It’s hard to remember life before lockdown, but before we started abandoning each other, this country turned its back on the Chinese community a full eight weeks prior. Since mid-January they had to endure unforgivable xenophobia because of something that was happening 5500 miles away, with takeaways and restaurants up and down the country empty and stories of unprovoked violence towards them a regular occurrence. Here in Birmingham, where our Chinatown bleeds into our Gay Quarter and is just a stone’s throw away from our central train station, the window displays of roast ducks and slow cooked bits of pig acted as shields to hide the empty chairs which lay inside. A large proportion of this city let our fear turn into casual racism, and casual racism is still racism, whatever way you want to gloss over it. As bad as you think your three months lockdown have been for you, the Chinese community have had this for 2 months longer. Their restaurant industry was crippled when the rest was still taking body shots.
Three days into restaurants being allowed to reopen and Chinatown still cuts an eerily quiet scene. I get out of the taxi at the bottom of Hurst Street and walk up through its spine, passing through the Arcadian and into Chung Ying where I’m having lunch. It is here that I have my temperature checked by a remote sensor, onto a sanitiser station, before being taken to a member of staff in a face visor. The table is not in the restaurant as I know it, but in a new covered outdoor seating area which will serve as the restaurant until it is deemed safe enough by them to go inside. Two pieces of paper appear; one for my contact details to trace, the other to tick the dim sum boxes which I wish to order. It seems like they have looked at the guidance and decided to go above and beyond them to make this the safest experience it can be.
I’ve known co-owner James Wong for ten years, which is twice the length of this blog’s life. If memory serves me correctly I was the drunkest person at his stag party and I was absolutely the drunkest at his wedding when I got on stage, took the mic off the band’s singer and proceeded to rap verses from ‘Ready To Die’ over something from The Beatles back catalogue. This conflict of interest and general love for his family is the reason why I don’t write about his and brother Will’s restaurants. But this isn’t normal circumstance. For clarification, this is the final soft launch day and for the most part James is sat opposite me. I make several attempts to pay and he tells me to buy him beers in The Plough as repayment.
We eat very well. Char Sui buns are delicate, fluffy clouds bound around sweet pork filling, whilst chicken gyoza zip into life when licked with a Chinese vinegar that I’m unfamiliar with. A bean curd dish isn’t to my taste, and I once again have gelatinous chicken feet forced upon. Previous experience tells me that to get the most out of them you need to suck hard and have a bowl ready for the discarded knuckles. I like the baby octopuses in light batter, which are meaty and still tender. A lunch time trade of both Chinese and Western clientele are well catered for, but this is a restaurant that has been adapting for 39 years. This year is going be a tough one for all of the industry. Chung Ying are going to need your support to ensure they make 40 next year.
I took my first A2B in a long time and felt as safe as houses. Screens and PPE are their priority.