Guyi is the Hunanese darling of the Shanghai guidebook set. For years, it’s had a reputation as being the place where curious but cautious diners come to dip their toes before diving into the greater Chinese dining scene. Because of this, it suffers a great deal of criticism from jaded diners. Foreign foodies on that eternal quest for the “real China”, which, as we all know, can only be found in the grubbiest of dumpling stalls in the remotest reaches of the city, have a tendency to say that Guyi is for amateurs or worse, that it’s “inauthentic”. Often, the criticism is nothing more than a snap judgment, based not on what’s coming out of the kitchen, but on who’s sitting at the tables (i.e. other foreigners). “Inauthentic” has to be one of the most abused terms in the culinary lexicon. It’s a loaded, overly sentimental word that invokes some sense of inviolable purity that never existed in the first place. Follow a cuisine's history far back enough and you'll inevitably find that, at some point, it borrowed ingredients or adapted recipes and techniques from elsewhere. At best, “authenticity” is an overrated criterion; at worst, it’s meaningless. So, then, how can we judge a restaurant like Guyi? Simple. On it’s own merits, i.e. are the atmosphere, service, and, most importantly whether the food is good or bad. What a novel concept!

Atmosphere-wise, you really can’t go wrong with this place. It’s spiffy, contemporary décor has always won points with me; it’s one of the nicer looking Hunan restaurants in the city. The fact that it’s nearly always full only enhances the ambiance -- a proper Chinese dinner needs a little renao, after all. But come 8pm, the place starts to reach critical mass. The staff become visibly overwhelmed and the service begins to suffer. They start forgetting orders and ignoring you. This is a relatively new trend with this restaurant, though, which leads me to believe they’re probably understaffing to save money.

But the food is where I’ve seen the biggest changes. The quality has become patchy, which, given the price-to-portion ratio, makes dining here a gamble. Thankfully, there are still a few safe bets…

Fenghuang Lei Qiezi (凤凰擂茄子)

This will immediately catch your eye on the menu. Order it. It’s delicious. Loosely translated as “the phoenix bludgeons the eggplant”, that’s kind of what happens in the preparation of this dish. Soft roasted eggplant is marinated in soy sauce, vinegar and sugar and then served in a mortar and pestel with some chilies. Your server mashes the mixture up for you, tableside.

Suan Dou Jiao La Rou (酸豆角腊肉)

Pickled green beans finely chopped and stir-fried red chilies and chunks of Hunan-style bacon. No Hunan dinner is complete without this classic dish Guyi do a fantastic job of it. The bacon is perfectly tender with a pronounced smokiness that melds well the with salty tartness of the beans. Most importantly, unlike a lot of places in town, they don’t drown the whole thing in oil. It’s surprisingly clean and refined.

Ma Po Doufu (麻婆豆腐)

It’s not technically a Hunan dish, but Mapo doufu is one of those dishes that is so popular, so iconic that it almost transcends regional distinctions. It may have it’s humble origins in Sichuan province, but now it’s a national dish. Guyi’s version is nice and thick with a zesty ma la gravy and silky chunks of tofu.


And, here are a few to avoid…

Zi Ran Paigu (孜然排骨)

Cumin pork ribs, another sine qua non of Hunan cuisine. At their best, they’re amazing – crisp, fragrant, fatty and plump. But these particular ribs look like they were snatched from a starving, neglected pig. They’re almost entirely bone. For proper cumin ribs, head to Di Shui Dong.

Lajiao Kao Geli (辣椒烤蛤蜊)

Stir-fried clams with chilies. It certainly looks good, but when you get down to it, you’re paying 42rmb for a lot of shells and just a few morsels of tough, dessicated clam. What’s more, they’re not consistently fresh. Some days these puppies have a serious red tide reek.

Pijiu Yeya Ganguo (啤酒野鸭干锅)

Like the ribs and the clams, you just don’t get enough meat off of Guyi’s beer-braised wild duck. It’s more or less a pot full of bones. They toss in a couple of chopped legs, a rib cage, a head and there’s nary a nibble on each.


Finally, there is Guyi’s notorious wait time. Walk by on any given night and there is a throng at the door. After 6.3Opm there are no reservations. After 7pm, there is no way you’ll get a table here in under 20 minutes. And given the uneven quality of the food, a wait that long is tough to justify. If you’re an early bird (get there by 6pm) or think ahead enough to reserve a table, you’ll likely be less disappointed. Otherwise, you're better off seeking other options.

For a complete listing of Guyi, click here

All Nightlife Articles » All Articles »

All Dining Articles » All Articles »

All Art & Stage Articles » All Articles »

All Activities Articles » All Articles »