Yummy Nanyang Curry

“I used to think curry was disgusting until I did business in Singapore. My eyes were opened, then.”

— One of my Chinese friends with the English name of Andy

This is actually something I have heard often from many of my Chinese friends, but it comes in certain variations. Yes, Singapore knows how to do a good curry. So does Thailand, India, and Japan. Which country is better at it is a matter of taste, and it becomes an unsolvable question. It’s like asking an American who makes better pizza; New Yorkers, Philadelphians, and Jersey Folk will argue to the bitter end that Chicago deep dish sucks and is not real pizza. (And to my friends that love deep dish, I am sorry, it is disgusting, and we will never agree on the matter. I apologize in advance! Can we talk about something else?) Chicago folks will respond in kind. Californians need not enter the discussion, because the Chicago people plus the Mid-Atlantic east coasters will team up and scream, “Why put raw tuna on a pizza? That shit’s supposed to be on rice and then dipped into soy sauce with wasabi!” And then a pointless shouting match ensues.

Andy’s attitude is emblematic of a Chinese attitude I have seen towards curry. It’s Asian-foreign food, and we’re not very good at it. Why should I care? In most cases, I would agree. A lot of the Chinese attempts at curry I have tried have turned out bland. This is especially true when you compare it to aforementioned curries from other Asian countries. Recently, though, I have found a place in downtown Changzhou that is well worth a visit. A friend of mine with a YouTube channel had been personally recommending it for a long time. “My god,” he said, “That place is an institution. It’s been around forever.” I came here in 2014, and my YouTuber pal has been around longer than me. So, I trust him without question. However, it was only recently that I took him at his word and gave the place a try.

Nanyang Curry is located on the third floor of Nandajie. That particular pedestrian shopping street has been suffering for years, now. A lot of the stores there are shuttered. Roughly about half of this commercial plaza appears closed. Yet, even in that environment, this place draws a lunchtime and dinner rush that has people sitting on stools and waiting to get a table. There are other eateries on the third floor that simply does not get the same traffic. So, how’s the food?

As of this writing, I have only tried the Japanese curry options. This was mostly to have a point of comparison — I live on Japanese Street in Xinbei, and I go to the restaurants there quite often. While Japanese curry is not the same as Indian when it comes to spice levels, there is a kick to every spoonful. Nanyang doesn’t have that. It also doesn’t come with a fried egg draped over a ball of white rice. So, maybe it’s not exactly authentic? But, honestly, I don’t care. The curry here is awesome, even if it is mild by Japanese standards. Maybe this relates to fusion elements? The “authentic” curries I have had on Japanese street have been skimpy when it comes to vegetables, and Nanyang’s dishes are crammed with potatoes and carrots. Call me an American as much as you want, but if there is a vegetable I can’t get enough of, it’s potatoes!

The real signature here is the fried pork. Breading and frying a cutlet of meat and pairing it with rice and curry is nothing new. Nanyang has done this the best that I have ever tried in Changzhou. The more “authentic” places on Hanjiang Road (Japanese Street) feature tougher, chewier cuts. Plus, they have been breaded with panko crumbs before being cooked. That’s understandable. Panko is a go-to norm in Japanese cooking. Nanyang’s pork cutlet tastes more German schnitzel — the breading is different, and the consistency of the meat feels like it has been tenderized. This particular menu item is something I actually now crave while downtown for business or pleasure.

As before mentioned, Nanyang Curry is on the third floor of Nandajie. The menu is 100% Chinese text without pictures. So, you have to be able to read a menu to dine here. You could get around that by using Baidu Translate on your phone or inviting a Chinese freind to come with you. Once you get beyond the language barrier, this place is a “must visit.”

Remembering Li Gongpu

On July 11th, 1946, Li Gongpu 李公朴 left a movie theater in Kunming with his wife. Agents of the nationalist Kuomintang government shot and stabbed him. He died in the hospital the next day. His wife was also killed during the assassination attempt. Days later on July 15, Li’s friend Wen Yiduo delivered an intense eulogy at a memorial service in Li’s honor, and later that day, Wen was also killed.

This story tends to be well known in Chinese history, but not much of it is actually written about in English. Typing in “Li Gongpu” into Google doesn’t lead to a lot, but if you type in the Chinese characters for his name 李公朴, you can find some rudimentary information on the Chinese version of Wikipedia that can be fed into a machine translator.

So, who was this guy? He was one of the early leaders of the Chinese Democratic League, who alongside the Chinese Communist Party, agitated against the nationalist government. Like many other figures of the time period, Li went abroad for his education. In particular, he studied politics at the then-named Reed University (now Reed College) in the state of Oregon, USA. During his time in America, he also spent some time working in an Alaskan fish cannery and wrote about what he saw there.

Originally, he came from Jiangsu Province. He was born in Huaian in 1902. Eventually, his family moved to Wujin. His former residence is still there, and it stands on a street that his given name: 公朴璐 Gongpu Road. Down the street a little, there is also an elementary school named in his honor. For years, his former residence remained closed. At the same time, a memorial hall had also been erected, but every time I had tried to visit it, that had been closed. Recently, I had zipped by the place on my eBike and noticed the door was open. I availed myself of the opportunity.

The place is relatively tiny, and all of the signage is in Chinese. However, a little bit of time with Baidu Translate on your phone can fix that — especially since it can be argued that there is more information here that what can be found in English on the Internet.

This little memorial all is off of Changwu Road in Wujin. Unlike the halls for Qu Qiubai or Zhang Tailai, it is relatively small and easy to miss. That being said, the life and death of Li Gongpu is a part that makes up the greater history of Changzhou.

Xue Bao Craft Beer Takeaway

In recent months — even before COVID-19 had disrupted everybody’s lives — it seemed like Xinbei was getting a steady trickle of new places that serve beer. Not all of them were technically bars. This is definitely the case with Xue Bao 雪宝. Two very good friends of mine found the place, and they preceded to berate me on Wechat for not answering my phone — all while sampling the beer the place had to offer. Turns out, teaching a class was not a good excuse on my part. Eventually, I did check the place out.

Xue Bao brews three types of craft beer. This includes 沃斯乐黄啤酒 which basically tastes like a basic lager or pilsner. There is also 艾丁格白啤酒,which is a white beer. Both names sound like words from a western language that have been transliterated. 艾丁格 sounds an awful lot like Erdinger, a more than hundred year old brand of German wiessbeir. The third option sounds more decidedly Chinese: 桂花小麦,aka osmanthus wheat. Osmanthus flowers are part of a regional tradition in this end of China. Suzhou, for example, famously makes wine out of it.

While my two rowdy friends — an Aussie and an Albertan Canadian — were enjoying their drinks while seated on plastic chairs, Xue Bao is basically a takeout business. Each of the three options are sold by the liter and in bags with handles. As for the beer itself, it is okay. It’s neither awesome nor disgusting — it’s okay. The brew itself is relatively low in carbonation, and out of the three flavors, the osmanthus wheat has the most unique identity. Of course, it would be slightly unfair to compare Xue Bao to western micro brewing — say, Zaphler’s over in Zhonglou and Canal 5. After all, craft beer is still a relatively new phenomenon in a country that has an extremely long tradition of making baijiu and yellow wine. Xue Bao, as my Albertan friend opined, “get’s the job done for what it actually is.”

Xue Bao is located on Daduhe Road 大度河路 in Xinbei. This is the road that is directly south of Hehai University’s campus. It is also in an easy walking distance from Wanda Plaza.