Beijing Food Diary: A Super-Detailed One-Stop Guide to Eating, Drinking, and Playing by an Old Beijing Local

No ancient capital is quite like Beijing—both rough and tender. The broken walls of the old city have cradled the old stories of the south side from Lin Haiyin, and they once brimmed with the human warmth in Lao She’s writings. Those who love Beijing never love it for its “glamour and high-end appeal.” Even if the weather, traffic, and housing prices are frustrating, the lively cultural pockets flourishing beside historic sites are what keep this city truly alive and fascinating.

Getting around Beijing isn’t really a headache—the subway and buses are very convenient. After arriving, you can get a City Transportation Smart Card at any subway station (20 yuan deposit, refundable when you return the card). You’ll enjoy a 50% discount on buses, skip the ticket queue for the subway, and even use it for taxis. If you’re staying around five or six days, topping up with about 80 yuan should suffice. If you don’t plan on taking buses, you can skip the card and download the “Yitongxing” app to scan your phone directly for the subway.

A navigation app is a must; after testing a few, I prefer Baidu Maps. People in Beijing are incredibly warm-hearted, especially the older generation. If you just ask around politely, they’ll give you very clear directions, and the Beijing accent is such a pleasure to listen to.

1. If you head out before 6:00 am, I’d suggest experiencing a Beijing bus. There are safety attendants onboard who remind the elderly to hold tight and help with suitcases or heavy items.

2. Beijing buses charge by distance: 2 yuan for the first 10 km, then 1 yuan for every 5 km beyond that. Using a Smart Card gives you a 50% discount. Remember to tap your card both when boarding and alighting (if you forget to tap out, next time you’ll be charged the full fare for the longest possible route at no discount).

3. On buses with three doors, board through the middle door and exit through the front or rear doors (which is the exact opposite of Wuxi).

4. The first subway trains start operating around 5:10 am. Try to avoid rush hours (7:30–9:30 am and 5:00–7:00 pm), as it gets extremely crowded.

Old Beijing Chai’s

It gets packed at lunchtime, so grab a seat first and scan the QR code to order to avoid long lines. The only downside is that you can only order the spiced beef by weight: 2 liang (approx. 100g), half jin (approx. 250g), or 1 jin (approx. 500g). If there’s a queue, you can order by the liang at 9 yuan per liang, with a minimum of 2 liang. Once you order via WeChat, the food arrives very fast. The soul of this place lies in the pot of aged broth used for stewing the beef. The Beef Broth Noodle (without beef) is 12 yuan. While the menu lists “beef noodles,” I suggest you skip it and go straight for this plain broth noodle, then order a separate plate of spiced beef—that’s the right move. The noodles are round, slippery, and chewy, with a bit more bite than those from Wuxi or Suzhou. The broth is dark and quite salty if sipped alone, with a rich beef aroma. Shredded cabbage adds a clean freshness. It’s a wonderfully fragrant and delicious bowl of noodles.

Chai’s Cold Noodles – 16 yuan, a summer special – comes in spicy and non-spicy versions. The toppings are refreshing: shredded cucumber, radish, scallions, and sesame paste. The aftertaste is slightly sweet, but the sesame paste isn’t as rich and fragrant as it could be; it’s a little watery. Still, it’s decent.

We also asked the server for two bowls of the plain broth to drink afterward—a perfect finish to a very satisfying meal, leaving us beaming.

Zengshengkui Snack Shop

This shop is quite famous—it’s been open since 1928. We came just for a bowl of tofu pudding and a sugar-oil pancake. Arriving at 5:30 am, there were only three people ahead of us. By the time we finished eating and left at 6:10, the line was already quite long. Takeout and dine-in split into two ordering windows, but only one person is inside handling everything, so if they tend to one side, the other has to wait—essentially, it’s still one queue. The shop is very affordable; you can get a decent breakfast for about 5 yuan per person.

The display case holds cold food. Seeing so many “door-nail” meat pies, I scrapped my plan to order a door-nail shaobing (stuffed baked bun). Their soy milk is supremely rich. Walking past the hutong entrance early in the morning, I spotted a heap of soybean dregs on the ground and knew I had to order the soy milk here. It didn’t disappoint—dense with bean fragrance.

Walking along Chang’an Avenue and passing a 5-minute security check, we reached Tiananmen Rostrum at 7:20 am under a clear blue sky. The Forbidden City wasn’t open yet, so we took the underpass to the other side to have a look at the National Museum of China, the Great Hall of the People, Chairman Mao Memorial Hall, and the Monument to the People’s Heroes.

At 8:10 am, we followed the crowd through the Duanmen Gate into the Forbidden City. Since it was neither a holiday nor a weekend, we got inside quickly and were standing in front of the Gate of Supreme Harmony by 8:31. During peak holiday seasons, you can arrive at Donghua Gate first and then walk to the Meridian Gate, which can save you about an hour of queuing for security at Tiananmen.

My Forbidden City walking route: Meridian Gate – Golden Water Bridge – Gate of Western Harmony – Duanhong Bridge – Eighteen Locust Trees – Gate of Supreme Harmony – Hall of Supreme Harmony – Hall of Central Harmony – Hall of Preserving Harmony – Arrow Pavilion – Palace of Prolonging Happiness – Palace of Heavenly Favor – Palace of Eternal Harmony – Tongshun Study – Imperial Garden – Wanchun Pavilion – Hall of Literary Purview – Piled Embroidery Hill – Palace of Gathering Elegance – Hall of Embodied Harmony – Palace of Earthly Honor – Hall of the Supreme Principle – Palace of Compassion and Tranquility – Palace of Longevity and Health – Cining Garden – Linxi Pavilion – Grand Council – Palace of Eternal Longevity – Qianqing Gate – Large Stone Carving – Palace of Heavenly Purity – Hall of Union – Palace of Earthly Tranquility – Imperial Garden – Tianyi Gate – Qin’an Hall – Jifu Gate – Shenwu Gate.

The Forbidden City is the largest ancient palatial complex in the world. It once housed 24 emperors across the Ming and Qing dynasties. Sadly, only 76% is currently open to visitors, leaving me wanting more. We wandered from 8:30 am to 3:30 pm, covering almost everything except areas closed for renovation, like the Hall of Cultivation and the Hall of Imperial Supremacy. A brief shower gave us a reason to rest in the shade for about an hour; the rest of the time, we walked nonstop, visiting various palace exhibitions. The vermilion walls and bright yellow roof ridges transported us back to an era of emperors and subjects.

Xiyuanju Old Beijing Instant-Boiled Mutton (Qianmen Branch)

Instant-boiled mutton is a must for Beijingers; they say they hanker for it if they go without even for a short while. There are two schools of instant-boiled mutton nationwide: one represented by the Beijing copper-pot clear broth style, and the other by all kinds of flavored broths. As a Beijing native, today I’m recommending a truly authentic Beijing mutton hotpot place where locals actually go.

Xiyuanju Old Beijing Instant-Boiled Mutton ~ When it comes to Beijing instant-boiled mutton, the standards boil down to two things: good meat and good dipping sauce.

Location: 2/F, No. 2 Qianmen Street (the second floor of KFC), right at Qianmen subway station.

Even on scorching hot days, it’s fully seated. When it gets cold, you’ll have to queue—often up to 50 people or more.

Taste of Xiyuanju: What sets old Beijing instant-boiled mutton apart from other hotpot styles is its particularities: you must have a copper pot, the lamb must be hand-sliced, and you need a plate of tripe. The only vegetables are napa cabbage and bean thread vermicelli. Paired with a sesame sauce dip, this is what Beijingers—who dislike fussiness at heart—truly crave in winter. Hand-sliced mutton is judged by appearance: red and white, fat and lean in alternating layers. It can’t be all lean; a little fat makes it taste better. The boiling time must be just right—too short and it’s undercooked, too long and it’s tough. Ten seconds is perfect. Dip it in sesame sauce, take a bite, and the hot, thick, and hearty lamb wrapped in the sweet fragrance of sesame paste delivers a superb mouthfeel.

Xiyuanju’s lamb “shangnao” (a specific cut) is wonderfully tender, with a soft, almost melt-in-mouth texture and no gamey smell—though the lamb flavor itself is a bit mild. Following the shop’s advice to boil it for 12 seconds left it slightly as pink and delicate as a maiden’s skin; cooking it a tad more is safer and it remains juicy and tender. Their [House Fresh Lamb Shangnao] was the best dish of the evening: bright red, crisp and tender, with a very pure lamb taste. I honestly think it rivals Nanmen. Even a friend who usually isn’t fond of fresh-cut shangnao ate plenty and gave it high praise.

The shop’s “Hundred-Day Lamb” is the most tender and fresh, while the shangnao carries the most fat, offering a soft, sticky, fragrant richness without being greasy. The Beijing-born staff also told us that instant-boiled mutton is quite different from regular hotpot—the way you eat it is much more refined, starting with the dip. Their secret sesame sauce is a blend of 31 different seasonings.

And once the dip is ready, there are rituals even in how you eat. Not only is there a precise time limit for boiling the meat, but dipping also has its rules: freshly boiled mutton should be just touched into the sesame sauce while still steaming. Every bite is deeply satisfying.

After the meat, the broth gains even more flavor. We couldn’t wait to slide a whole plate of shrimp paste into the pot. The shrimp paste is packed with real shrimp; you can taste the fresh chunks, and the texture is pleasantly bouncy.

There are several sections of the Great Wall near Beijing; the most crowded and famous is Badaling. If you’re not traveling with elderly companions, Jiankou Great Wall is a place I’m quite drawn to—for both photography and its rugged terrain. If you skip Badaling, I’d also recommend Mutianyu; there are slightly fewer people and the scenery is beautiful.

There weren’t too many visitors from North Tower 1 to North Tower 8, as it wasn’t a weekend or holiday, and the weather was refreshingly cool, making the climb easy. Ravines crisscrossed, beacon towers stood proudly, and everywhere the layered green hills stretched out. The views from North Tower 9 to North Tower 11 are far more stunning than the jam-packed scenes earlier, but they also come with near-90-degree near-vertical climbs that require some nerve.

Drum Tower Steamed Bun Shop

This main shop is quite near Nanluoguxiang and doesn’t have the long lines often rumored online. They make what’s known as shuijian qiangmian mantou (handmade, dough-kneaded alkaline buns)—dense and solid, tearing apart to reveal layers, and with a very chewy bite. Half a bun can fill you up.

Red bean buns: 2.5 yuan each, filled with sweet red bean paste where you can still see soft whole bean shells. They’re delicate and not too sweet, very fragrant—I really like this filling. As for the skin, it’s what we’d call “dead dough” (unrisen), which can be a bit dry and heavy.

Whole wheat buns: 1.2 yuan each, very plain, just a little bran added. They’re equally heavy and a bit dry. Compared to such honest, hearty northern goods, I still prefer Yangzhou steamed buns.

If there’s a long queue here, walk a few extra steps to their branch on Andingmen Inner Street—it’ll be much better.

Ya’er Li Ji has four shops around Houhai, one every few dozen meters, and they’re all very famous. I arrived at 6:20 am; only a few people were ahead of me, but ten minutes later the line started growing steadily. I tried their soy milk and millet porridge, both of which were watery and weak. The sugar-oil pancake had been sitting for a while—warm, chewy but not crispy, with not much brown sugar. It was several grades below Zengshengkui. Their signature “gold medal” shaobing (baked sesame bun) costs 1 yuan each, and the jiaoyan (Sichuan pepper and salt) shaobing is their most famous item. The takeout window has no purchase limit, but dine-in is restricted, so many people line up at the takeout window, buy one, and bring it inside to eat. The bun uses a half-leavened dough with sesame paste, Sichuan pepper, and salt. Served hot, the crust is crispy and fragrant, with clear layers. Northern baked buns are a bit rough-hewn, but though palm-sized, they stave off hunger for a long time. Worth a try.

The whole Shichahai scenic area is divided into Qianhai (Front Lake), Houhai (Back Lake), and Xihai (West Lake). Day and night offer completely different scenes. I’ve experienced the clamor of Houhai’s bar street at night and the quiet serenity of Qianhai in the early morning. While walking, I also explored the surrounding hutongs. Lotus Market, Jinding Bridge, Yinding Bridge, Ya’er Hutong, Ganlu Hutong, Former Residence of Soong Ching-ling, Wild Duck Island, Yangfang Hutong, Liuyin Street, Prince Gong’s Mansion, Xiaoxiangfeng Hutong, Former Residence of Guo Moruo.

A light rain began to fall in the morning. Leisurely strolling through a park isn’t a bad thing at all—except we misjudged Beijing’s weather. It was 30°C just the day before, then suddenly dropped to 20°C, chilly. We entered and exited from the north gate of Beihai Park, covering the Tranquil Heart Studio, the Nine-Dragon Screen, the Western Paradise Realm, the Five-Dragon Pavilions, the Western Paradise, and the most famous White Dagoba. We didn’t take a boat.

“Let us paddle our oars and push through the waves,” goes the familiar children’s song—the very waves of Beihai Park. Among China’s existing Nine-Dragon Screens, one is inside the Forbidden City, one in Datong, Shanxi, and the third right here in Beihai Park. It is the only surviving double-faced Nine-Dragon Screen made of colored glazed tiles, said to be inlaid with a total of 635 dragons, large and small.

Wang Pangzi Donkey Meat Sandwich (Gulou branch)

How much do I love this place’s donkey meat sandwich? Let’s just say I went there two evenings in a row. The hot-and-sour cabbage hearts and five-spice shredded tofu come in generous portions, and the cold pickled cucumber is delightfully crisp. Paired with the thick and tasty millet porridge, it soothes the stomach beautifully.

The donkey sandwiches come in premium and regular varieties. The premium is pure lean meat with tendon; the regular is half fat, half lean. The fire-baked bun, rolled and baked fresh to order, is crucial—the second night’s batch was even crisper and more fragrant than the first. Slices of braised donkey meat and green peppers nestle inside the crispy bun, and a sip of donkey meat soup makes it all perfect when eaten hot.

Niujie Halal Snack Hub

Of course, there are inevitable dietary differences between Jiangnan southerners and northerners. Since I was with my mom, we skipped all offal and deep-fried items. So I won’t comment on douzhi (fermented mung bean milk), chaogan (stir-fried liver), baodu (quick-boiled tripe), luzhu (stewed organs), or fried cakes, jiaoquan (fried rings), guanchang (fried starch), paicha (fried pastries), and tang’erduo (sweet ear-shaped pastries). My mom loves snacks, especially wheat-based ones, so we ate a lot of shaobing, huoshao (baked flatbreads), steamed buns, and baozi. I’m always happy to put thought into food.

Beijing has a must-visit food street called Niujie, packed with many restaurants and snack shops big and small. The most famous one is Jubaoyuan, but locals rarely go there. There’s also Hongji Snack Shop, Cheese Wei, Niujie Halal Supermarket on the first floor with Yibao Heye Zenggao (cake with dates) and Baiji Niangao (rice cakes), Laochengyi for sheep spine hotpot, and more. However, rather than the famous Niujie, I’d recommend turning into Shuru Hutong—the food there pleased me more.

This is the largest Hui Muslim community in the city, so you’ll find lots of honest, good-quality beef, lamb, and halal snacks. It’s also home to Beijing’s best beef and lamb wholesale market—the Niujie Halal Meat Market. If you know how to cook beef and lamb, you can come early to buy some fresh meat to take back.

Old Man’s Baozi Stall

At the intersection of Jiaozi Hutong and Shuru Hutong, we stumbled upon an old man’s baozi stall at 6:25 am. There were five or six people queuing, each buying 10 or 20 baozi. He sells only one filling—beef and scallion—piled in a basket on a simple tricycle. Nearby, a table holds vinegar and chili oil. The buyers looked like locals; someone was eating right there, dipping a freshly purchased baozi into chili oil, making my mouth water.

Seeing this scene, we joined the queue. We had only two coins, just enough for one. The buns were messy, honestly not as pretty as my mom’s, with the dough pinched together haphazardly. They weren’t big; some spots were thin and soaked with meat juices, while other spots were so thick you couldn’t taste the filling on the first bite. The seasoning was slightly on the salty side, but the filling was genuinely good. My mom loved it; I’d have preferred a touch less salt. Definitely worth a try. When I looked it up later, I found the old man really is quite famous—reportedly he’s been selling for 20 years, starting to prepare around 4 am and packing up before 9 am. If you want to try it, get up early. Have small change ready; he only takes cash.

The shops on Shuru Hutong are all quite tiny and easy to miss, packed one next to another. This one, right beside the Niujie Halal Meat Market, looked like a shaobing specialty shop, so I was keen to try it—a place that only does shaobing probably does it well. They had just two flavors: jiaoyan (Sichuan pepper-salt) and sesame paste, both 1 yuan each, buy 5 get 1 free. While I was deciding how many to buy, two people came and each walked away with 100. Yes, you read that right, 100.

Sesame paste shaobing seemed more popular with the locals; most people buying were choosing that flavor. I tried both.

To make a good shaobing, you need half-leavened dough, and the cooked paste should include sesame paste, Sichuan pepper, salt, and a proper amount of fennel seeds. It’s best to pan-fry first and then bake. The sesame paste shaobing had decent layering and a crispy exterior, though the sesame and fennel flavors were a bit weak. Still, at 1 yuan each with extremely high value, I can still recommend them.

The plain-looking jiaoyan shaobing, baked in the oven until fragrant and crispy, was a delight. One bite of the crust delivered a crunch, while the inside had multiple soft, layered textures, with the aroma of wheat and sesame and a light saltiness. I polished it off in a couple of bites, feeling deeply satisfied.

They say the fried chicken leg here is excellent too, but I was too early; they weren’t selling it yet. If you pass by and are interested, give it a try. You can’t go wrong with the shaobing. Recommended.

Shi’s Halal Shaobing and Pie Shop

A small storefront with no sign; we only noticed it when doubling back through the hutong. Fortunately, there weren’t many people. The menu is short: three flavors of stuffed pie (beef and scallion 5.5 yuan each, beef and leek 5 yuan, beef and fennel 5 yuan), sesame shaobing 1.2 yuan each, millet porridge 1 yuan.

I definitely preferred the beef and scallion pie. Many people like to drizzle vinegar on their pies, but I love the original flavor. One gentle bite into the thin wrapper, and rich beef juices slowly oozed out – the aroma was irresistible. The wrapper was so thin it almost disappeared; it was all beef and scallion satisfaction. Delicious.

As we were leaving, a fresh batch of sesame shaobing had just come out of the oven. With limited stomach space, I didn’t try one. They were noticeably larger than Manji’s shaobing and smelled wonderfully fragrant.

Beijing has two other traditional snacks: dachian huoshao (juicy fried pockets) and menxiang roubing (door-nail meat cakes). I feel they’re similar in essence to this beef pie, but in terms of pure satisfaction, the beef pie wins.

Niujie Hongji Snack Shop

Hongji is one of the more famous shops on Niujie, offering a huge variety of halal snacks. Each window sells different items, so make sure you queue at the right one. The lines for fried cakes and dine-in are longest; the rice cake and baozi windows often have no queue. Seeing steaming hot baozi, I bought one to try.

Beef baozi: 2 yuan each. Northern baozi are generally not large. The dough was soft and fluffy; the filling wasn’t huge. The seasoning was milder than the old man’s at the hutong entrance, which suited my taste better. Was it amazing? Not really—just an ordinary baozi.

This shop is also known for its toothpick lamb and beef cubes, plus snacks like pea cake, lǘdagunr (glutinous rice rolls), sweet rolls, and date or vegetable steamed cornbread. If you’re curious, buy some and try.

Summer Palace, so perfect and beloved, we strolled for six unhurried hours. Verdant grasses and trees, emerald lake dotted with lotus leaves – everything exuded a gentle ease. The winding West Causeway was beautiful, a new scene at every step, with weeping willows like misty curtains. The Western Hills peaks, the shadow of Yuquan Pagoda, Kunming Lake’s blue waves, the Seventeen-Arch Bridge, the Long Corridor of art… “Where on Yan Mountain can you best indulge? The unrivaled scenery belongs to Kunming.”

Siji Minfu Roast Duck Restaurant (Wangfujing Dengshikou Branch)

After a nighttime stroll along Wangfujing Street, we ducked through a small hutong to reach this Dengshikou branch. Arriving at 9 pm, we waited about 20 minutes for a table. Pre-meal fruit was sweet lychee.

Crispy Fragrant Tender Roast Duck: 228 yuan per bird. The price has gone up—it used to be 198. The jujube-red, oil-glistening duck from the closed oven was heavy with fat. The first plate of skin, meant to be dipped in sugar, was a mouthful of grease. The duck breast was not quite hot enough, and the pairing with slightly salty garlic paste — honestly, I’m not a fan of either approach.

Skillfully Mixed Pea Shoots: 29 yuan. Sweet, refreshing, appetizing pea shoots mixed with peanuts.

The “Daoxiangcun” pastry shops you see on Beijing streets come from various origins, like Suzhou and Hebei, but only the ones with the “Sanhe” (three rivers) logo are Beijing Daoxiangcun. Before leaving Beijing, I saw them selling at the station – all pre-packaged bags rather than loose by weight as in the shops, and a bit pricier. Since they’re heavy, I only brought back ox-tongue pastries and hawthorn pot helmets.

I absolutely love this hawthorn pot helmet. The outer shortcake is crumbly and filled with a milky aroma, while the hawthorn filling has a playful sourness, with sweetness lurking gently. They finally harmonize into a somewhat soft, sticky center. Sunflower seeds add a surprise crunch in the crumbly shell, smoothing out the sharp tartness and giving the whole pastry a satisfying substance. Best of all, it’s not greasy at all and feels incredibly refreshing.