The Way to North Korea's Heart Isn't Through its Stomach

With North Korea’s “Dear Leader” Kim Jong-Il having looked at his last thing, a nation mourns. (A mite theatrically, admittedly, some of the wailing looking like the first semester of an adult education drama course). Journalists have been busy reporting on the event, by, um, not doing much. Well, they can't just hop on the next flight to Pyongyang, can they? Instead, the intrepid hacks are peering through the frosted glass of China’s scattering of North Korean restaurants. Sounds like a plan. I’m in.

The WSJ has blogged about the goings on inside Shanghai’s DPRK eateries, coming up with one or two touching vignettes and a double portion of conjecture. Meanwhile, the China Daily reported that one North Korean waitress in Beijing, when questioned by the tactless state media hack immediately after the event, didn’t know anything about it. Nice way to find out. “Got any BBQ sauce? Oh and by the way, the big man's croaked.”

Yesterday afternoon, I was thwarted by a bicycle lock on the front door of Pyongyang Cold Noodle Restaurant on Xindong Lu. Inside the lights were on, and by craning my neck I could make out several tables of people. Many heads were bowed (they could have been slurping noodles); people were wearing black (it’s quite a popular color across the globe). I’m going with “crisis meeting for expat DPRK community”, or maybe “solidarity through soup”.

Further east, on Maizidian, the receptionist in the Huakang Hotel told me their North Korean restaurant, Pingran Guan, will be shut until further notice. “They have some trouble,” she said. “The staff are all from North Korea - they will need to find out if they should go back home.” Alas, no open curtain to peer through this time, and it was all depressingly quiet, which I imagine is how this restaurant is on a good day anyway.

According to a friend who runs a North Korean tour company, there is likely to be a 100 day period of mourning. This would mean it’ll be well into spring before you can enjoy the hospitality of Beijing’s DPRK eateries again. As the rubbish cart guy shouted to me as I was peering through the window of Pyongyang Cold Noodle Restaurant: “Hey friend, you should try the Japanese restaurants around the corner.”