Among all the fair-skinned Tianjin girls on Five Great Avenues, I went to this city for just one person.

And that person was a man.

Our group friend Brother Li, a born-and-raised Tianjin local and hardcore Tianjin food lover, had been tirelessly hyping up his beloved hometown cuisine in the chat day after day. I finally couldn’t resist the temptation, and since there happened to be a good airfare, I headed straight for Tianjin...

An old friend I hadn’t seen in years came to pick me up at the airport. When he heard that my plan in Tianjin was basically to eat, he was shocked—because in his view, Tianjin doesn’t really have much of a food scene.

His reaction was exactly what I expected. Much like Hangzhou, the “culinary desert” where we both went to school, Tianjin cuisine feels almost invisible amid today’s vast foodie landscape. Goubuli baozi is the one universally recognized reference point; if you also know jianbing guozi, you’re basically the star student.

So we made plans to check out some small restaurants the next day—places that might still have the real skills.

01. Tianjin’s No. 1 Quanbao: Jinlu Restaurant

Address: No. 25-2, Yayunli, Old Jinbao Road

The original plan was to wake up early, go for a morning run, and then head to the trendy Northwest Corner for an authentic Tianjin breakfast. But I woke up after 10 again. So much for that.

Straight to Jinlu.

Judging from the storefront alone, it’s hard to imagine this place is an “archive” of old-school Tianjin cooking.

Tracing things back, Tianjin cuisine has two major outside influences: first, Lu cuisine from Shandong; second, halal Muslim cooking brought by the Hui people, both of which blended with local ingredients. Even the name Jinlu Restaurant makes its identity perfectly clear.

I’d been dying to try Jinlu not only because of Brother Li’s recommendation, but also because of a photo of one particular dish: Bagua Fish Maw.

At first glance, it immediately reminded me of my grandfather’s eight-treasure rice. He, too, was an old-school master chef, and every Lunar New Year he would cook traditional banquet dishes for us himself—old-fashioned plating, rich glossy sauces, beautiful deep colors. So seeing Jinlu’s menu felt especially warm and familiar.

The first must-order dish is Quanbao, a famous Tianjin specialty, and Jinlu’s version is said to be the best in town. The “quan” refers to the full mix of shrimp, chicken, tripe, squid, fish, and chicken gizzards; the “bao” refers to the high-heat quick stir-fry. It comes out shining with oil and a glossy thickened sauce, yet without any excess gravy pooling on the plate. With shrimp oil on the side, all those textures and aromas mingle together beautifully. Honestly, it was excellent.

The second dish was Shao Erdong, winter bamboo shoots braised with winter mushrooms. Pretty much every region has a few nearly lost dishes that you’d only learn to order when dining out with older relatives, the kind you’d beg them to introduce you to. A Tianjin friend told me Shao Erdong was exactly that sort of dish for her—something she’d only get to eat when going out with her uncle.

The moment it hit the table, even an outsider like me could instantly grasp a hallmark of Tianjin-style Lu cuisine: a particularly shiny, thick sauce binding all the ingredients tightly together. The sweet-savory seasoning brought out the texture of both the bamboo shoots and mushrooms. Perfect with rice.

Then we ordered another big bowl. The aroma of fried garlic and the rich broth—if I were drinking this in winter, it would score another 10 points. My friend said that on the way over, as soon as the taxi driver heard we were going to Jinlu, his reaction was, “Oh, the place for Tianjin food.” That made me very happy I’d chosen the right restaurant.

There were still many labor-intensive dishes that require advance reservation, which we didn’t order, and the hidden menu changes with the seasons. If you’re enough of a VIP regular, and happen to come across an old Tianjin dish in some classical text, you can apparently even persuade the restaurant to research it and recreate it for you.

That’s exactly why Chef Huang, who runs the restaurant, has such an excellent reputation among Tianjin old-school food obsessives. Just take a look at all the lv8 reviews on the review sites and you’ll get the idea. If you want to understand Tianjin cuisine, eating at Jinlu ten or so times would probably be enough to get you started.

And even ten times is considered modest. Another friend from the group, Brother Cha, lives in Nanjing, but his heart belongs to Jinlu; every time he has a holiday, he runs off to Chef Huang’s place.

What’s especially precious is that the restaurant keeps things down-to-earth; it never tried to turn Tianjin cuisine into some kind of Omakase. During the meal, neighbors kept dropping by to pick up a few takeout dishes. I really wish there were a “canteen” like this near my home.

Chef Huang really has to keep Jinlu going. And you really have to go try the craftsmanship of these old-school masters.

02. Huibin Restaurant: the master’s master

Address: Ground-floor retail unit 117, Junxi Huating, Pingshan Road

For round two, I went solo to a decades-old restaurant. The head chef there is said to have been the teacher of Chef Huang from Jinlu, though it’s now hard to get dishes personally cooked by the old master himself.

By the time I sat down, the place was already full. Every table looked like local families dining together, with not a tourist in sight—and this was during a major holiday.

The biggest regret of dining solo is that you can’t order that many dishes, especially at a restaurant where portions are this large.

For the cold appetizer, I chose Eight-Treasure Spinach. As a Popeye-level spinach lover, I never expected such a refreshing preparation. Cashews, almonds, peanuts, melon seeds, and walnuts were mixed in, so every bite was full of nutty fragrance.

For the main dish, I ordered stir-fried pork kidney. It had that same glossy thickened sauce, and you could almost sense the culinary lineage. Knife work and heat control were both on full display—truly worthy of Lu cuisine. At moments like this, I really envy people who drink: take a few bites, sip a little liquor—that’s the proper way to enjoy a meal like this.

A region’s cuisine is often closely tied to its economic development. Think of Huaiyang cuisine, elevated by the Grand Canal and wealthy salt merchants, or Chaoshan cuisine, shaped by the tastes of rich overseas Chinese merchants in Southeast Asia.

The geography of Beijing and Tianjin naturally attracted many Lu-cuisine chefs heading north. Then during the Republican era, political upheaval and unrest brought style-conscious elites and former Qing loyalists together in Tianjin, and the great chefs who followed them naturally pushed Tianjin cuisine to a high point.

So much so that after the founding of the PRC, Beijing couldn’t even find a truly respectable halal restaurant, and had to bring Hongbinlou over from Tianjin to become the capital’s leading standard-bearer for halal cuisine.

And now, never mind Tianjin cuisine—even big brother Lu cuisine has declined badly. Just think: when you open a food delivery app and see page after page of stir-fried pork and pickled-fish dishes, would you ever think to order Lu cuisine?

What a pity. In truth, Lu cuisine has tremendous potential for fine dining, whether in terms of technique or the culinary philosophy one could build around it. Just two dishes I’ve tried—the classic braised sea cucumber with scallions, and braised napa cabbage with jumbo shrimp, where the cabbage somehow tastes even sweeter and fresher than the shrimp—were unforgettable.

03. Tianjin Museum: Treasures That Dazzle the World

Address: 62 Pingjiang Road

Visiting a museum is the perfect post-meal activity for walking off lunch.

Tianjin Museum doesn’t have a huge number of top-tier treasures, but the nice thing is that it gathers the best pieces together in one all-star lineup. The museum put on a special exhibition called “Treasures That Dazzle the World,” which makes viewing everything much more convenient.

Let’s start with a few highlights. Fan Kuan’s Snowy Woods in Cold Weather is one of the museum’s crown jewels. Because it was painted on silk and is difficult to preserve, the original has only been displayed two or three times over the past decade or so. Fan Kuan’s even more famous work, often called the No. 1 Song painting, Travelers Among Mountains and Streams, is now in Taipei.

Another treasure that can go head-to-head with Taipei’s collection is the jade cabbage with katydids. While the material itself can’t quite compare with the world-famous Jadeite Cabbage, it wins on the lively carving of the two katydids, and even the large brown patches—normally considered flaws—have been cleverly incorporated into the whole piece.

Another signature piece is the Qianlong-mark famille-rose yuhuchun vase with peonies and pheasants. The longer the name, the more precious the antique, right? No wonder people say antiques depend on personal affinity—this small vase is simply very pleasing to look at.

Then there’s the Ke Ding—my family treasure—which instantly pushes the family genealogy all the way back to the Western Zhou, making it even more impressive than the Kong family line of the hereditary Dukes Yansheng XD. Another heirloom piece, the larger Da Ke Ding, is still kept at the Shanghai Museum.

A white-glazed Guanyin statue bearing the respectful inscription of Tang Ying from the Qing dynasty. Tang Ying is already an old familiar name if you’ve spent any time around Jingdezhen ceramics. The color and detailing here are incredibly vivid.

Wanwu Chaotian Tu depicts Qing officials and commoners welcoming the imperial procession. There are so many tiny figures in the painting that counting them is basically impossible. A friend once spotted an old Daoist with a white beard in the scene, but then couldn’t find him again no matter how hard she looked. Did you see him?

A white-glazed linked-belly ewer with dragon handles from the Sui dynasty. This piece is extremely rare, and supposedly even better in quality than the example at the National Museum, so it had its “passport confiscated” and was barred from leaving the country.

A ram-shaped lamp from the Han dynasty. Even in a modern home today, it wouldn’t feel remotely out of date. It has a charm all its own.

And the last piece: the Sage of Calligraphy really was something else. Even a few lines he wrote to record his own vomiting could become a masterpiece passed down through the ages.

The Tianjin Museum building itself is also quite beautiful. Once you’ve seen enough, it’s time to head to the next restaurant.

04. Yuquan Restaurant: Tianjin Muslim Cuisine

Address: No. 5 Yuquan Road, Changjiang Dao

After Shandong cuisine, it was time for Muslim food. This is a neighborhood spot tucked beside a residential compound, but the driving force behind it is a veteran master chef with awards coming out of his ears. Put another way: imagine the humble canteen around the corner from your apartment, except the owner has won three Michelin stars. That’s the kind of contrast we’re talking about. Chef Huang from Jinlu is also a regular at Yuquan Restaurant.

No need for more buildup: the first dish was the stunning white-sauce fish maw. Tianjin-style white sauce is magical. In a dish plated in such a Chinese style, it somehow evoked French braised sea bass. The first bite was full of creamy, milky fragrance, but the fish maw itself had a crisp, springy texture. For me, it was an entirely new experience.

As a stand-in for the seasonal specialty white-blanched diced fish, this was more than respectable. Especially since, according to rumor, Master Chai is now in his seventies and no longer has quite the wrist strength for the wok. These days, the odds of finding his now nearly extinct version of white-blanched diced fish at the restaurant are vanishingly small.

Almond tofu: where I come from in Wenzhou, those two words can only mean the world’s greatest dessert, almond jelly. In Tianjin, though, it’s a stir-fried savory dish. The tofu keeps a firm, upright outer shape while staying tender inside, with a sweet-and-sour flavor profile. It’s also the kind of dish you’d only come across in a Hui Muslim restaurant.

The most expensive dish was this stir-fried shrimp balls. The shrimp were huge, and the fierce heat tightened the flesh into a plump, springy bite. The whole dish also looked bright and fresh. But because the flavor profile didn’t change much from bite to bite, it ended up feeling like the most ordinary dish of the meal.

The place is wildly popular. Even if you show up right at opening, you may still have to share a table. To our left was an elderly couple in their eighties or beyond who looked every bit like retired cadres; they said they eat at Yuquan three times a week. Across from them, a retired worker couple from Beijing who had come with their son for the food listened with obvious envy and hurried to ask how much pension they got. Pension talk: the new social currency of the elderly.

Many dishes at Yuquan come in large, medium, and small portions, which is extremely sensible. Even with a small group, you can still try a good variety.

Tianjin’s Muslim cuisine grew out of Hui neighborhoods. It started with beef and mutton eateries, then gradually incorporated the river and seafood of Tianjin, eventually evolving into full-scale restaurants. Some people even say you can’t get truly good Muslim food in Beijing and make a special trip to Tianjin just to eat it.

I’ve done the opposite: I specifically arranged a trip to Beijing to eat at Bai Ji Siyixuan. Their braised beef and vinegared moo shu were both outstanding, and I also found a great craft beer spot nearby. But that’s a story for another day.

05. Along the Haihe and through Five Great Avenues: an afternoon of city wandering

Lately it’s become very trendy in China to just roam the streets with no agenda — the proper English name being city walk. Along the Haihe River and around Five Great Avenues is, without question, Tianjin’s natural gathering ground for this kind of urban wandering.

The Haihe is best at night. Walk out from Jinwan Plaza and right across the river is historic Tianjin Railway Station — built back when the Qing dynasty hadn’t even fallen yet.

Then you can stroll slowly along the riverbank and enjoy the breeze off the water — though, to be fair, at this time of year it’s mostly warm air. The Haihe has thirty bridges, so you can cross back and forth to your heart’s content.

Five Great Avenues is best in the early morning or around dusk. Buildings in different national styles gather here in a neighborhood that feels almost impossibly charming. Whether for a city walk or a run, it’s an excellent place to be.

There were just too many people during the holiday — crowds everywhere. But as I kept walking, I realized that when traveling during a holiday, the best way to get to know an unfamiliar city is to pick a distinctive hotel for a staycation-style trip, dig up a few approachable local old-school restaurants, stroll through a museum to help digest, and then finish with some aimless street wandering.

Isn’t that a lot more rewarding than the hyper-efficient “special forces” itinerary of lining up for photo ops and then eating factory-prepped food at some viral mall restaurant?

06. A brief summary of Tianjin’s food scene

Just the menus at Jinlu, Yuquan, and Huibin are enough for several return trips. Beyond those, there’s also the much-recommended Zhenwei Private Kitchen Studio, and Ming Restaurant, a representative of “Tianjin-style Western cuisine.”

Brother Li said that he’s committed to introducing more people to Tianjin cuisine that has a clear lineage and meticulous craftsmanship, so that the story of paomo overshadowing Shaanxi cuisine won’t repeat itself in Tianjin.

It takes thoughtful chefs and thoughtful diners, each supporting the other. That, more than anything else, is what keeps things moving forward together.

About the Author

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