An Hongsen (left), who opened his hutong hole-in-the-wall selling miancha with his wife in 1994, serves his loyal customers. Photo: Li Hao/GT

Nearly every morning for the past five years, Guo Yongsheng has frequented the same, humble hutong hole-in-the-wall for breakfast.

As fruit and vegetable venders set up their stalls and pensioners finish their morning exercises, the 32-year-old IT worker winds his way along a narrow, dilapidated pathway. Nearing his customary haunt on the usually tranquil Daxing Hutong in Dongcheng district, he notices more and more people on the street. Guo quickens his pace.

"They're all heading toward the same diner as I am," he explains. "I have to get there before them, or else I'll have to queue for a long time."

Guo breaks into a trot, no longer bothering to disguise his sense of urgency. But by the time he arrives at the tiny diner, there is already a queue of more than 10 people outside.

Others, bowls in hand, are squatting or standing, eagerly spooning a thick brown gruel into their mouths. 

The diner, if it could even be called that, is so small that there is not a single table or chair.

Memories of miancha

The place Guo visits for breakfast each morning was opened by an elderly couple, Li Shihui and An Hongsen, in 1994. The premises for their small business is none other than their own home.

There are no decorations, no signs or menus, no seating area or mess hall.

Despite their advancing years (both are in their late 50s), Li and An get up at 4 am each day, to prepare the diner's specialty and only dish: miancha, a thick porridge usually made from millet and rice flour, and served with brown sugar and fragrant osmanthus.  

"[We make our] miancha with millet and sesame paste, both of which are ingredients that are natural and good for stomach health," said Li.

"The history of miancha goes way back to when emperors in Beijing would eat it."

Li decided to start selling the traditional treat with her husband from their home after she was laid-off from her job at a State-owned restaurant. When they first opened, customers could buy a bowl of miancha for just 0.7 yuan ($0.12).

These days, it costs 3 yuan for a bowl, with people each morning coming from all over the city to sample the authentic dish.

"Since our diner is so simple - we can't even call it a diner - we would have felt ashamed to keep increasing the price, even though we have a lot of customers," said An.

"[We've only increased the price] when the price of ingredients have gone up - for example, the cost of flour in 1994 was 1.6 yuan per kilogram, but now it's more than 16 yuan per kilogram."

Among the couple's customers are fellow seniors, but also younger people like Guo.

"For Beijingers in their 30s and 40s, the flavor of miancha is the flavor of our childhood. Sadly, this is the only place that still sells authentic miancha in Beijing," said Guo.

"I will support them to the end, like many other Beijingers."

Contented customers sit outside Xuji Shaobingpu, a bakery that sells traditional Beijing pastry treats. Photo: Li Hao/GT

 

Old Beijing bakery

Another hutong diner popular among locals for its low-key, authentic fare is Xuji Shaobingpu ("Xu's Bakery"), on Anpingxiang in Xicheng district.

Opened in 1993, the unassuming little shopfront, with only a single character "Xu" varnished on a glass window, is usually accompanied by long queues from morning to night.

The current owner, 59-year-old Xu Wentong, inherited the business when his father passed away three years ago.

Signature items include tanghuoshao, a brown sugar cake swirled with sesame paste and zhima shaobing, a crisp, salty sesame bun. Both dishes have a long history in Beijing.

Since opening its doors for business more than two decades ago, the shop has never moved or expanded.

The kitchen remains a cramped 20 square meters, and there is no indoor seating. Instead, customers crowd outside on flimsy-looking plastic stools and tables.

Each of the bakery's delectable morsels cost only between 1 and 2 yuan. Xu said they use up to 125 kilograms of flour each day, but there are still customers who must leave empty-handed because everything has already sold out.

The store has even started attracting expats, with one regular from Sweden buying one hundred tanghuoshao each time he flies back to his home country to share with friends and family, said Xu.  

"Maybe the reason foreigners like our shaobing is because they are like 'Chinese hamburgers,'" he added.

Chengdu noodles

Tian Xiaojun, 33, has been serving authentic noodle dishes done in the style found in his hometown of Chengdu, Sichuan Province, since 2009.

In April, Tian moved his business onto a larger premises, fitting more than 10 tables, in Beijing's Chongwenmen area.

Until then, he had been running what he affectionately called a cangying xiaoguan ("housefly diner") with only two tables, near Jiaodaokou. 

"A fly might trigger negative images of somewhere that is dirty and cramped. But as with diners all over the world, it is places like this that serve the most authentic food," said Tian. "When I started out in 2009, I never thought that my business would make so much progress…I think it's because of my perseverance in sticking to the authentic flavors of Chengdu food."

Tian said that preparing dishes according to the traditions of his hometown took a lot of work.

"All of our noodles are handmade, using sweet potato flour," said Tian.

"I have to make the noodles fresh every day, because [if a batch isn't cooked on the same day], it will break into small pieces [and be unusable]."

Tian said he plans to expand further, opening another branch of his restaurant later in the year.

"I want people to make my noodles famous to commemorate my grandmother, who brought me up and taught me how to make noodles using her secret recipe."

Asked whether he was worried about the sanitation standards of eating at "housefly diners," Guo said he wasn't overly concerned.

"Of course, people have some fears about food safety standards in such places," said Guo.

"But these diners are so small that you can easily see [how the food is prepared], which means that the customers inadvertently act as food safety supervisors."

Happy the way they are

Unlike Tian, Li, An and Xu all said that they had no intentions to expand their small eateries, because they were perfectly content with what they had.

"We are almost in our 60s, and this is already quite good for us," said Li.

"Firstly, we don't have the energy or the desire to enlarge our business; secondly, if we can't make every bowl ourselves and maintain the authentic flavor, customers won't come anymore."

Xu likewise said that he might lose more than he gained if he were to expand.

"This is a place with many memories and interesting stories," said Xu.

"The customers don't frown on our humble decorations, and some even get up as early as 5 am in winter to queue, eating by the light of their phones."