In the search for the newest and trendiest restaurants
in Shanghai, older, established venues will often
become eclipsed in the public's eye. In "Revisited,"
SmartShanghai sends reviewers out for seconds at
the city's familiar and long-lasting restaurants, eateries
and cafes to find out what has enabled some restaurants
to succeed and improve when others have been little more
than flavors of the month.
I might be known for my blog
WeirdMeat.com, but truth is I spent nearly seven years as a vegetarian, and part of that as a strict vegan. I'm from California, and everyone there goes through a vegetarian phase. Although I still appreciate the reasons I became a vegetarian -- mass meat production is horrible for the environment and also bad for your health -- I gradually added free range organic meats into my diet. After moving to China I found that it was very difficult to do even that. Long story short, I still like to have a vegetarian meal a few times a week.
One thing I can't stand about reviews of vegetarian restaurants is that most critics treat them like a gimmick and can't get beyond trite comments about veggie food being "so healthy" or how fake meats "are almost like the real thing!" Nonsense. Mock meats are made from bean curd or wheat gluten and they taste like it, which, just like any other restaurant food, can be good or bad.
When in a rush or on a tight budget, there's a charming little place on the corner of Wukang and Wuyuan Lu called
Godly Vegetarian, which might be a lofty claim, but the place has been popular with both expats and locals for a while now. Godly (occasionally spelled "Golly" on the Chinglish menu) is actually a spin-off of the decades-old Gon De Lin, the oldest vegetarian restaurant in Shanghai.
Like most other vegetarian restaurants in post-Buddhist Asia, a variety of "fake meats" made from wheat gluten and bean curd (tofu), which mimic (sometimes comically) real meats are the main items on offer. Bean curd skins become "duck;" wheat gluten becomes "fried pork;" and various plant starches like taro root are shaped into a "fish." Godly's selection is limited and unimaginative compared to the popular Vegetarian Lifestyle chain, but that's part of the attraction: They focus on a few things and do them nicely. There's a short menu standee on each table for quick picks, but if you want to put together a more substantial meal, ask for the full menu.
Godly only has five small tables, which were full on a recent lunch visit. They do deliver, so if you're lazy or busy, that's an option.
There are noodle soups (12rmb, up from 10rmb a year ago) and a limited selection of fake meats and pastries, and they've recently added a page of dishes that all seem to include mushrooms, bok choy, pickled vegetables and various kinds of greasy tofu, the most expensive at 28mb. It's budget-priced Shanghai-style food, and everything is sweet and oily.
Unfortunately my recent visit really sucked. The waitress snapped the menu out of my hand mid-order and ignored my calls, only to return to the counter and absent-mindedly blow air into an unused paper chopsticks cover. Needless to say, I cleaned my chopsticks again.
They lost more points by not having any tea to drink. The wontons were a nice, lighter alternative to Gil Wonton, but the broth tasted like water and soy sauce thrown together. I ordered a side of vegetables and tofu skins, but they were served pre-cooked and limp, and covered in sweet grease.
The take-out pastries menu has also expanded to include a wide assortment of sweet and savory munchies, and you might be inspired to put together a meal from the varied options.
In sum, Godly might be a godsend for the neighborhood's vegetarians, but they could use some improvements to sway the rest of us.
Incidentally, Godly is also the best place to catch a glimpse of an eccentric, peppy fellow who walks backwards for hours every evening on Wuyuan Lu, carrying motor oil bottles. He¡¯s only too happy to chat up the virtues of walking backwards if you¡¯re looking to kill a few hours.
Picture courtesy of www.likealocal.cn