How Long Would You Line Up for Mantou?

The going wait for steamed bread at Shandong Qiang Mian Mantou Dian on Gulou Dongdajie is anything up to two and a half hours. You’ve probably seen the queues, just opposite the north entrance of Nanluogu Xiang, sometimes snaking well past the Good Goods Commune. And for what? Flour, yeast and water, in white orbs the size of a bear’s fist. Is it worth the wait? There’s only one way to find out...

One thing to point out is that, of the 80 or so folks in the line in front of me, I’m at the very bottom of the age demographic. Hooray! Another is how jolly everyone is. It’s like they’re queuing up for free money, or a roller coaster. “Have you eaten these mantou before?” an old lady in a woolly hat asks me? “No, what’s so special about them?” I reply. “They’re delicious!”

Clearly. But how are they more special than any other mantou? The clue is in the name – qiang mian, referring to the time-consuming production method of adding dry flour while kneading the dough (by hand, of course). This is said to result in a texture that’s much less spongy than a conventional bun.

After almost an hour telling people I’m from England and no, we don’t have mantou, it’s my turn! Five plain ones and five doubao (filled with red bean paste), coming in at just over RMB 10. The buns are heavy with a glossy exterior, and ripping them apart reveals lots of dense layers like an onion. They still taste like mantou - essentially unbaked, cooked dough. Neutral, dense and chewy. If you haven't grown up with it, you probably won't get too excited. But it's no different to lining up for great bagels or baguettes. And really, the best part is all the language practice you can get in the queue. Hate to say it, but they can keep the bread.