Follow the Students: Midnight Snacks at the University (CHINA - part 1 of 1)

The mood of the small gathering of vendors quietly filling orders of freshly made, comfort foods reminds me of a potluck meeting of a secret society, subdued, and relaxed, but with an undercurrent of excited energy. In the background, crepe batter sizzles against the hot griddle, interrupting the few, broken conversations. An egg is cracked and the yolk broken over the quickly drying batter. A small sprinkle of chopped scallions and cilantro, followed by briny, preserved shredded turnip, create a colorful landscape on the thin, spongy surface. A quick flip and the bottom of the disc is brushed with hoisin sauce (Chinese bbq-sauce of preserved soybeans), garnished with chili powder, and and a spoonful of crushed peanuts. The burning package, folded into a square and stuffed into a scrap of paper, warms our chilled fingers. It is the first time since Spain where a jacket and scarf (even gloves for a some) are required and few of us are prepared. Welcome to Shanghai.



BRIEF BACKTRACK
Prior to arriving in Shanghai our first stop in China was Hong Kong. For some geography reference, the region is divided by a straight of water into Hong Kong Island and Kowloon Penninsula (attached to the mainland). The island portion is the financial hub of the state. The streets reminisce of any large, urban center, San Francisco or New York with towering, imposing buildings and sleek, modern designs. Kowloon captures more of the local Hong Kong culture. Despite the masses of foreigners and locals flooding the shadowed streets below, the city was absent of the street carts I've become accustomed to seeing in Asia. The dearth of street vending activity in the downtown district took me by surprise. Open storefront counters selling mostly skewered fish balls, octopus tentacles, and other assorted grilled or fried meats and vegetables came the closet to cheap-eats, roadside vending. Locals bunched around each of these stalls in tight bubbles with a similar air to other street food customers around the world. I was lucky enough to follow a friend living in Hong Kong for the year to a legitimate hole-in-the-wall "cart" for an authentic, crispy honeycomb egg waffle called “ge zi bing” 格仔餠 "grid cake", named for the pocketed iron griddle it is cooked in. My friend in Hong Kong mourns the disappearance of these traditional hawkers as local authorities have been cracking down on sanitary regulations and forcing vendors into actual stores. This restriction has eliminated some vendors from the business and is perhaps lowering the incentive for the remaining to dish out first-rate waffles. When considering the actual snack itself, there isn't much to tamper with that would degrade the quality of a true ge zi bing. Motivation and incentive rather than skill or quality ingredients appear to be the culprits against excellence for the dessert snack.



MAINLAND
Crossing back over to Shanghai, we met up with a friend of a friend who has been living and studying in the city for nearly three years. Upon hearing of my interest in learning the local food culture, he enthusiastically promised to take us to his University later in the evening to partake in a gathering of street vendors.

In the late evening hours, vendors cluster around the main gates of the most Universities to take advantage of hungry student appetites. Between 10:30 PM to 1:00 in the morning, they set up their rickety and rusty carts to offer a Chinese version of "late night / take-out" to passersby. The food is as equally greasy, hot, and comforting as buffalo wings, hamburgers, and fries, but truly much more ingeniously executed. I may be biased, but at 3-4 RMB (~ $0.5) a pop, you can't beat the price. The vendor turnout was relatively small in comparison to food markets from previous countries we've visited. Nevertheless, it was probably the largest organized group of vendors I saw in Shanghai. A handful of owners, perhaps six at most, congregate at each gate of the University. They appear to coordinate food types with one another as there were no duplicate offerings at each location, though some vendors offered replica foods at different gates. We ate our way around the vendors starting with an incredible spiced and braised pork, finely chopped before being stuffed into a toasted white "mantou" bun. The meat was topped with minced scallions and cilantro and given a douse of juices from the braise. Following, we watched a woman spread a wide circle batter of crepe on a large griddle and savored the 大餠 "da bing" (introduced above) with both hands as if eating a Bic Mac. Finally, we filled up on a small bowl of tiny wontons in a steaming soy-based broth. Only our stuffed bellies prevented us from trying the elaborate fried rice at the end of the line.

"INVISIBLE" VENDORS
A large portion of prepared foods sold in Shanghai are informal and most likely illegal, although this seems to be accepted with a partially blind eye. Narrow roads in older, village-styled houses, dark grey and attached in townhouse formation, meld into major city skyscrapers amidst the dusty rubble of full-blown construction. Most Shanghai citizens live in these village locations and some offer breakfast or snacks out of their basic dwellings. From uniformed students to businesspeople in suits and leather shoes, people flock to and from these unlicensed enterprises. The execution of food vending from the doorway of these houses was much the same as informal street vending in India or Vietnam; separate operations per vendor, unorganized and primitive, but logistically less stressful in terms of mobility. Surprisingly, the convenience of a backyard larder did not prevent vendors from cooking portably in front of their homes rather than inside. Tables and charcoal stoves were set up along the sidewalk to steam wooden barrels of fluffy white buns and fry 油條 "you tiao" unsweetened donuts for dunking in sweetened soymilk. Local police did not attempt to invade vending activity, though they didn't appear to partake either.



GIVE ME BACK MY SPATULA PLEASE
A final, scattered group of independently operating individuals form a third category of Chinese street vendors. While our university friend informed us that all street vending can be assumed to break the law in China, certain individuals appear to be easier targets for wrist-slapping. Periodically along the quieter streets of the city, not far from main commercial centers, I came across men with wooden ox-carts or on bicycles serving up grilled, skewered meats or candy-coated dates or crab apples. This category of vending seems to fall victim to whistle-blower officials (literally, men who have the authority to call out an illicit activity such as jaywalking or hawking - but no official power to arrest). In the event of crossing paths with an actual police officer, the vendors may have their spatulas or other utensils confiscated as punishment, being that fines are worthless to impose on these penniless individuals. A word to the wise from our experienced friend, don't buy from this third group of street vendors; the absence of quality food matches their sanitation conditions.