Chapter 28: The Cheap Delight Pavilion

After sending Xia Long away, Zhuang Chen recalled the beautiful women he had recently encountered: the mature and intellectual Tang Hong, the cool and elegant Ling Na, the graceful Ding Mengyao, the youthful Su Yun, the newly acquainted Miao Rui, and even the fiery massage therapist. Slender or voluptuous, each possessed her own charm. It was clear that each had a fondness for him; if he made an effort, perhaps there could be deeper connections.

Especially Su Yun and Miao Rui; as for the massage therapist, all it took was booking a hotel and a phone call, and she would be there in no time. Zhuang Chen’s heart burned with desire. He was no moral paragon—young, vigorous, brimming with energy. He had plenty of experience; though not a magnet for great beauties, he was at least a seasoned traveler on such roads.

But the greatest obstacle remained emotions. The more a person lacks something, the more they value it. From childhood, Zhuang Chen yearned for connection—be it familial, friendly, or romantic—but always handled relationships with detached distance, hiding his inner insecurity and fear. Afraid of losing, he dared not begin.

He drained his glass, biting through the ice, its coldness calming his mind. Leaning back on the sofa, eyes closed, he wrestled with himself, then abruptly stood up: first, let’s eat! Food and desire are both basic needs—three meals a day.

Back in the car, he asked Xia Long, “What do you usually like to eat?”

“As a native of old Beijing, I love roast duck. Xia Hu prefers mutton hotpot, the kind with a copper pot and charcoal.”

“From Bianyifang?” Zhuang Chen smiled. “And for the hotpot, do you mean the Donglaishun style?”

Seeing Xia Long nod, Zhuang Chen waved his hand and headed straight to Hademen, aiming for Bianyifang, a six-hundred-year-old establishment.

“When it comes to duck, I have some experience,” Xia Long took the rare initiative to act as a guide. “Bianyifang has eight branches. Beyond their oven-roasted duck, each location offers specialty dishes.”

“For example, at Hademen there’s braised pork knuckle in sauce and vinegar; at Xingfu Bianyifang, the plum-scented tofu; at Anhua Bianyifang, the rich ‘Buddha Jumps Over the Wall’; at Yutingqiao, the pagoda duck liver; at Xianyukou, the ‘Step-by-Step Rise.’”

“Just as one isn’t a true hero without climbing the Great Wall, visiting Beijing without eating roast duck is a wasted trip. Whether a genuine enthusiast or just along for the excitement, any out-of-towner visiting Beijing must try roast duck—either the wildly popular Quanjude or the historically rich Bianyifang.”

Zhuang Chen took the wine glass Xia Long passed him and asked, “Which do you think is better?”

Xia Long pondered for a moment, then spoke seriously, “First, Bianyifang was founded in the Ming dynasty, over six hundred years ago, inheriting the oven-roasting technique of Jinling’s sliced duck.”

“They don’t use open flames; they place sorghum stalks and other fuels inside the oven, ignite them to heat the walls, then extinguish the fire. The prepared duck is placed upright in the oven, the door closed, relying solely on the residual heat of the walls to cook it.”

“The door isn’t opened mid-roast, nor is the duck turned. It goes in once, comes out once. The oven is built directly from the ground with bricks—three layers up, four layers down, seven in the middle. A door is set in one wall, and each oven can cook five to seven ducks.”

“Quanjude opened in 1864, making it a relative newcomer. Unlike Bianyifang’s oven-roast, its founder Yang Quanren hired Master Sun, who cooked roast duck for the imperial court. He modified the small ovens into larger ones, deep and wide, able to roast over ten ducks at a time using the hanging method.”

“One side roasts, the other can replenish ducks. Only fruitwood—jujube, peach, pear—is used, giving the duck a distinctive aroma. The heat radiates to the top and walls of the oven, reflecting onto the ducks, roasting them through.”

“The skin emerges evenly crisp, a glossy red-brown. The hanging oven technique isn’t exactly the chef’s original innovation—he merely adapted the method used in the imperial kitchens during the Qianlong era for roasting suckling pig.”

Zhuang Chen was surprised at Xia Long’s knowledge of roast duck—clearly he ate it often. He pressed, “Is there a difference in taste?”

Xia Long rubbed his nose, a bit embarrassed. “I’m not as professional as you when it comes to food reviews, but I’ll share my impressions.”

“Oven-roast and hanging roast do differ in texture and flavor. Oven-roast relies on the heat from the walls, with the temperature gradually dropping, so the duck is cooked gently and evenly.”

“Oil consumption is minimal, the breast meat puffs up, the skin is crisp and the meat rich, pure white and tender, with a pronounced meatiness and delicious flavor—a bite is deeply satisfying.”

“Hanging roast has no oven door, fruitwood burns thoroughly, heat is intense and even, melting the fat beneath the skin. The duck’s surface turns a golden, glossy yellow, the skin is dry and crunchy, the taste is more intense and closer to the southern style of crispy oil duck.”

“As for old Beijing tastes, I prefer Bianyifang’s oven-roasted duck. The skin melts in your mouth, the meat is tender—one word: fragrant!”

Zhuang Chen clapped in appreciation, joking, “I didn’t expect you to have such talent as a gourmet—well done!”

Xia Long blushed and replied modestly, “What gourmet? I just have a greedy mouth and eat a lot.”

Zhuang Chen laughed heartily, enjoying the moment. Life was too dull with a stern face all day; how much better to have laughter and conversation.

“In my opinion, Quanjude is for outsiders, while Bianyifang is the local favorite.”

At a red light, the driver Xia Hu couldn’t resist joining in, “Quanjude is just a famous brand now—every tourist knows it, but few know about Bianyifang, so everyone crowds to Quanjude, chasing the reputation.”

“Locals avoid the hype. Of course, when relatives come from out of town, for the sake of appearances, we bite the bullet and treat them at Quanjude.”

Seeing the usually silent Xia Hu become lively, Zhuang Chen smiled, “That’s only natural. Quanjude is a premium brand; prices are high, but out-of-towners don’t mind splurging once, so there isn’t much complaint.”

“But for natives like you, it’s all about the flavor. Authenticity and reasonable prices matter. Compared to Quanjude’s grandeur, Bianyifang must be more affordable, right?”

Xia Long agreed, “Absolutely. Plus, Bianyifang’s Shandong cuisine is very distinctive, with a wider variety of dishes than Quanjude—perfect for family gatherings, whether lavish or simple.”

“If out-of-towners know to go to Bianyifang, they get both prestige and value, and a chance to taste renowned Shandong dishes—a win-win.”

The three continued chatting as they arrived at the Hademen branch, got out, and entered the restaurant. The decor was rich with antique charm; as few patrons were present, they went straight to a private room.

Zhuang Chen sat first, watched Xia Long and Xia Hu finish their security check, then pointed to the seats and commanded, “Today, you both sit and eat. We’ll have roast duck here for lunch, go to Donglaishun for copper pot hotpot tonight, eat to your fill—don’t worry about the bill. Consider this a reward for you two brothers.”