Ke Cong He Chu Lai (客从何处来) must be the first dessert place to ask, upon our entering, if we have a reservation.
We don’t. They seat us anyway. Honestly, the restaurant is half-empty and there is no reason to ask, other than to create an illusion of exclusivity. But Ke Cong is full of illusions. What happens next is the most interesting of them all: We see the menu.
According to Dianping, the average customer spend here is RMB124. This would be fine for a restaurant, but for dessert shop and cafe? Sure, the pastries are pretty; the silverware is fine. But still, something doesn’t seem quite right.
This is a WeChat Restaurant.
Let us explain. There is an epidemic in Beijing – hell, in China; hell, in the world – of services created specifically for their social media shareability. People love taking photos of pretty things, and restaurants love when those people share their photos online. Visuals command attention. What else could explain the Hello Kitty cupcakes at BreadTalk? Or those huge, circular rainbow lollipops no-one actually enjoys? Or the existence of sprinkles?
Ke Cong is very worthy of your photographs. The vibe is that of a zen spa. Or maybe of a designer’s white-walled, minimalist studio. It is tres Japanese.
Diners’ tables – each divided into separate boxes by floor-to-ceiling wooden panels – are totally transparent, curved and topped with bouquets and bottles of Antipodes (No free water! Only sparkling artisan imported from New Zealand!). These modern booths line up along the shop’s front-facing glass facade, as if they’re being displayed to the pretty world of Sanlitun North outside.
All this sleek design, ultimately, is why we dub Ke Cong a Place Worth Checking Out. It is also why the food comes as a second thought.
For a minute, we think the desserts are great. Thumb-sized matcha cream (RMB68) comes wrapped in translucent rice paper and topped with specks of gold leaf. The rolls are beautiful and mild. Next we have two powdery spheres of dark chocolate presented on a plate amid black stones (remember what we said about the spa vibes?). And finally, we wash it all down with tiny cups of chilled lychee tea.
This strategy truly almost works. And the desserts aren’t, to be fair, bad. Totally fine. A-OK, hunky dory, mmhmm. But they are by no means great. The matcha rolls are dull, the chocolate balls are standard fare and the tea is – frankly – boring. All this becomes painfully obvious after the wait staff dotes on us, bows and refills our tea cups. They make a shrine to desserts that don’t deserve a shrine.
It’s always been our opinion that some of the best desserts look like shit (kind of literally, sorry). Not all desserts, of course. But honestly, certain Beijing restaurateurs have to learn the same lesson as teenage girls around the globe: It’s not about how you look, but what’s on the inside.
And what’s on the inside better taste damn good.
Photos by Holly Li
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