For my whole life, I have had a lack of respect for pandas. Yes, pandas. They may be cute, but despite being genetically predisposed to eat meat, they had chosen a life of eating bamboo. This choice has led to their endangerment, because it takes a whole lot more bamboo to feed a panda than meat. But things seem to be changing. Pandas now have a taste for blood.

Out in Sichuan, China, a panda has been caught on camera feasting on the forbidden food and seems to be loving it. While the panda probably didn’t kill the antelope it seems to enjoy so much, one can only guess what the taste of blood may trigger in these bears. Once upon a time, their ancestors liked meat and as the bamboo forests continue to decrease, I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot more pandas go retro.

So, for realizing meat is a viable meal and changing my negative perception of pandas, you pandas are now true Unvegan Heroes!

Check out the alarmingly awesome video here:

(via Daily Mail)

In a world full of apples, pears, bananas and peaches, it’s comforting to know that out in the crazy world of ours, there are still strange fruits waiting to be eaten. I’m sure it seems weird to be reading an article on an unvegan website about fruit, but I must confess I am a huge fan of fruit. After all, this is a site against vegetables, not fruit. Who could really hate nature’s candy? While in China I came across two fruits that break the mold of those average, everyday fruits: the Durian and Mangosteen. They are also known as the King and Queen of fruits, respectively.

The first two things you notice about the durian are the size and the spikes. This is no small fruit to be trifled with and requires more than bare hands to crack open. It’s obviously a fruit that doesn’t want to be eaten, and maybe with good reason. Because although the size and spikes are the first things you notice before it’s opened, the first thing you notice after is the smell. Or rather odor. This king smells rotten, but it isn’t. It’s not easy to get over the smell, but eventually the durian has to be eaten. The flesh has the consistency of custard and almost actually tastes like custard. Or like a custard that’s been sitting out on the counter for weeks. Until the durian I’d never met a fruit I didn’t like, but the king of fruits ended my streak. Perhaps I had just eaten the durian on an off day, or more likely an off season, but this was one king of fruits not fit for a layman like me.

Then there’s the mangosteen, or more accurately known as the purple mangosteen. Despite the name, the fruit has nothing to do with mangoes and really isn’t related. The look is unlike any other fruit and if you squint closely, the stem almost looks like a crown upon the head of that rotund queen of fruits. Similar to the durian, the mangosteen isn’t an easy fruit to open without hands, but it can be done. A deep dig of the thumb and the thick purple skin eventually gives way to some white wedges that almost look like albino tangerine wedges.

But the taste is nothing at all like a tangerine or any other citrus. In fact it’s hard to put a finger on what the taste actually is. The closest thing I can come up with is that it tastes kind of like sugar cane, but with a twist. It’s sweet and sugary and definitely fruity, but just so different from any fruit I’ve had before, in a good way. The texture of each wedge is actually citrus-like as well, but again, that is where the similarities end, as the taste is just so unique.

Both the durian and mangosteen are fruits worth trying if you find yourself in an Asian country that has them. Although the durian wasn’t for me, it could be the kind of fruit someone could like. The mangosteen, on the other hand, is a great one and it makes me a little sad that it can’t be found outside of Asia.

On our last night in China (tears), we had a tough time finding a restaurant open by the time we finished climbing the Great Wall and shopping at the Silk Market. Although McDonald’s was open 24 hours, we really didn’t want our final meal to be a burger. Finally we found a place just across the street from Quanjude off of Wangfujing Street to get some baozi (steamed bread dumplings). It was called Tianjin Go Believe Steamed Stuffed Bun. Now that was a mouthful, and we hoped their dumplings would be as well.

When we walked in, we seemed to be the only ones there. We attributed this to the late hour, but it was a Saturday night so we still thought it was strange. Apparently no one eats dinner after 9:00 in Beijing. The menu was on the wall and we decided to keep it simple with their steamed pork buns. They were 40 rmb for 9 of them and although that was a bit steep, I was hungry enough to splurge.

After ordering, our dumplings took quite a while to be made. I guess this meant they would be fresh, but was still surprised that a place with no one else took so long while a place like Yang’s in Shanghai took less time and had to make a crapload more dumplings. Nonetheless, they finally came out and didn’t look half bad. There was some soy and vinegar on the table as well as some interesting-looking brown shavings in a dish that seemed to be part of the meal as well. They also brought out a bowl of congee (rice porridge) to accompany the dumplings.

In my Great Wall-fueled hunger I dug in and found the dumplings to be pretty decent. They definitely needed the assistance of the soy/vinegar for flavor, but since I couldn’t figure out what the brown things were, I opted not to sprinkle them on the dumplings. The meat was nice and juicy and the bread was well-prepared as well, but the whole time I ate them, I couldn’t help thinking how much tastier xiaolongbao was. It was almost like I was eating training dumplings, where the xiaolongbao were the pinnacle of dumpling achievement. I know this makes me seem harsh, but I guess I’m just spoiled.

So if you’re looking for some late-night food around Wangfujing Street, Tianjin Go Believe can certainly satisfy your hunger, but the dumplings leave a lot to be desired (namely xiaolongbao). Sorry, Tianjin Go Believe, the only thing I believe about you is that you were the best I could get at that hour. Any other time of day, I know Beijing can offer me some better food.

No trip to Beijing is complete without eating some Peking Duck. Now you may be wondering why Peking Duck is so important in Beijing, after all, shouldn’t Peking be the place to get that famous duck? Well, guess what? Beijing is Peking. Yes, I know I’m blowing your mind, but sometimes a mind just needs to be blown and this is one of those times. Anyway, it’s hard to walk a block without seeing a sign for roast duck, which is what they call Peking Duck in Beijing. By recommendation, we were sent to Quanjude Roast Duck Restaurant on Wangfujing Street. This is just one of many Quanjude restaurants (all part of the same company) in Beijing, with the original dating all the way back to 1864. The one we went to on Wangfujing wasn’t hard to find, as Wangfujing is a prominent pedestrian street right in the middle of Beijing.

Upon walking in, we realized this was definitely one of the nicer places to eat in China, so we expected the price and the quality of food to be high. In perusing the menu, we found quite the variety of duck. Of course there was the original roast duck, but they had just about as many varieties of duck as Bubba did of shrimp. There was even duck with scorpions, although, that didn’t seem all too tasty. We decided to keep it real and ordered an entire duck, along with a couple sides to mix in with our duck. The first was the steamed flatbread. This was essential to wrap the duck in. We also ordered the hoisin sauce/scallions, which was also supposedly essential for eating the duck.

After a little wait, a man wearing a chef’s cap rolled a cart out in front of our table with a fully roasted duck on it. Then he started slicing and dicing our meal. In waves, the sliced up duck was brought to our table and it looked and smelled incredible. The skin was just glistening and the meat looked juicy and tender. The steamed flatbread essentially acts like a tortilla does with a taco. In fact there is little difference between it and a tortilla except that it is lighter and steamed. First, the flatbread gets a few dabs of hoisin and scallions. Then you pile on some duck. Being the fattiest part, the skin unsurprisingly also carries much of the flavor, so every little duck taco needs plenty of skin. Once it was all wrapped up, my Peking Duck was ready to be eaten.

I bit in and it was quite amazing. This was not simply duck that had been roasted, this was roasted duck that had been perfected over time for more than 140 years. It was no wonder the Imperial family ate this recipe. The duck (Donald?!) was juicy, flavorful and even sweet at times. I found myself putting in more skin than meat to get extra flavor because it was just that good. The hoisin and scallions went well with the meat and definitely improved the overall duck consumption.

Finally, after bringing us all the duck’s meat, we were given the duck’s head on a platter. Perhaps this was for proof, but I did eat a little of the cranial meat and it just wasn’t as tasty as the rest of the duck. Sorry, Donald, but I’ll stick with your torso meat instead. Finally, we exhausted our duck supply. Part of me felt like I could have eaten another half duck, but another part of me thought this probably wasn’t a good idea. Sometimes it’s just better to leave wanting more.

During the course of the meal, we were presented with a post card for the restaurant. But this wasn’t some scenic view of the restaurant, instead it told us our duck number, which was number 287585. I’m pretty sure in over 140 years they have gone through more than 300,000 ducks, (if they only went through 100 ducks a day, they would have reached 300,000 in under 10 years) so I’m not sure what the significance of the number was, other than to give us some sort of duck certification. Whatever the reason, it was good to know we had been counted.

At the end of the meal, we were given bowls of duck soup. Perhaps this was all that was left of our little Donald, and we slurped him down. The soup was thick and pretty packed with duck flavor. The flavor was distinct from that of our roast duck, but still pretty good. It should be known that the Chinese prefer to drink soup after meals (supposedly it is healthier), so this wasn’t abnormal to get our soup when we did. It was a good way to wash down a delicious meal.

The only real downside of the meal was that they charged twice for our duck fixings (flatbread, hoisin) even though it seemed like we had only ordered one of each. Even though we each were served our own dishes, this still seemed pretty sneaky. Nonetheless, a few extra bucks was not enough to ruin the delicious meal.

Quanjude Roast Duck Restaurant was a tasty way to enjoy Beijing’s obligatory Peking Duck and I would recommend it for anyone who ends up in Beijing. Unless you hate flavor, you won’t be disappointed.

Compared to the Chengdu-style hot pot, Mongolian hot pot looks like it came from another planet. Or at least a much older planet. Differing from most other hot pots, this one still uses hot coals rather than an electric stove. It also looks nothing like a pot and looks more some obscure ancient brass ware you might find at an antique store. The broth, which is essentially water flavored by ginger and scallions, fills a moat that surrounds the central silo. This silo contains the coals that boil the hot pot.

Mongolian hot pots can be found all over Beijing and depending on where you are, they can range in price and selection. In general, I have found Mongolian hot pot to offer fewer options and I have never seen one offer a sauce bar like those in Shanghai. In my recent visit to Beijing, we found a little hot pot place not far from Tiananmen Square and settled in. We ordered some lamb and beef for our meats and winter melon as well. If you don’t know what winter melon is, it is essentially a giant gourd (I’m talking like 3 feet long here) that has next to no flavor, but does a great job of taking on the flavor of whatever it is cooked in. Perfect for hot pot.

As for the sauces, there wasn’t much to choose from, so we went with the garlic and the bean curd sauce (which is nothing at all like cheese curds). Then we started cooking. Although winter melon takes some time to cook, we thought it would be a good idea to wait until some meat was cooked and the broth had more flavor. We started cooking some meat and it tasted great. Rather than being covered in the flavor of the broth, the light broth of the Mongolian hot pot really brought the taste out in the meats. Then, of course, we could douse it in our two sauces if we wanted to. The garlic sauce was incredibly potent, but not in a bad way. The bean curd sauce is an almost indescribable taste, so I won’t waste any time describing it except to say it works well with hot pot.

After a good amount of meat had been cooked, we threw in the winter melon. It took a while to cook through, but eventually we got the melons to a good gelatinous state that tasted great. And when topped with the sauces it tasted even better.

Mongolian hot pot is a must-eat for any visitor to Beijing. It doesn’t matter what the weather is, because hot or cold it is a hot pot that is hard to find anywhere else and when you eat it you can almost imagine being on the other side of The Great Wall, camping out in the Mongolian Steppes, eating hot pot and wondering when you will get a chance to bring your delicious food to Beijing.

To many people, it’s surprising to find out that China isn’t a country full of just one ethnicity. In fact, China is home to 55 different ethnic minorities and actually has a significant Muslim population. A big part of that population is the Uyghur (pronounced wee-gur) people, who mainly reside in Xinjiang, a western province that borders Central Asian countries like Kazakhstan, Kygyzstan and Afghanistan. But Chinese Muslims can be found all over the country and in major cities like Xi’an in Shaanxi Province. While the Terracotta Warriors are surely the biggest draw to Xi’an, the city also has China’s biggest mosque, which looks like any other temple in China except for the Arabic writing. Xi’an also boasts some delicious Muslim food.

The Beiyuanmen Islamic Street is where you can find delicious skewers, another version of the Chinese Hamburger and the closest thing you can find to pita in China. A few years ago, a sign hung over the street to tell people they were entering the Islamic Street, but for some reason that sign is no more. Little else about the street has changed and it can still be found just west and a little north of the Bell Tower.

Differing from the Uyghurs (which look more like they are from Kazakhstan than China), the Muslims in Xi’an are predominantly of the Hui minority. If it weren’t for the skull caps, they would blend right in with the majority Han people. The street is lined with restaurants and skewers being sold on the street and if you are worried about sanitary eating in China, you can rest assured that you will eat safely here, since the food is Halal. The Chinese Hamburger here is ground meat cooked between two pieces of bread, which despite being as the same basic components as a normal hamburger, tastes completely different.

Although the Chinese Hamburger is pretty good, the skewers are where it’s at for me. They are cooked like a New York Pizza, in that when you order them they have already been cooked and just need to be warmed up on the grill. During the re-heating, the skewers get dusted with spices to add some flavor. Typically the spices are pretty hot, but you can always get them more mild. They spices are quite different from your normal Chinese food and almost make you feel like you are eating in the Middle East. As with most Muslim meat, lamb is the easiest to find here, but they also have chicken and beef. Just don’t go looking for pork, because that just ain’t Halal.

It seems like going to China without eating dim sum is on par with going to Italy and not eating pasta. But in truth, dim sum is really a specialty of Hong Kong and Guangdong (formerly known as Canton). Fortunately, in this day and age, you can find Cantonese restaurants all over China. In Xi’an, we found a place called Star Ferry near the Bell Tower. The interior of the restaurant was decorated like a boat, and I later found out that it was named for a ferry company operating in Hong Kong.

Their menu was pretty massive and since it was breakfast nothing really tickled my fancy until I found the dim sum in the back. Since dim sum often involves meat, shrimp and other savory things, many people are surprised to find that it is a breakfast food, but breakfast it is. Since I was eating the dim sum alone, I only chose two dishes: Chinese Egg Tarts and BBQ Pork Buns. Since both were already cooked, they came out immediately.

First I went for the egg tarts. The egg tarts are similar to Portuguese egg tarts and my guess is they came to Hong Kong through Macau (which was a Portuguese colony until 1999). The eggy part is pretty much a sweet custard and tastes delicious. The crust is flaky, but not so flaky that it falls apart when you bite in. Then came the pork buns. They were served in the same steamer they had been cooked in and tasted pretty good. The BBQ sauce was really sweet and make the buns more of a sweet breakfast than the savory one I had sort of been expecting.

While both parts of my breakfast tasted good, they didn’t exactly blow me away. In fact, I kind of felt like they had been prepackaged good that were just reheated to serve. Nonetheless, it was good to have some dim sum and it certainly wasn’t a bad meal by any means.

After Shanghai, we headed to Xi’an to see the Terracotta Warriors. We landed at night and although it was pretty late, I was a hungry unvegan. I remembered Xi’an having some great late-night street food, but after four years so much had changed in China and I hoped this was not one of them. I took a quick stroll just south of the Bell Tower and found just what I was looking for. While Shanghai had some good street skewer food (none of which I actually had on this trip), it was nothing compared to what could be found in Xi’an.

On a mobile table, I found an impressive display of skewers. There were all sorts of meats, some potatoes and even veggies for those who are into that. You can grab a plate from the table and start serving yourself some skewers. Once finished, you hand the plate of skewers to the cook, who fries them up just for you. You can even get some bread to make yourself a skewer sandwich. If you want to learn how to prepare Plank Grilled Salmon Sandwhich visit notwithoutsalt.com.

I told the guy I wanted bread in advance so I wouldn’t he could get it cooked and ready for me. Then I started grabbing skewers. As usual, this was to be one meaty sandwich. I picked up some chicken, lamb Chinese sausage and potatoes. I even grabbed a little tofu because hey, when in Rome…

As my man cooked, he dusted my meats with spice and sauce.

When everything was good and cooked, he pulled the meats from the skewer using the bread in a similar way that you would pull a marshmallow with graham crackers for a s’more. The end result was a beautiful skewer sandwich.  Each bite was entirely different from the last, but all delicious. In one bite I got a mix of chicken and sausage, in another was potato and lamb. And all of the combinations danced on my tongue like a happy Terracotta Warrior.

This was definitely some of the best late-night street skewers I’ve ever had and just thinking of all the different kinds of sandwiches I could have made with those skewer options almost makes me wish I had had more time in Xi’an.

After living in China for a while, I learned there were quite a few dishes that the Chinese liked to call “Chinese Hamburger.”  Fortunately, none of these involved a trip to McDonald’s, but unfortunately if you don’t speak Chinese, you really don’t know what you’re going to get if you do ask for a Chinese hamburger.  This is because essentially anytime they stick some meat and any other foods inside some sort of bread or bun, they call it a Chinese Hamburger.  One night in Shanghai, we were invited out by a buddy of mine to eat at a Shanxi-style restaurant (not to be confused with Shaanxi, its neighboring province) called Sanjinxiaochu (三晋小厨) near People’s Square in Shanghai and encountered an interesting variation of the Chinese Hamburger.

The meal was filled with some pretty tasty food served on a Lazy Susan and eaten family style.  Eventually, a platter filled with baozi (Chinese steamed bun), bok choy and some sort of meat was brought out.  My Chinese friends told me it was Chinese Hamburger and although it looked nothing like and Chinese Hamburgers I’d ever seen before, I was intrigued.  Upon closer inspection, I found that the meat was some thick, fatty pork belly and looked delicious.  Although I usually like my pork belly in bacon form, this looked damn good.

I grabbed a baozi, opened it up and put the ingredients in.  You’ll notice I didn’t avoid the bok choy, despite it being a vegetable.  This isn’t because I particularly enjoy bok choy, but because when I travel I am willing to try out just about anything, even vegetables.  Otherwise I get concerned that I might miss out on something amazing.  Anyway, the bok choy and pork belly filled the boazi perfectly and I bit in.  This was not your momma’s hamburger.  The pork belly was cooked so tenderly that it basically melted in my mouth.  The flavor was so strong and delicious that this was one burger that had no need for ketchup.  And to be honest, the bok choy wasn’t awful.  In fact, it was kind of good to have it there as a buffer for the strong taste of the pork belly.  Of course cheese would have been better, but at least it wasn’t as bad as having lettuce on a real hamburger.  The baozi was a great bun and helped keep that juicy Chinese Hamburger together.

The Shanxi-style Chinese Hamburger was certainly an interesting eat and something I would be up for eating again, but it is definitely not for everyone.  If you don’t like eating fat, you won’t go near this thing, for even though it’s probably less fatty than your average hamburger, the fat is just out there for everyone to see rather than being ground into the rest of the meat.  But if this does look like your type of think, just be careful if you order a Chinese Hamburger somewhere, because the odds are that you won’t see something like this.

Just what is chou doufu (pronounced cho dough-foo)? If you don’t know Mandarin, you might think it sounds pleasant. The words roll off the tongue pretty cleanly and it sounds like it could be some sort of doughy deliciousness. Like a doughnut or something. But if you know Mandarin, then you know the true meaning of the words and they are nothing at all like a doughnut. Chou doufu means, quite literally, stinky tofu. And the name is certainly appropriate. As with much of the rest of Chinese cuisine, chou doufu comes in many forms, but the form I know best can be found on the street.

Chou doufu begins its life just like most other tofu, but then it gets fermented and something goes terribly stinky. I don’t really bother with how the tofu gets fermented, but why. Like why would anyone think it would be a good idea to ferment tofu? I suppose it has historical reasons similar to pickling and other forms of fermentation, which means it was just a method of preservation before the fridge came about. But however it happened, it happened and China has been smelling it ever since.

Now you know that chou doufu can be found on the street, but you might be wondering on which streets in particular. The truth is that you don’t need to “look” for chou doufu, because if you have a decent olfactory sense, your nose will lead you there. Most recently, my olfactory sense led me to a chou doufu stand near the Yu Garden in Shanghai. It’s really hard to explain the smell of chou doufu, but rest assured it has earned its name. The Shanghai street-style of chou doufu is prepared with deep-fried rectangular cubes. Frying the tofu this way makes it easy to pick up with chopsticks or toothpicks and really if I can’t pick up tofu in this way, I probably won’t eat it. The result of frying it makes the tofu crispy on the inside, but somewhat spongy and juicy on the inside. The tofu is most often topped with a vinegar, sweet brown sauce or hot chili sauce. After the saucing, all you really have to do is hold your nose and dig in.

You’ll find a taste that is far better than the smell, but it is not for everyone. In fact, the chou doufu I found near the Yu Garden disappointed me. Perhaps it had been fermented differently than I was used to, but I think it was because there wasn’t any hot chili sauce to put on it. Instead I was stuck with the sweet brown sauce, which did nothing to cover up the smell or enhance the flavor. Either way, it didn’t invoke the happy memories I thought it would.

So whether it ends up being your type of thing or not, chou doufu is certainly something every visitor to China should try. You may not like it, but you will sure as hell like the taste better than the smell.