China Report Issue 48 May 2017

real chinese

flavour of the month

O utside of the largest, most cosmopoli-
tan urban centres, 24-hour dining remains a
concept alien to the UK, where I grew up.
Not so in China, where once-rigid restaurant
opening hours (11am-2pm lunch and 5pm-
8pm dinner) have loosened to accommodate
economic and social transformation. While
the gloriously chaotic night markets found
in Taiwan and Southeast Asia have yet to es-
tablish a firm foothold on the Chinese main-
land, a square meal is generally obtainable at
3am in most cities.
Historically the preserve of the working
classes, gamblers, drunkards and the patrons
of houses of ill-repute, midnight feasting or
yexiao was once the main source of nourish-
ment for China’s urban demi-monde. Today,
white collar workers and hip young things are
getting in on the action, and the range of op-
tions available is being expanded accordingly.
Upmarket establishments have felt the lure of
money to be made after hours, with pastry
shops, hotpot chains, dim sum restaurants
and sushi bars all staying open through the
night to tempt sleepless snackers.
The appeal of, and need for late-night din-
ing, particularly among urban youngsters,

is easy to understand. China is globalising

alongside the rest of the world, and its popu-

lation, who once had their rhythms of work

and play dictated by the factory whistle or

the crow of the rooster, are discovering a new,

rootless way of life, and service industries are

adapting accordingly. Once lambasted for an

almost complete failure to acknowledge con-

venience culture beyond that represented by

the instant noodle, China embraced 24-hour

opening, home delivery and mobile pay-

ments, before storming ahead and putting

the supposedly trend-setting West to shame.

Anyone who has spent any time in Chi-

na will likely sonnet you sonnets about the

glories of chuan’r, a contribution from Xinji-

ang’s Uyghurs. Hunks of marinated lamb are

sprinkled with cumin and chilli flakes before

being grilled over hot coals and served by

the skewer to midnight moochers with the

munchies. Mala tang, originating in Sichuan,

is a mash-up of kebabs and hotpot, served

with a side of guilt. Various (sometimes un-

identifiable) meats, vegetables, dumplings

and tightly-knotted sheaves of rice noodles

are skewered, then simmered in a piquant,

spicy broth before being sold to consumers

by the half-kilo.

The rise of the 24-hour eatery in China is

indicative of the vast social change that has al-

tered national consumer culture beyond rec-

ognition. What hasn’t changed is the Chinese

passion for food – it’s just that, these days, the

country’s endlessly rich gastronomic culture

is evolving to meet the unceasing demand

for instant gratification that has blossomed

among the country’s millennials, as well as

cater to working people who can no longer

rely on regular hours and a quiet home life.

Huddled under bridges, blinking in the

harsh fluorescent light, grinning through

clouds of fragrant steam – China’s night-

hawks represent the diversity and excite-

ment of a nation in flux, and, as through-

out the country’s history, food is the great

equaliser.

diners in the dark

By Jack Smith

bu dongshi

not worldly-wise

On April 3, a video showing police work-
ing for a public security bureau ignoring
the commands of a traffic police officer was
widely shared online. The traffic police re-
quired the driver – the public security police
officer – to drive away due to having parked
illegally, but the driver refused and said the
traffic police officer was not “worldly-wise,”
and “doesn’t understand the way things
work,” or “bu dongshi” in Chinese.

Dongshi has two meanings (and “bu”

means “not”). One is largely equal to the

term “considerate,” the other is “worldly-

wise”, meaning that someone does or says

something in line with others’ intention.

Before saying “bu dongshi,” the driver in-

volved revealed his own identity – a director of

a public security bureau – in a bid to maintain

his “parking rights,” and then tried to frighten

the traffic police officer, stating he knew the

traffic police chief, but neither ruse worked.

According to the Jiangsu-based Yangtse

Evening News, the incident reflects some cur-

rent social problems, particularly in fawn-

ing over power. This was a simple personal

interaction, but many people have got into

the habit of taking shortcuts or enjoying the

priorities of power. The video shows how

common the habit has become in China’s

relationship-driven society.

bú dǒng shì