Linhai Wheat Shrimp

Linhai Wheat Shrimp

　　Wheat shrimp is the most representative snack of Linhai and also quite a "deceptive" one. In fact, Linhai’s wheat shrimp are essentially dough dumplings. I jokingly call them Linhai knife-cut noodles because, like Shanxi’s knife-cut noodles, they are shaved off a dough block with a knife. The difference is that Shanxi’s knife-cut noodles start with kneaded dough shaped into a block, and a thin iron sheet, swift as a shooting star, shaves strips off the dough. For wheat shrimp, however, the wheat flour is stirred into a batter, which is then "sliced" off in chunks with a kitchen knife—hence locals call it “slicing” wheat shrimp. The sliced batter doesn’t come out long and willow-like but in small lumps, curled like big shrimp, hence the name. This term is rather poetic, and I think the name alone captures the charm of “a thousand-year-old Taizhou prefecture, with cultured folk on every street.” Truly, had wheat shrimp appeared in the north, straightforward northerners might have dubbed it “knife-sliced noodles.” In Henan, I once saw a type of noodle called “chopper-sliced noodles”—such a name carries a hint of brutality. Our neighboring county, Shengzhou, calls wheat shrimp “wheat chicken mother,” “duguo,” or “wheat clamped fruit,” sounding like kids playing house. Where’s the poetry and resonance of our wheat shrimp?

　　Wheat shrimp has long been ubiquitous across Taizhou—you’ll find wheat shrimp shops on any random snack street. Even cities like Hangzhou and Ningbo now have Linhai wheat shrimp shops. But among all these shops, the most famous one is right next to Linhai’s Ziyang Street, named Shuangping Wheat Shrimp Shop.

　　Speaking of Ziyang Street, it’s the most scenic and delicious ancient street in Taizhou. The White Pagoda Bridge Restaurant at the street’s entrance is highly praised by old Linhai residents. Here, I’ve enjoyed steaming sweet glutinous rice wine, freshly baked mildewed vegetable cakes, crispy and fragrant scallion oil pancakes, and sweet egg white sheep tails.

　　But none are as renowned as the wheat shrimp from Shuangping Wheat Shrimp Shop. No matter the season—spring, summer, autumn, or winter—it’s always packed with people. A few years back, a Lanzhou ramen shop opened right across from it. But even the ever-dominant Lanzhou ramen eventually lost to wheat shrimp and closed down not long after opening.

　　The tall and burly boss of the wheat shrimp shop left a deep impression on me. Though he was just the owner of a small snack shop, he had a great appreciation for life and was an avid cycling enthusiast. Tragically, while admiring the red leaves in Chaliao Village, Hetou Town, he fell off a cliff on his mountain bike and passed away—a story covered by several local newspapers. Were it not for the extraordinary wheat shrimp, the unexpected death of a small shop owner would never have dominated local media like the passing of a celebrity. In those years, whenever I ate wheat shrimp at Shuangping, it was this tall boss who personally sliced them. Despite his burly, gate-guard-like presence, he moved with incredible speed when slicing the wheat shrimp. Tilting the dough bowl slightly, he used his knife to shave strips off along the edge, sending thick slices of dough tumbling into the boiling pot. These dough strips jumped around in the pot like lively and nimble fish, and any poetic soul watching might’ve been inspired to recite some corny verse—“One, two, three, four, Five, six, seven, eight. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, Falling into soup, they disappear.”

　　The wheat shrimp at Shuangping Wheat Shrimp Shop tastes so good, partly due to the boss’s knife skills, and of course, the ingredients. In the past, wheat shrimp were served with greens and shredded radish, with a few bits of pork lard considered a luxury. Now, the toppings are much richer: shiny black mushrooms, ivory-white radish and bamboo shoot shreds, bright-red shredded meat, green loofah shreds, plus small white shrimp, razor clams, or clams. However, Shuangping Wheat Shrimp Shop has always only served beef wheat shrimp. Topped with a layer of minced beef upon serving, the flavor is incredibly delicious—the dough lumps are chewy yet smooth. For those who like spice, a spoonful of their homemade beef tallow chili sauce adds a burst of flavor, making for a wildly satisfying meal. The preserved meats sold at Shuangping are also delicious—snails, chicken feet, chicken gizzards, beef tendons, and pig liver. For someone like me who loves all kinds of offal, Shuangping’s appeal isn’t limited to its wheat shrimp but extends to these delicacies too.

　　I think among southern Chinese noodles, wheat shrimp has the best flavor. Shanghainese are always going on about yangchun noodles, and Hangzhounese can’t stop talking about pian’erchuan—but once they try Linhai’s wheat shrimp, they’ll surely stop boasting.

　　Combine one jin (500g) of flour, one egg, one spoon of cooking oil, one spoon of salt, and an appropriate amount of water in a large bowl to form a flour batter and set aside. Heat oil in a wok over high heat, stir-fry shredded white radish, then add shredded braised beef, mushrooms, and cooking wine. Pour in broth and bring to a rapid boil. Use a knife to slice the flour batter along the rim of the bowl into noodle-like strips and drop them into the boiling wok. Once boiling again, add an appropriate amount of salt (you can also add shrimp, clams, razor clams, or fried eggs), and cook until done. Then add a little soy sauce, MSG, scallions, or garlic leaves before serving in a bowl. Flavor profile: fragrant, fresh, and delicious.

　　 　　Note: This dish is heat-inducing and should not be eaten in excess. Drinking a cup of cooling herbal tea afterward can help clear internal heat.