The tonkatsu shop we promised we wouldn't write about

“If I take you here, you have to promise not to write about it,” says Steve Liang, founder of Fields organic foods and a fellow food lover.

On principle, Shanghai foodies are often quite happy to let you in on the good eats of the city. But if ever you ask about tonkatsu (Japanese-style deep-fried pork fillet), don’t be surprised if the same gourmands feign ignorance. 

The tonkatsu requires a huge amount of oil for deep-frying. The amount is impractical to use in a home kitchen, and that is why tonkatsu is always better made at a restaurant.

— Chef Shen

Steve was good enough to take us and yes, we broke our promise (sorry Steve) but we just didn't feel we'd be doing you or anyone visiting Shanghai justice if we kept this to ourselves. Besides, it seems to be one of those 'secrets' that everyone is keeping. 

The first rule of Shanghai foodies: Do not talk about the tonkatsu

Bang Qi is a tiny, Japanese-owned establishment that has been serving up sublime tonkatsu for seven years. Among expats, it’s known as “that tonkatsu shop across from URBN” since it has no English name.

The six-table capacity and quaint decor (four sassy pig figurines on the window ledge is pretty much all you get) triggers the protective instinct, but it's the tonkatsu pork fillet that inspires devotion. 

Pay RMB 65 for a set that comes with tri-color pickles, miso soup and all the rice you can eat. Along with a bouffant of shredded cabbage salad, you’ll be served a fillet of moist, pork with a rib of melt-in-your-mouth fat all along the length. The whole thing is optimally crisp, so drizzle on some tangy-sweet tonkatsu sauce from the wide-mouth teapot and get cracking. 

Non-alcoholic drink options are limited to fruit juice, oolong tea and Coke, so order a mug of cold Kirin draft (RMB 15) or a bottle of Xinjiang black beer (RMB 15) to go with it.

The second rule of Shanghai foodies: Do not talk about the tonkatsu

The diners, a blend of Japanese businessmen, covetous expats and dianping savvy locals, aren’t the only tight-lipped ones. Though the chef mixes up the karashi (Japanese mustard paste) and mounds the shredded cabbage out front, the entire process of cutting, frying and preparing the tonkatsu is done behind the curtains, in the private kitchen. 

Though three waitresses told us, in unison, that we could “absolutely not see the preparation,” we did glean a bit of information.

“The tonkatsu requires a huge amount of oil for deep-frying,” says chef Shen, measuring out a length of two feet with his hands. “The amount is impractical to use in a home kitchen, and that is why tonkatsu is always better made at a restaurant. The way the meat is cut is as important as the quality of it.”

We won’t be attempting tonkatsu in our kitchen any time soon as long as they keep this Shanghai secret affordable.

getting there

Bang Qi Zhu Pai (浜崎猪排)
176 Jiaozhou Lu, near Beijing Xi Lu
胶州路176号, 近北京西路
tel +86 21 6256 8674