The place is perpetually loaded with locals, foreign businessmen, and
well-informed tourists, who come in spite of (or, perhaps, because of)
the restaurant’s somewhat gritty, down-at-heel aura; the warren of small
dining rooms is dim, with rickety wood tables and peeling wall paint.
But though a U.S. building inspector might spot a dozen violations
before he even picks up his chopsticks, the roast duck would quickly
calm him down: juicy and crispy-skinned, hot and fresh from the on-site
wood-fired oven, the birds here truly can’t be beat.
A real slice of old Beijing, this atmospheric restaurant is set along one of the city’s quickly disappearing