Across the Bridge Noodles

According to legend - or at least according to what I remember of a story printed on a restaurant wall in Kunming - the Yunnanese dish of 过桥米线 (literally 'across bridge noodle strings') or 'Across the Bridge Noodles', was invented by the doting wife of a scholar.

Every day, the wife would cook her husband a bowl of noodles and deliver them to him, crossing a bridge on the way. Invariably, the noodles would be cold by the time she arrived.

One day, she discovered by accident that soup would stay warm as long as it had a layer of oil floating on top. Combining a bowl of noodles with soup just as she reached the bridge, she found that the ingredients were cooked by the time she reached her husband. From then on, she was able to deliver a piping hot meal every day.

Legend does not record why the husband didn't take a packed lunch.

When I visited the provincial capital of Yunnan, Kunming, a couple of years ago, the dish comprised a clay bowl of hot soup, and separate plates holding vegetables and finely sliced raw meat. I've never been averse to the cook-it-yourself school of eating out, even where it has resulted in some horrific bouts of food poisoning, so I happily got involved.

The verdict? 过桥米线 is a simple, light dish, that perhaps trades off tradition and the novelty factor at the cost of a little more variety and innovation.

Even so, I was inordinately excited to see a sign advertising 过桥米线 in Harbin. A feeling akin to shopping in a (fake) Tesco's in Tenerife overcame me. What would they do the same? What would be different?

Very much in line with the Dongbei school of over-eating, the bowl was huge. I figured it was easily eight times the size of what I'd eaten in Kunming, and was large enough to bathe a medium-sized dog in. For 20RMB (£1.30) we ordered a 'two-person bowl', which involved selecting four meats from a short menu. We had the pork tenderloin, fatty lamb, 'special' mushroom and meat balls, and chicken breast.

The soup base was stuffed with mushrooms, quail's eggs, an assortment of vegetables, and, oddly enough, crabsticks. Meanwhile, a condiments dish came piled high with either spicy- or meat-sauce. The waitress arrived with two large bowls of rice noodles and dumped these on top, obscuring the tastiness. Sure, the picture is uninspiring, but trust me, there was a lot going on under there.

It was fantastic stuff, and despite the giant electric fan blowing in my face, I worked up quite a sweat trying to eat through my half. Halfway through, it struck me that this was 过桥米线 in name only - the meat wasn't sliced thinly enough to cook itself, and any wife would struggle to carry a pot of these dimensions anywhere, let alone over a bridge! Still, it was immensely satisfying, and a powerful argument against authenticity for authenticity's sake.

[Update: A few days later, I went back on my own, and ordered a 'one person bowl'. To my astonishment, the portions were the exact same size, except I was given one bowl of rice noodles instead of two. The thing about this place that amazes me is no longer that Harbin has so many fatties, but that so many people can stay thin.]