-sauce pork elbows and trotters) picked out in red on the side of a trolley cart.
Aside from the question of whether a pig even has elbows, something was up. Where was the wrinkly “grandpa” I’d seen photos of on Dianping.com?
“I’m a competitor. The old man has sold out.” Damn.
A policeman sidled over. “It’s really the same taste. And his pork is one kuai cheaper per jin!” Grandpa has been stewing pork for 45 years. This whippersnapper is barely 40.
“It’s just my opinion, but I think my pork is just as good,” said the seller, quietly. As customers came and went, a last, lonely piece of bronzed porker gazed at me from its soy sauce bath. I bought it.
Joel Shuchat, proprietor of The Orchid Hotel, helped me prepare my pig, thinly slicing it, brushing with chilli paste and drizzling on the heated sauce. Served with finely sliced cucumber, it was a hit in the hotel bar. “Like a Thanksgiving ham,” Young commented one guest. “It’s salty, but so tasty,” said another. No one suspected it was a silver medalist to grandpa’s gold. The Art Garfunkel of ham snacks. Or maybe it is equally delicious, and the rest is all hype? Yeah right, and maybe pigs have elbows.
Laotou zhuti zhuzhou. 3 Xicuilu (southeast of Wukesong subway station on Line 1), Haidian District
老头猪蹄猪肘, 海淀区西翠路西翠路3号
Daily from about 2pm until he sells out. Or buy from the other guy. It’s still good.
