Cafe Z is legend in Chengdu – hugely expensive compared to the price of an average meal, but considered by many as the best place to get Western food in the city. I’ve had this buffet restaurant at the Shangrila Hotel recommended to me countless times, but being the cheapskate that I am was somewhat reluctant to go. Yesterday evening though, what with it being Mike's last night in town, we decided to take the plunge. And boy was it worth it.

It isn’t just that the food is all high quality and totally delicious – it’s the range that’s spectacular. Not only are there Sichuan specialities, Cantonese Dim Sum, Beijing Duck and various other Chinese dishes, but there is also Japanese, Italian, Moroccan, Indian…the list goes on, and is topped by perhaps the most gorgeously presented dessert selection I’ve ever seen.

Sadly I was too busy stuffing myself silly to take many photographs of the food in its entire splendor, but hopefully the following gives you a rough idea.

Bowls of delicious titbits.

Sauces and dressings in the Mediterranean section.

Sichuan-style Douhua.

The chocolate fountain.

Individual chocolate squares served on spoons.

So, if, like I did, you’re wondering if it’s worth the high price, wonder no longer and just go.

This is Jiang Zhengyi, a gan za (dry-goods) vendor in my local market, and one of the most charismatic men I have met in China. It is thanks to him that I recently had the opportunity of visiting a local foodstuffs factory to research the making of dou chi (fermented black beans) for my magazine column. To show my appreciation of his help with this, I promised Mr Jiang that I would write a profile of him and his shop, and so here it is.

The first time Cam and I met Mr Jiang, a simple question about soy sauce turned into a lengthy discussion of the many different types and flavors available. So when, last month, I needed to find a dou chi producer near Chengdu, I went to straight to him.

But when I first asked Mr Jiang if he could introduce me to a local maker of dou chi, he flat-out refused. ‘They’re traditional, and their recipes are secrets’, he said. ‘Would you expect a cheese maker in your country to tell you how he makes his cheese?’

‘I don’t want to go into the dou chi business!’ I replied in surprise, ‘I’m just interested in Chinese food.’ I mentioned my trips to Pixian (to see the doubanjiang), and to Qingxi (to see the huajiao), and slowly, Mr Jiang relented. ‘Let me make some phone calls’, he said evasively, ‘then we’ll see.’

A few days passed, I didn’t hear from Mr Jiang, and I began to lose hope. Buying vegetables one morning however, I bumped into him by chance. ‘Come down to my shop’, he said gruffly, ‘and I’ll speak to my contact about arranging a visit to his factory.’ Overjoyed, I did as he said, and less than 24 hours later I was being shown how dou chi, doufu ru (fermented tofu) and many other traditional products are made.

I’ve met many people who work with food in China, but none have been as genuinely passionate about their work as Mr Jiang. He is hugely knowledgeable about food, and says he only sells the very best products. Mr Jiang’s is, in fact, the best dry-goods store I have encountered in China – because in addition to his myriad domestic products, Mr Jiang also stocks many foreign items, including Lea and Perrins, canned coconut milk and olive oil. When I asked him about this, which is, in my experience, highly unusual in China, he said that nowadays many people are experimenting with combining Chinese and foreign ingredients – as he does himself.

Lastly, though it has nothing to do with food, I’ve also got to include something about Mr Jiang’s birthday: the 8th of August, 1958, ie. 08/08/58. Because in Chinese the word for 8, ‘ba’, rhymes with the ‘fa’ of ‘fa cai’ (meaning ‘to get rich’), 8 is traditionally the luckiest number. This makes Mr Jiang’s birthday perhaps the luckiest date in China – which is why, incidentally, it was also the date of the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics.

As I mentioned a few posts ago, I’ve recently discovered the ‘little town’ next to the university where I teach, whose snack collection rivals that of Luding. This small area, full of restaurants, shops and, best of all, the aforementioned snacks, is a true cornucopia of delights. It has everything you could possibly want to eat; sweet things – for example, chocolate ice-cream…

…savory things – for example, steamed dumplings…

…and it also has several proprietors of what has become perhaps my favourite snack sold there, jian bing quo zi. It goes something like this: first, a spoonful of batter is dropped onto a hot-plate.

Next, the vendor uses a nifty little thingamajig to spread the mixture into a thin pancake.

Then, an egg is cracked onto the pancake...

..and this then too gets the spreading treatment.

The pancake is at this point flipped over…

…gets a generous brush of peanut sauce and chilli oil…

…is filled with lettuce, shredded potato, and mysterious-but-yummy crispy things…

…and is finally folded up and ready to eat.

I could eat eat these things till they came out my ears...but if I did that I’d miss out on eating all the other delicious things on offer at the little town, which really comes alive at night.

Once sun goes down, there are far more snack vendors out and about than in the daytime. Vendors offering steamed snacks…

…snacks on sticks…

…stretchy snacks…

…and another of my favourites, bread rolls stuffed with a choice of egg, beef, chicken or pork, fried on a hot-plate with shredded potato, green and red peppers, and spices.

I have to go to the Shuangliu campus every Tuesday evening for English Corner, an informal weekly gathering that gives students an opportunity to practice their oral English. The bus gets me in at about 6.45pm, leaving me just enough time to go eat at the little town before English Corner’s 7.30pm start. How convenient.

Last week, Cam and I had the brilliant experience of visiting the factory of a local company, who produce all manner of traditional Chinese cooking ingredients and foodstuffs. The visit was to research the method of making dou chi (fermented black beans) for my next column in Chengdoo Magazine, which you will see here soon. In the meantime, here are a few photos to whet your appetite.

Dried soy beans, the main ingredient of dou chi.

The soy beans, post soaking and steaming, mid-way through the fermentation process.

The dou chi getting a stir.

The almost-finished product.

We also got to see the company’s doufu ru (fermented tofu) being made, of which they are justly proud. First, the tofu itself is prepared.

The tofu is then left in earthenware containers, called shaigang, to ferment for many months.

Finally, it is mixed with a spicy sauce, packaged and ready to eat.

More on dou chi, and the wonderful Mr Jiang who organized our visit, coming soon…

Though most people in China know Luding for its famous bridge and accompanying Long March battle, I have decided that it should be equally famous for its snacks – for what Cam and I planned as a tongue-in-cheek Commie pilgrimage there in July quickly turned into a stuffing-our-faces foodie tour.

I have no idea what made this small river town on the old Sichuan-Tibet highway such a Pandora’s Box of snacky delights – in fact, on second thoughts, perhaps it’s only because I invariably sniff out foodie goodies wherever I go. Whatever the reason, Cam and I ate ridiculously well on the streets of Luding, and it was this snack that kicked the day off.

We’d just finished the obligatory crossing of said bridge (where tourists pose for photos in Red Army uniforms), when our nostrils were assailed with a disarmingly tasty smell. It came from a stall just opposite the market, where a woman made sweet, corn-flour based pancakes, fried on a hot plate in a little oil. The oil was poured from a teapot, the batter from a huge metal bowl, and the pancakes were sold piping hot. We gobbled up one each while still standing next to the stall; they were so good we speculated on buying another, but ended up wandering elsewhere in search of something else. And lucky we did too, for Luding turned out to be bready-snack heaven. Fresh, toasty guo kuei (fried flatbread)…

…more corn-flour based cakey things…

…and quite astoundingly large da bing.

Though you can get da bing in many places (the name, helpfully, translates literally as ‘big cake’), these were the biggest I’ve ever seen. These ones were pretty good, but begged to be slathered with peanut butter and honey, neither of which I had to hand. Though I'd only bought one I was too full up from the other snacks to finish it, and so saved half to have for breakfast (with the dreamed-of condiments) the next day – but sadly, the rats who visited our hotel room that night also seemed to like the taste of da bing, so the plan was never realised.

Since that trip, I haven’t found anywhere that challenges Luding for the title of Snack Heaven – until this week, when I started work. Next to the Southwest University for Nationalities, whose campus is unfortunately, like many Chinese universities, situated in a wasteland area at the edge of the city, there is a scruffy ‘student village’, where, among other delights, you can find really wonderful snacks from all over China. Though Cam has been raving about and frequenting the place for months, this week was my first opportunity to eat there, and it totally blew me away; so more on that, with photos, coming soon…