Lijia Zhang's Blog, page 4

Food!

I’ve been trying but failing spectacularly to lose a bit of weight. One of the many culprits is an endless parade of dinners and feasts. Today, my very kind Chinese friend Iris—whose father, like me, hails from Nanjing—outdid herself by cooking more than a dozen dishes: salty duck (a Nanjing specialty), steamed sea bream, winter melon soup, chives with smoked tofu, and stir-fried sticky rice cake, just to name a few.
And that was just the warm-up. Dessert brought not one, not two, but three sweet temptations: eight treasure congee packed with preserved kumquats and dried osmanthus flowers, and various nuts and dates ( Iris painstakingly sourced some of them like a culinary archaeologist), fermented glutinous rice, and the wonderfully named “good wife cakes” (老婆饼).
Naturally, I don’t blame my friends for the state of my waistline. I blame my own boundless greed and laughable willpower.

Still, when you have friends who cook like Michelin-starred grandmas, you don’t say no. You grab a plate and count yourself lucky. Thank you, Iris!

Hampton Court

Steeped in centuries of intrigue, Hampton Court Palace stands as one of England’s most magnificent historical treasures. A Grade I listed royal palace in southwest London, it is a place where the ghosts of Henry VIII, his many wives, and the grandeur of the Tudor and Baroque courts still seem to linger in the air. Visitors can lose themselves in its sprawling halls, marvel at the richly decorated Chapel Royal, stroll through the stunning Baroque Garden with its fountains and manicured lawns, and gaze up at the gilded ceilings of the King’s Apartments. Every stone here whispers of ambition, betrayal, and splendor.
I had been before, but when my old friend Tina—the former ambassador to Cambodia, where she is still based—invited me to return, I gladly accepted.
We were blessed with a beautiful day, the sun smiling overhead and bathing the world in its golden light.
Hampton Court is not only a monument to history; it is also a living celebration of beauty. Each spring, the palace grounds burst into a riot of colour during the Tulip Festival, when over 100,000 tulips—historic varieties and dazzling new hybrids—unfurl across the formal gardens, courtyards and flower beds. The display transforms the grounds into a sea of vibrant petals, perfectly complementing the palace’s majesty.
In fact, the tulips were the main reason Tina wanted to visit. Together, we attended a talk about the flower’s history—a reminder that, despite its deep association with Holland, the tulip did not originate there.
While Tina loved the Kitchen Garden, boasting rows of vegetables and herbs, my favourite corner was the kitchens themselves. Ever the foodie, I relished wandering through the labyrinthine spaces that once fed hundreds. A wood-fed fire crackled in the hearth, filling the cavernous rooms with warmth and atmosphere.
Whether drawn by the stories of kings and queens or the ephemeral glory of the tulips, a visit to Hampton Court is a step into another world, one where the past feels luminously alive.

China green policy paradox

There’s a paradox in China’s environmental policy: green bonds abroad, dirty coal plants at home. Here’s my attempt to unpack the issue and explain why. Feel free to reach out if you have trouble accessing it.
https://www.scmp.com/opinion/china-opinion/article/3307482/china-must-resist-greenwashing-its-dirty-coal-habit-green-bonds

Lunch with my daughters

I had the pleasure of a splendid lunch with my daughters at the Glass Garden, a hidden gem of a Chinese restaurant tucked behind Tate Modern, where clay pot dishes arrive at the table like little cauldrons of joy. A Chinese friend introduced me to the place a few weeks ago, and ever since, it’s become my unofficial mission to take my girls there whenever I stumble upon something delicious, delightful, or vaguely life-enhancing.
Of course, coordinating three busy social calendars is not unlike trying to align the planets. But today, miraculously, the stars behaved, and we managed it. As always, the food was excellent, and the company better—we laughed over everything and nothing, the way only we can.

Ludlow

Diddlebury

Feast

I had yet another feast last night—yes, my stomach is filing for overtime. This time, I was dined at the home of Sara and John, my once-neighbours-now-forever-friends. Sara is a brilliant artist with the soul of a poet and John, the composer behind Downton Abbey (yes, that John), who also moonlights as a culinary wizard.
The pièce de résistance? Asparagus soup with lobster and prawn balls, delicately garnished with wild garlic shoots freshly plucked from their garden—as if the garden itself had joined the dinner party. Divine doesn’t begin to cover it. Honestly, I’m blessed with friends who can rival a Michelin tasting menu. Today, I really should fast. In-sha-la! (Or at least pretend to until lunch.)

Banquet

Fuchsia Dunlop’s latest book, Invitation to a Banquet, is a fitting title for one of the world’s foremost experts on Chinese food culture. Last night, she extended that invitation in real life—hosting a small, exquisite dinner at Taste of Chongqing, a beloved Sichuan restaurant tucked near Russell Square in London. Around the table were Amitav Ghosh, the distinguished novelist, his writer-wife Debbie, and myself. Amitav is currently in town to promote his new book, Wild Fiction, a collection of essays exploring the theme how we tell our stories and our entanglements with the world around us.
And what a banquet it was! Four artful starters led the way, followed by nearly a dozen courses and a final flourish of fruit. Each dish arrived perfectly executed, layered with flavor, fragrance, and texture. Amitav was especially taken with the slow-cooked pork resting atop a tangle of spicy noodles, as well as the fried garlic ribs, crackling with heat and crunch. Debbie delighted in the pickled lotus root and the velvety slices of beef swimming in a golden broth. I found myself returning again and again to the tiger prawns, glossed in salted duck yolk, and the delicately steamed fish crowned with a glistening heap of chopped chilies. Fuchsia, I believe, loved everything.
Naturally, conversation wandered through the expected terrain—politics, Trump’s tariffs, the US–China relations—but it always circled back to food. We are all, after all, unapologetic food lovers. Fuchsia observed, with a twinkle, that she could tell Amitav was a fellow gourmand from the way he writes about meals in his novels—meticulously, sensuously. Amitav responded with his signature booming laugh.
The banquet itself was the work of Master Fu Bing, the restaurant’s head chef and Fuchsia’s former classmate from their culinary school days in Chengdu, donkey’s years ago. Naturally, we peppered him with questions. How had he made this, and what inspired that? He explained, with understated pride, that many of his dishes were riffs on tradition—deeply rooted, but always evolving. The steamed fish, for instance, replaced the classic blanket of chilies with a mixture of finely chopped ham and bamboo shoots. And the radiant golden hue of the fatty beef? That came from a pickled spicy yellow pepper sourced from Hainan, stirred through with crushed radish for balance and bite.

It was a banquet to remember.

Thank you Fu Bing for treating us.

Another interview

Exciting news! I recently sat down for an interview with China Underground, where I shared my thoughts on writing, feminism, and my role as a bridge between China and the world. We discussed my journey as a columnist and public speaker, as well as the themes that drive my work.
You can read the full interview here: https://www.google.com/url?q=https://china-underground.com/2025/03/30/lijia-zhang-columnist-and-public-speaker-a-communicator-between-china-and-the-world/&source=gmail&ust=1743580825715000&usg=AOvVaw2ARwM8Vsmxr7mN2muujOHS Let me know your thoughts.

Mother’s Day

My joyful day was complete.

No sooner had I returned home from my wonderful outing than a bouquet arrived—Mother’s Day flowers from my daughters. How lucky I am.

Thank you, Mei and Kirsty—not just for the flowers, but for the gift of you in my life.