Doujhi, food of kings and commoners

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By Hong Liang (China Daily)
Updated: 2008-12-16 07:59

In Beijing, real men, and women, eat doujhi.

Whenever I go out to dine in a Beijing-style restaurant with friends and colleagues, some of us will invariably order doujhi, or fermented green bean soup, even before taking off our coats and hats. When it arrives, those who cannot stand the pungent smell politely hold their noses and look on amusingly as we ceremoniously drop a few shreds of brown pickle into the thick pale-green soup, pick up the bowl and sip, noisily.

Spoons are usually supplied, but seldom used. Aficionados insist on sipping doujhi right from the bowl because that way they can get a closer whiff of the odor that is certainly an acquired taste. If you have never tried doujhi, just imagine the smell of leftover rice rotting in the garbage bin for days in the summer. The taste, however, is not dissimilar to that of soy milk, except that it has a sharp tinge of sourness that seems to go well with the smell.

But do not let that description, close as it may be to the real thing, put you off. People who love doujhi also love its unique aroma. Many commentators have said that doujhi, which had its fans among emperors and commoners, embodies the all-embracing spirit of Beijing, the national capital.

Doujhi is a by-product of making Chinese vermicelli from green beans. During the fermentation process, the good stuff from which vermicelli is made sinks to the bottom of the vat. The liquid that floats on top is unwanted waste. But in Beijing, the waste is further processed into a food so special that it can only be found in the inner city.

Despite its humble origin, doujhi was once the food of kings. There was always a team of doujhi "masters" in the imperial kitchen of the Qing emperors to keep the household adequately supplied with the bean soup, which was said to be good for indigestion, especially after a king-sized banquet.

But, of course, doujhi had also always been popular among the commoners in Beijing. It was craved by people of all social status and class, including powerful mandarins, wealthy merchants, modest shopkeepers, proud artisans and humble laborers. At one time, doujhi was served throughout the city in big restaurants, small inns and at hawker stands.

But the appreciation of doujhi has never gone beyond the boundaries of Beijing. Despite the growing popularity of soy bean milk and its many derivations in Hong Kong and Shanghai, doujhi has remained an anonymity to the almost obsessively health conscious people in those cities.

Even in Beijing, doujhi seems to be rapidly falling out of favor with the younger generation. There are hardly any doujhi vendors on the streets, and only the old-style restaurants specializing in traditional Beijing cuisine has it on the menu.

Traditionalists lament that that doujhi no longer tastes as appetizing as it once was. The difference is in the smoothness of the liquid, the subtlety of the smell and the lightness of taste. People just do not take doujhi seriously these days, ranted a self-proclaimed doujhi lover in an Internet chat room.

Aficionados seem to agree that the eateries that serve traditional Beijing snack foods also serve the most authentic doujhi. I had my first bowl of doujhi at one of those establishments close to Huguo Temple. Since then, I have been eating it regularly, mainly at a restaurant near my office. Now, I can understand what the fuss is all about this foul-smelling and sour-tasting soup. It is addictive.

If you are in Beijing, you owe it to yourself to try this really special food. It is going to cost you no more than one yuan.

E-mail: jamesleung@chinadaily.com.cn

(China Daily 12/16/2008 page8)