Snack Attack: A Lament to Chou Doufu, aka Stinky Tofu

Snack Attack is your guide to the sometimes smelly, sometimes flavorful, sometimes odd munchies to be had in the capital.

I usually sum up Beijing Xiaochi in two words: ugly and brutal, because it was meant to feed the starving masses, not some royal dignitaries. They are usually unapologetically savory down to the point that one can taste bitterness or an earthy taste.

Growing up as a local Beijing 妞儿 Niū'r I have tried so many things that I later found to be unpalatable to my friends. Deep fried scorpions, deep fried cacada pupae, we’ve all been to Wangfujing and had a scare seeing some of the food on display... and let’s not forget the godforsaken 豆汁儿 dòuzhī'r.

I vaguely remembered my first trip down that lane. I was probably only three, or whenever toddlers start to show fear or disgust for disturbing flavors. So far, I’d tried wasabi, baijiu, chili, and some other weird stuff to my father’s delight, but never attempted the ultimate Lee family breakfast combo: 臭豆腐 chòudòufu + rice congee, among many other variations.

My mother would add one cube of choudofu to the rice congee along with a spoonful of seasame oil to smooth it out. You pick a tiny bit of choudufu up (搛 jiān) with the tip of the chopsticks, stick it in your mouth, and then quickly gobble up a mouthful of steaming hot rice congee. The gooey skin melts in the tolerant rice congee, and it worked like grandma’s chicken broth for sick days. We always served it in a special tiny bowl, though the choudoufu was later replaced by a variety of pickles (酱菜 jiàngcài), because it’s-simply-let’s-face-it-too-salty.

It is recorded that Wang Zhihe's stinky tofu, the original Beijing choudoufu, first appeared in the eighth year of Emperor Kangxi’s rule in 1669. Wang Zhihe, a native of Anhui province, failed the Imperial Civil Service Exams in Beijing and realized he was short to pay for his return trip. Luckily enough, Wang’s family owned a tofu mill, so he relocated near 安徽会馆 ānhuī huìguǎn (near 琉璃厂 Liúlíchǎng) and started a tofu business in the capital.

That summer, the leftover tofu soon became too moldy to eat, which was a waste. So he cut the tofu into small pieces, salted them and put them in a vat. He only remembered it months later due to the overwhelming stench. After tasting it, he gave some away to the neighbors and they all raved about it. The rest is history.

When I first attempted to write something about how it can be used, I couldn’t think up any other ways to eat it except to use it as a dip or a spread. But luckily a few restaurants were bald/generous enough to have it included in their menu, so I figured it can be done.

My first stop was to 花家怡园 Huājiā Yíyuán, where they serve what I like to think of as the "Ultimate Choudoufu Combo". It includes the following:

老北京臭豆腐啫唐生菜 Lǎo Běijīng Chòudòufu Zhětáng Shēngcài* - Old Beijing Choudoufu Paste with Lettuce

This savory dish comes with a sizzling sound, you’ll smell it before it approaches the table. The dish sees sauteed minced garlic, peeled prawns, shrimp paste, and choudoufu paste mixed with lettuce and cooked in a clay pot.

*Can be a variant of 腐乳通心菜/腐乳生菜 fǔrǔ tōng xīn cài/fǔrǔ shēngcài as commonly seen in Thai or Cantonese cuisine.

烙饼卷肘子 Làobǐng Juǎn Zhǒuzi - Pancakes and Fixings with Savory Pork Knucle

Ready made 酱肘子 jiàngzhǒuzi (braised pork knuckle in soy sauce) sliced and served on a traditional serving box with a cold platter of cucumber strips, scallions, a cube of 酱豆腐 jiàngdòufu (red) and choudoufu (hellish looking gray) each, sweet zhajiangmian paste, and another side dish of seasoned pork knuckle.

Following the trip to Huajia Yiyuan, I went to popular Jing cuisine cookery 局气 Júqì in an attempt to find...

老北京臭豆腐鱼 Lǎo Běijīng Chòudòufu Yú

Unfortunately, they took this off the menu loooong ago. And when I tried to ask for anyone who had worked there long enough to reminisce the preexistence of the infamous dish, the waitress at Juqi acted like she didn’t even know what I was talking about. She might have corrected me a couple times and assumed I meant the Changsha choudoufu before I got annoyed.

The sad thing is, true Beijing choudoufu is often confused for it’s Changsha counterpart. Another night, while I was roaming the manicured pedestrian walk of Nanluoguxiang, I counted at least four shops that serve 炸臭豆腐 Zhà Chòudòufu (fried stinky tofu), the Changsha variant.

In fact, a lot of locals have long forgotten the original Beijing choudofu so have no issue with eating this imposter. No wonder why the young waitress at Juqi didn’t know what I was referring to. Wang Zhihe’s choudoufu might be treading down the road of becoming a thing of the past, but the memory of lao Beijing prevails in our palettes.

For those brave enough to try at home, here are a few recipes:

Fried Mantou/Wotou with Choudoufu Dip

A DIY recipe for regular choudoufu dip, which is typically paired with deep-fried 馒头 mántou (steamed buns) or 窝头 wōtóu (corn buns).

• 1 tbsp Seasame oil
• 2 tbsp Chili oil
• 1 pinch of Cilantro
• 1 cube of Choudoufu

Simply mix all the ingredients together and you have your choudoufu dip. 

Homemade Choudoufu Pâté

• 1 tbsp of olive oil
• 1 pinch of sugar
• 1 cube of Choudoufu

Just combine everything together, stir gently and voila!

A variation: add ketchup, so it has a more appealing color.

Homemade Choudoufu Salad

Blend a 1:5:10 ratio of Choudoufu and Jiangdoufu pastes with water.

Drizzle over vegetables that you don’t care about

Courage x 1 extra
Luck x 1 little bit

(Yet to be made, apparently this author is not brave enough)

Have you tried Beijing choudofu? Brave enough to try any of the recipes featured here? Let us know in the comments!

READ: Snack Attack: Introducing the Real, Original Shaomai

Images: Zheng Wei, 泰九爷爷 (via Dianping), Vincent R. Vinci, Baidu Baike, courtesy of the author