Cooking toward dream of better life
By Sun Liyun and Pan Xiaoyi |
October 13, 2010, Wednesday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
SHE stands by a stove, tossing oil, cooked rice and various spices into a hot wok, and then stirring the mixture briskly. No, this isn't inside a kitchen. Liu Xiaoling is doing the cooking al fresco along Guoding Road in Shanghai.
She and her husband Yang Zhongtian, both 40, operate one of the ubiquitous little food stands that pop up near schools or in residential areas at dusk. They are called "dark food" stalls because they are unlicensed and can escape detection more easily under cover of darkness.
Liu and Yang, like so many street-side food stall operators, are among the estimated millions of migrant rural workers who have given up subsistence living in the hinterlands and come to big cities like Shanghai to try their luck and pursue dreams of a better life.
"We were often told that Shanghai is wonderful," said Liu. "So we came and have stayed here for 16 years."
But their "dream" entails a lot of long hours and hard work, and even with that, they just eke out a living.
Liu and Yang are natives of Anqing, east China's Anhui Province. Yang worked there as an interior decorator before moving to Shanghai. He said he couldn't earn enough money to feed his family.
The couple started out with a small stall selling the traditional snack of wonton, or "huntun," but expanded the menu with time. They operate their food stand from 6pm to 2am every day. Liu does the cooking, and Yang serves the customers.
Their customers are students, neighborhood residents and sometimes even people who arrive in fancy cars for a quick bite to eat. Most of the customers choose takeaways, but some stop and sit on neighborhood benches.
"We are very popular because our food is fairly cheap, and people can get it quickly," Liu said. "Many of our customers live alone and don't want to cook for themselves."
They were doing quite well selling fried rice at just 3 yuan (45 US cents) a bowl, but the squeeze is on. Prices of ingredients have shot up between 50 percent and 100 percent, but the couple has been able to raise menu prices only by about a third. Even then, sales have slumped.
Frugal life
Buying ingredients is the main cost of their little business. They don't pay rent, and they don't pay taxes.
"Prices have soared in the past 10 years, but not people's salaries," said Liu. "So it's harder and harder to run the stand."
She sells between 100 and 300 bowls of food every day, making an average profit of half a yuan per bowl. She said their annual income is about 30,000 yuan, nearly the same amount as a low-income Shanghai household. The couple said their living expenses are about 10,000 yuan a year. They live frugally.
The biggest nemesis of street-side food stalls are the "chengguan," or urban management officers, whose job is to check permits and remove unlicensed vendors.
"Most days we are safe here, unless the 'chengguan' are in a really bad mood," Liu said. "When they come, we quickly duck into nearby alley lanes, like mice chased by cats. We dream of owning a little food kiosk of our own someday, but we can't afford it."
The couple live in a small rented room near Zhongyuan Road. It's a tight 10 square meters in area. The rent is 700 yuan a month.
They used to live quite near their food stall site but had to move farther away because rents in the area were too high. Now it takes them almost an hour to push the heavy food cart from their home to Guoding Road every day.
When they get home at 3am, they sleep for seven hours and then have to prepare the ingredients for the new day's cooking. They operate their food stall 11 months of a year, even on rainy days. They take a one-month winter holiday break to be with their family.
High dreams
The couple have little time or money to spend on personal pleasures. Yang doesn't smoke and treats himself to only an occasional drink. His only "recreation" is buying a welfare lottery ticket every day for 10 yuan.
"Sometimes he wins 5 or 10 yuan, but he's never won more than 200 yuan," Liu said. "We know the odds are against us. But who knows? Maybe one day we can hit the jackpot, and then our life will change."
Liu was busy stirring the wok when Wang Hong, who sells cold snacks at a food stall in a nearby street, approached her.
"You're late today," Liu said to her. Wang is a regular customer because she can't cook a hot supper for herself while operating her night-time stand. The two have become friends.
Stall-keepers in the neighborhood are more friends than rivals in the daily grind of trying to eke out a living. They maintain a code of ethics whereby no one encroaches on another's territory. In adversity, they share comradeship.
The vendors often call each other with a secondhand or shanzhai cell phone. They asked each other for their locations and engaged in some casual chat, Liu said.
Liu and Yang have a 15-year-old son who lives with his grandparents in their hometown of Anqing.
They send money home to the family and phone their son once a week. He spends summer school holidays with them in Shanghai. Otherwise, the only other time he sees his parents is during the Lunar New Year holiday.
Liu said he's a pretty average student, but they are encouraging him to study harder so that his future will be brighter than theirs.
"We dream of going back home someday, but we can't," said Liu. "In Anqing, we would be lucky to earn 1,000 yuan a year. How can we support a family on that? If we could earn even 10,000 yuan, one-third of what we earn here, we might be able to return home."
She and her husband Yang Zhongtian, both 40, operate one of the ubiquitous little food stands that pop up near schools or in residential areas at dusk. They are called "dark food" stalls because they are unlicensed and can escape detection more easily under cover of darkness.
Liu and Yang, like so many street-side food stall operators, are among the estimated millions of migrant rural workers who have given up subsistence living in the hinterlands and come to big cities like Shanghai to try their luck and pursue dreams of a better life.
"We were often told that Shanghai is wonderful," said Liu. "So we came and have stayed here for 16 years."
But their "dream" entails a lot of long hours and hard work, and even with that, they just eke out a living.
Liu and Yang are natives of Anqing, east China's Anhui Province. Yang worked there as an interior decorator before moving to Shanghai. He said he couldn't earn enough money to feed his family.
The couple started out with a small stall selling the traditional snack of wonton, or "huntun," but expanded the menu with time. They operate their food stand from 6pm to 2am every day. Liu does the cooking, and Yang serves the customers.
Their customers are students, neighborhood residents and sometimes even people who arrive in fancy cars for a quick bite to eat. Most of the customers choose takeaways, but some stop and sit on neighborhood benches.
"We are very popular because our food is fairly cheap, and people can get it quickly," Liu said. "Many of our customers live alone and don't want to cook for themselves."
They were doing quite well selling fried rice at just 3 yuan (45 US cents) a bowl, but the squeeze is on. Prices of ingredients have shot up between 50 percent and 100 percent, but the couple has been able to raise menu prices only by about a third. Even then, sales have slumped.
Frugal life
Buying ingredients is the main cost of their little business. They don't pay rent, and they don't pay taxes.
"Prices have soared in the past 10 years, but not people's salaries," said Liu. "So it's harder and harder to run the stand."
She sells between 100 and 300 bowls of food every day, making an average profit of half a yuan per bowl. She said their annual income is about 30,000 yuan, nearly the same amount as a low-income Shanghai household. The couple said their living expenses are about 10,000 yuan a year. They live frugally.
The biggest nemesis of street-side food stalls are the "chengguan," or urban management officers, whose job is to check permits and remove unlicensed vendors.
"Most days we are safe here, unless the 'chengguan' are in a really bad mood," Liu said. "When they come, we quickly duck into nearby alley lanes, like mice chased by cats. We dream of owning a little food kiosk of our own someday, but we can't afford it."
The couple live in a small rented room near Zhongyuan Road. It's a tight 10 square meters in area. The rent is 700 yuan a month.
They used to live quite near their food stall site but had to move farther away because rents in the area were too high. Now it takes them almost an hour to push the heavy food cart from their home to Guoding Road every day.
When they get home at 3am, they sleep for seven hours and then have to prepare the ingredients for the new day's cooking. They operate their food stall 11 months of a year, even on rainy days. They take a one-month winter holiday break to be with their family.
High dreams
The couple have little time or money to spend on personal pleasures. Yang doesn't smoke and treats himself to only an occasional drink. His only "recreation" is buying a welfare lottery ticket every day for 10 yuan.
"Sometimes he wins 5 or 10 yuan, but he's never won more than 200 yuan," Liu said. "We know the odds are against us. But who knows? Maybe one day we can hit the jackpot, and then our life will change."
Liu was busy stirring the wok when Wang Hong, who sells cold snacks at a food stall in a nearby street, approached her.
"You're late today," Liu said to her. Wang is a regular customer because she can't cook a hot supper for herself while operating her night-time stand. The two have become friends.
Stall-keepers in the neighborhood are more friends than rivals in the daily grind of trying to eke out a living. They maintain a code of ethics whereby no one encroaches on another's territory. In adversity, they share comradeship.
The vendors often call each other with a secondhand or shanzhai cell phone. They asked each other for their locations and engaged in some casual chat, Liu said.
Liu and Yang have a 15-year-old son who lives with his grandparents in their hometown of Anqing.
They send money home to the family and phone their son once a week. He spends summer school holidays with them in Shanghai. Otherwise, the only other time he sees his parents is during the Lunar New Year holiday.
Liu said he's a pretty average student, but they are encouraging him to study harder so that his future will be brighter than theirs.
"We dream of going back home someday, but we can't," said Liu. "In Anqing, we would be lucky to earn 1,000 yuan a year. How can we support a family on that? If we could earn even 10,000 yuan, one-third of what we earn here, we might be able to return home."
- About Us
- |
- Terms of Use
- |
-
RSS - |
- Privacy Policy
- |
- Contact Us
- |
- Shanghai Call Center: 962288
- |
- Tip-off hotline: 52920043
- 沪ICP证：沪ICP备05050403号-1
- |
- 互联网新闻信息服务许可证：31120180004
- |
- 网络视听许可证：0909346
- |
- 广播电视节目制作许可证：沪字第354号
- |
- 增值电信业务经营许可证：沪B2-20120012
Copyright © 1999- Shanghai Daily. All rights reserved.Preferably viewed with Internet Explorer 8 or newer browsers.
