Pigeons, raised and braised

The evolution and preparation of Zhongshan’s favourite delicacy

Pigeons, raised and braised
The evolution and preparation of Zhongshan’s favourite delicacy

I have a great respect for all wildlife … well, most wildlife. I dislike cockroaches, mosquitoes, and pigeons, the latter because they don’t have any respect for the cleanliness of my balcony. Even so, I shoo them away, rather than swat them. I’d never considered eating them until I came to Zhongshan. Here they are a popular delicacy. I should stress, however, the pigeons on the city’s menus are not harvested from the local public squares and statues. Indeed, I don’t recall seeing any of the feral kind, so maybe they all got the message and moved out.

The pigeons used in Zhongshan’s favourite delicacy were bred, over a hundred years ago, from a range of species imported by people returning from work overseas. Chief among them was the white king from the United States, which itself had been bred for the table. This was mixed with Australian, Japanese, and local varieties and, after years of experimentation, a whole new species was created. The Shiqi pigeon, named after the district in which it first hatched, was prized by pigeon farmers for its large, plump body and resistance to disease. It was also a hit with gourmets for its tender meat, which is low in fat yet high in protein and flavour.

Today, raising the birds is regulated by the local government to ensure quality and consistency, and cooking them is recognised as an Intangible Cultural Heritage in Zhongshan. There are three popular dishes: Shiqi Pigeon Soup, simmered with pigeon bones and mushrooms; Deep-fried Pigeon; and Braised Crispy Pigeon. I can’t tell you which is the best; I only tried the latter, which is perhaps the most celebrated of them all.

Shi Qi Lao Restaurant

I don’t usually care for lifestyle magazine-type clichés, but if there is such a thing as a unique dining experience, then Shi Qi Lao must be a top contender. The place itself is like a huge barn with a corrugated iron roof and wooden rafters. The entrance is a marketplace, where there are fresh fruit and vegetables, tanks of fish as well as oysters, another harvest that the Pearl River Delta is renowned for, plus a variety of other mollusks and crustaceans. All of which can be bought and sent to the kitchens with instructions on how you would like them cooked.

Overview of a section of the dining area (above) and the market place (below)

Red hanging lanterns cascade from above in a hallway lined with bakeries where bread and pastries are being crafted, and a lone chef tends a pair of bubbling cauldrons of something, though I didn’t see what. There is also a wide range of street food snacks.

The main dining hall is beyond the market. On the way, I was greeted by Mr and Mrs Shiqi Pigeon, two cute cartoon-like statues of the bird I had come to eat. Alongside these was an Oscar-like statue in a chef’s hat, boasting of the restaurant’s award for catering excellence. The hall is divided into sections depending on the size of your group. A main section with tables to seat between four and six or even seven people, a smaller section where bigger tables for eight or more are arranged in large birdcage-styled frames, and a more intimate area where tables are set in wooden boats on a sea of pebbles, and separated by duck boards.

I was shown to a table for two, of which I was fully able to populate fifty percent. The menus are all in Chinese, but modern translation apps make short work of those. Famous Shiqi Crispy Pigeon is at the top. To go with it, I ordered some stone-fried tofu, breaded lotus root seasoned with salt and pepper, and a plate of choi sum. In Chinese restaurants, portions are usually designed for sharing, and I had ordered far too much.

Braised Shiqi pigeon (top) and lotus root, choi sum, and tofu (below) at Shi Qi Lao Zhang Xi Restaurant

First to arrive was the lotus root, two thin slices of the root with a layer of minced fish sandwiched neatly in between. The choi sum arrived while I was still dissecting the lotus to identify the filling. After that came the tofu, piping hot, a simple button of pork decorating each slice, and garnished with chives.

The star of the show arrived last, but it is worth the wait. The young birds, or squabs, are taken at between two weeks and a month old, depending on weight, marinated in a secret potion of twenty spices, and braised. They are then air dried at 50-60°C for around fifteen minutes and deep fried briefly before a triple oil basting to create the deep amber, crispy skin.

The meat is lean, dark, and delicious; firm, but the light crispness of the skin adds a pleasing texture. Star anise is clearly one of the secret spices in the marinade, but I promise not to tell anyone. The only way to attack is with fingers, so wet wipes are a must. Shi Qi Lao does provide disposable plastic gloves, but I’ve never really liked such things. Besides, there are other dishes to deal with, and my chopstick fu completely deserts me when trying to manage them through gloves that are coated in the oil of a recently basted pigeon.

There are deserts on the menu, but since I was unable to finish what I had already ordered, I decided to retire gracefully with a pomelo soda. Given that I had ordered enough to feed a couple of hungry rugby players, the bill was surprisingly modest.

Shi Qi Lao Zhang Xi
36 Kanghua Road, Zhongshan, China
+86 760 8870 7708

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