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Published: November 9th 2007
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Believe the hype of the Quanjude Roast Duck Restaurant in Beijing - it offers fantastic duck at reasonable prices and excellent service in a comfortable restaurant. But don't fall for the 'Quanjude Group' scam (like we did) and get carted off to a second rate restaurant that tries to push you into parting with exhorbitant wedges of cash for a few average tasting slithers of duck.
it was our last night of our trip to Beijing and for one reason or another we had not yet got round to having the famous roast duck that is the usual first culinary stop for many on coming to China's capital City. The majority of people seem to head for a restaurant called Quanjude, which has over the last few years turned into a mini-chain.
Were were in a shopping district with a Quanjude nearby, so headed there at about 8.45 for our roast duck treat, which is in a side-street just off the main thouroughfare. Just as we turn down the side-street a well-dressed man says to us: "Roast Duck? Quanjude is closed". No doubt a tout trying to push his own roast duck, we assume, dismissing his 'kind' advice - after all it is only 8.45. We head on only to find the Quanjude is indeed closed. Not sure what to do next, we head back to the main street. Sarah voices her concerns that the man we had encountered will be waiting and that I would be persuaded into yet another 'following a man' incident.
Two days earlier I had 'followed a man' and ended up paying effectively something for essentially nothing. Thankfully only 5 Yuan (30 pence) for escorting me to where I could leave my camera at a luggage point before going into the Chairman Mao Mauseleum. On the way back we thought we had shaken him off, but unfortunately he re-appeared again at the back of the queue for the mauseleum - he knew where to find us! Still, I am glad I only parted with a small sum - I suspect many Americans feel obliged to give him much more.
Back at the great duck quest, the man smiles at us, exclaiming that he told us it was closed. He tells us that he works for Quanjude and that he knows of another branch not far away - some of the branches close at 8.30 and some at 10.30. I draw away sensing a scam.
But then I reason that we could ask for directions and then find it on our own. There are after-all many Quanjude's and there is likely to be another one in the area. So I re-engage the man, adamant that I will not follow him. Sarah throws me a ''don't follow the man' glowering look. I return her a 'just getting information will then ditch him' raised eyebrow back.
The man tells us that we follow the main street and then left and then right. He is vague but I think we can make it. He offers to show us, but I say that we can find it thank you very much and there is no need. He says ok and waves us off, just dropping in as we leave that many tourists have difficulty finding it.
His performance draws me in. The seemingly casual indifference, and the offering of directions and apparently letting us go all build my confidence in him that he is indeed employed by Quanjude to take tourists from one to the other after 8.30 when they turn up. I ask him if can show us, to an 'of course' and a smile from the man and a rolling of the eyes from Sarah. I shoot Sarah back an 'Don't worry I'm in control' glance and we head off, winding down side streets and clearly getting off the beaten track - not in a good 'undiscovered nooks and crannies of Beijing' way, but in a 'dark streets and suspicious looking characters lurking in the shadows' way.
I engage the man further in conversation in an attempt to ascertain his authenticity, and he stands up well, telling me that there are 32 Quanjude restaurants in Beijing and delivering me all sorts of titbits and information about the famous Quanjude experience that take me in.
We presently arrive at the new restaurant and are ushered in by the man. It is a very ordinary-looking place with no tablecloths. On our trip tablecloths had become a discriminating factor between 'cheap and cheerfull' and 'slightly more expensive but still cheap and with better food and classier service' restaurants.)
Sarah raises a 'this is not Quanjude' eyebrow. I ask whether this is really Quanjude to the man, who nods and smiles and leaves promptly. We are quickly moved into seats and presented with menus while the waiters hover.
On the inside page there is a paragraph of information about how this restaurant is part of the 'Quanjude Group' which is associated to the Quanjude restaurant chain, and how Quanjude hopes that the restaurant will deliver a good level of service. Sarah hmmms a 'Quanjude Group' hmmm.
The next few pages consist of a few different set meal options ranging from 300 to 500 Yuan per person (that is starting at 20 quid a head and rising). We are told that the menus incorporate the famous Quanjude Roast Duck as part of the menu. These are outrageous prices and they are clearly trying it on. I know that Quanjude itself charges about 180 Yuan for its roast duck (although that is all you get, apart from of course the pancakes, spring onions and plum sauce, accompanied apparently by the cooked head, if you want it.)
I proudly trot out my ta-goo-way-la phrase, Chinese for too expensive. They then suggest that we could share one set menu as you got quite a lot of food. This seemed like a reasonable option to me and I shot Sarah a 'shall we give it a try' two raised eyebrows. Sarah complained that she only wanted to eat duck and was not hungry enough to have a big platter of dishes she may or may not like. Fair enough.
I said that we only wanted duck. They told me that this was not possible, so I told them we would go somewhere else. They offered to take a couple of dishes off the set menu and reduce the price, but this was still not what we wanted so we started to make motions towards leaving.
Out of nowhere a different menu appeared with individual fixed price for different options, one of which was roast duck for 120 Yuan. Sarah and I argue for several minutes about what to do. This is our last night in Beijing. It is a 'Quanjude Group' restaurant and it may be our last chance to try the famous local dish. It does seem a little pricey but at least we had not succumbed to the set meal scam so we were probably getting a reasonable offer now. It is getting late to try and find another alternative. The duck is less than the 180 we would pay at Quanjude. Where else would we get a roast duck at this time of the evening, especially with the real Quanjude closing at 8.30? We are hungry and tetchy and finally cave in and order the duck.
It is delivered a few minutes later. It is nice, but only nice - as much fat as meat and not at all crispy, and delivered in tacky porcelain duck shaped bowls - no 'at the table' carving like the guidebooks promised us when going to the real Quanjude. We dream about what the real Quanjude would be like as we leave the restaurant feeling less than satiated and ripped off by my decision to 'follow a man'.
The next day we alter our plans and go for an early dinner to the real Quanjude Roast Duck Restaurant before boarding the train to Xi'An. Otherwise we would never really know if we were missing out something or not. We are greeted with smiles by well dressed ladies and escorted into an impeccably clean restaurant (with tablecloths). Ladies in turquoise costumes are plucking at musical instruments. The decor was elegant and the tables were well spaced - we felt sure on arrival that we were in for a quality dining experience . A well spoken waitress asks us if we would like to try roast duck and we nod expectantly, four eyebrows raised simultaneously. She tells us she thinks that a half duck between us would be enough and perhaps we would like some vegetables to accompany the duck. We go for some broccoli with garlic and share a bottle of wine. A short while later a chef wheels out a duck and starts carving it at our table-side. After the first few slices the waitress removes them to offer us our first try before the pancakes et al arrive. The difference in taste, fat content and crispyness from the meal that we had our previous night was so vast it appeared that we were eating something else entirely. This was a different league. Sarah and I simultaneously flashed each other 'glad we came here to find out what it was really like' smiles. For this duck we had only paid 84 Yuan between us (the previous night we had paid 240 Yuan). When the carver had finished carving our duck was laid out and we had as much as we had the night before. The pancakes then arrived and were at least twice as thick as the 'Group' restaurant and far tastier, with the plum sauce tasting full-bodied and fresh as though it had been prepared that day rather than squeezed out of a huge bottle by the evil 'Group' equivalent. The garlic sauteed broccoli was a perfect accompaniment, and even the loos were outstanding. They had a Western style toilet and I took full advantage.
The meal was delicious with the bill coming to less than we paid for one portion of duck in the 'Quanjude Group' restaurant the day before - and we had cheekily ordered some duck spring rolls too. The duck had far more meat on it and far less fat, it was crispy and was mouthwateringly tasty - the best duck we have ever had. After being concerned that one would have to pay over the odds for the supposedly best duck in town, the prices were reasonable - even cheap - and the experience unforgettable.
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