I got some from Hegel’s Bagels, a new gig by a tall guy named Jordan from New York. They’re delicious, and 80 RMB ($12) for a baker’s dozen and free delivery (at least for me).

Bagels are a rarity in China. I guess the Jew refugees from 1930s and 1940s Europe didn’t stick around long enough to introduce them to the Chinese. A few Western restaurants have bagel sandwiches on their menus, and there’s Mrs. Shanen’s Bagels in Shunyi — the expat-laden community near the airport, which according to Google maps, is almost two hours from where I live. Mrs. Shanen (not her real name) has been almost single-handedly satisfying Beijing’s bagel needs since the mid-1990s.  Sometimes I am lucky enough to buy a couple when I go to the western food market. The NYT loves to profile her shop.

Anyway, I’m don’t know when or if bagels will ever catch on in China. According to the Times profile from the 2008 Olympics, Chinese people are still confused about to what to call it:

Bagels are not yet a familiar part of the Chinese consciousness. They have a variety of translated names, including 焙果 (beiguo) and 贝果 (also pronounced beiguo). And one of the top searches for “bagel” on google.com.cn is “bagel是什么” (or “What is a bagel?”), which is described here as “doughnut-shaped Jewish bread.”

Mrs. Shanen calls her bagels “贝谷” (beigu). Hegel’s Bagels has “高级面包” written all over its bag — but that just means “advanced bread.” But while the Chinese figure out what to call it, I’m just going to add bagels to the growing list of yummy Western staples I can order from at work.

Picture inside. (more…)

Wal-mart sells shark!

Rawrrrrrrrrrr.

OK, not my Wal-mart. That would be too cool to see.

About a month ago, my boyfriend brought me a special treat.

Sour Skittles with Chinese characteristics.

Yes, Sour Skittles have made their way to China! The Chinese name for them is 彩虹 (caihong), which means “rainbow.”

I don’t know how long they’ve been here, but my boyfriend noticed them in his neighborhood store one fateful day. He says a store near his office also has them. Since then, I’ve found them in the impulse buy aisle at Wal-mart.

And so now, I’m forever buying them on impulse for 3.5 kuai (51 cents) each.

I haven’t seen a bottle of this Pabst Blue Ribbon 1844 (going for 300 kuai for a 750-milliliter bottle, or more than $44) yet, but Evan Osnos’ story about the appearance of Pabst in China reminded me of a single can of P.B.R. I saw last year in Dandong on a cart selling various snacks and beverages outside the train station. I’ve kicked myself so many times for not buying/taking a picture of it. Pretty sure it would have been a lot cheaper than the 1844.

If you need a counter to Chinese officials’ constant claims and “reassurances” of China’s commitment to free and open trade, look no further than the beer options. At the supermarket, Chinese beers go for about 3 RMB for a 730-milliliter bottle. For a proper Western brew, you’d have to fork over at least five times that for 330 milliliters. Leffe sells for about 15 RMB; a Duvel is 19 RMB. We did find a not-very-good-in-fact-really-bad German beer (they do exist – at least in China) for about 8 RMB a can.

OK, on further thought, it’s not protectionism — just the market price of these beers. They cost about the same in the States. It just seems more expensive here because of the cost of living.

After a glorious weekend during which I discovered American-worthy sandwiches and American-worthy pie, I am going to try my luck for American-worthy pretzels.

I’m going after work in search of Auntie Anne’s, that American pretzel icon, which is located somewhere in my larger neighborhood.

Yay pretzels!