Theme restaurants

 

A 1980s school classroom.

Valid IDs (or passports for non-Chinese residents) are mandatory for entry into this hutong resto. The reason? It only allows those born in the 1980s to dine here. The interior resembles an ’80s-style Chinese primary school classroom (portraits of Marx and Lenin observe every bite); it’s basically a love letter to the first generation that grew up under the yoke of China’s one-child policy. We say try the mashed potatoes (10RMB) and chuan chuan (20-38RMB) – a Sichuanese hotpot that involves boiling your chuan’er (0.3-3RMB per skewer) in a spicy broth. But be sure to book your table at least a day in advance; this place is pretty popular.

 

 

Peking Opera star Mei Lanfang.

One of the greatest Peking opera singers in modern history, Mei Lanfang elevated the art to the world stage. He was also noted for his epicurean tastes, and held a deep respect for simple flavours, seasonality and quality ingredients. An ode to the performer’s culinary persona is found today in an elegant 200-year-old Houhai courtyard, as converted by Mei’s son. Stage costumes and old photos are scattered throughout. Inside, a spectacular array of dishes is carefully prepared by a fourth-generation successor of Mei’s personal chef. The recipes are all the singer’s favourites, from red-braised pork to lightly sautéed crystal shrimp. There is no menu; the chef decides what to serve based on what’s fresh and in-season at market that day. Our advice is to call ahead to book a private Peking opera performance in the courtyard with your dinner – and make sure to ask for a guided tour through the courtyard’s rooms and artifacts.

 

 

Wuxia literature.

A side alley thankfully separates this little bamboo-decorated eatery from the pushy neon bombast of Dongzhimennei. Inside, graffiti-scrawled walls, perilously narrow benches and charming staff (dressed in traditional kung fu attire) serve a six-course set menu inspired by the works of prolific wuxia writer Jin Yong. Occasionally, a wandering guitarist rolls in and takes requests – he’s not part of the restaurant, but what the hell. The food is basic: simple meatballs inside sticky rice balls (a wuxia warrior favourite) to start, followed by yu nu xin jing, a basic vegetable-and-pork dish named after a specific type of kung fu practised in Jin’s The Return of the Condor Heroes – you get the gist. Wuxia geeks will go weak at the knees; we suggest you just enjoy the ride.

 

Japanese-maid manga café.

Aimed squarely at the Chinese manga fan – though with reasonably English-proficient staff – Yaneura Café Kitchen is manned (or womanned, or felined, possibly) by cat-ear-wearing, sweetly smiling girls dressed as maids. While it’s not as creepy as it sounds, fans of the original Japanese restaurants will be disappointed by how little attention the staff give you once your food is served. The grub can be pricey and workmanlike: a pile of assorted fried meats costs 98RMB, or a chicken-and-rice omelette (with smiley ketchup face) goes for a more reasonable 36RMB. As in Japan, photography is banned, but photos with the girls can be bought for 20RMB. There are also Chinese-language manga comics and anime series to point your face at.

 

 

Exactly what you’d expect.

It’s all cisterns go at this loo-themed resto, with porcelain thrones surrounding each table, hotpot (really an assorted-meat broth, 30RMB) served in a tiny toilet bowl, and chocolate ice-cream arriving under the moniker ‘Two Women Cup’ (a rather stomach-churning reference to the infamous scatological sex clip ‘2 Girls 1 Cup’ – don’t Google it! – 15RMB). Thankfully, the tone is light – faeces-tious, you might say – and nothing actually looks like real effluence. The food, however, is resolutely bog-standard. It’s still worth a visit if you can get a group of good-humoured friends together, but despite its ambitions, House of Poo Poo is far from being ‘the s**t’.

 

 

The guqin (zither).

Upping the tone, so to speak, the seven-stringed guqin is regarded as one of the most refined of traditional Chinese instruments. It was favoured by public officials in imperial China as a self-improvement tool on a par with calligraphy. Taking this as its inspiration, Yao Qin has recreated the feel of ancient China using old-fashioned décor and regular performances. The quintessential strains of the guqin (performances from 7-9pm daily) flood the room while a dedicated tea brewer mans the elaborate wooden table. Yao Qin’s menu is largely devoted to Zhejiang cuisine, with mustard prawn balls (68RMB) a popular choice. Meanwhile, savouring the aged notes of pu’er tea (50-80RMB a pot) is the perfect complement to an evening’s appreciation of this genteel setting.

 

 

Revolutionary China.

Located out in the realms beyond the Fifth Ring Road, finding this restaurant is half the fun (bargaining with a cab driver to get home afterwards is the other slab of joy). Be sure to arrive for the twice-daily stage show, a troupe of boot-stomping, gun-toting singers who rattle off Communist propaganda anthems. That is, if you can take your eyes of the décor, which includes rousing murals, statues and a life-sized truck made to look as if it’s half-burst through the wall. Surprisingly popular, despite the out-there location, it’s hard not to wave your flag (yes, each table gets a Chinese flag) as you struggle to lift the hefty menu of somewhat indigestible classics – although the toothpicks of venison were pretty moreish.

 

 

Utter darkness.

A bright painting of a Trojan horse, a giant squid and an exploding volcano in the atrium signal you’ve arrived in the right place. Diners are asked to choose from three Western-style set menus (521-999RMB for two people), then you drop your personal items in a locker and get ready to literally be led to your table. Trojan Fairy is dark! In fact, it’s pitch black – that’s the point. You can’t see anything: the table, your companions, not even the food you’re eating. The idea is that by cutting out the visual sense, a diner is able to better judge the quality of their meal. Of course, that’s where Trojan Fairy rather falls down: mediocre Russian salad, average pumpkin soup – even the pricier menu is hardly fine dining. But you come for the experience and, despite the food, there’s plenty of fun to be had. Just remember to book a day in advance.