The Rise of the Chinese Snack Shop Empire

We expected changes in a post pandemic China, but two things we did not foresee was the explosion of a coffee cafe culture and the rise of the snack shop. While the first was a bit of a shock, the second was not such a leap of creation. It is no secret that the Chinese appetite is voracious. Their consumption capability is a continual source of fascination for me. I tease my students frequently that their eating schedule is akin to a hobbit's schedule; first breakfast at 7am, second breakfast at 9am, morning snack at 10ish, lunch at 11:30am, post-nap snack at 2:30pm, afternoon tea at 4pm, first dinner at 5:30pm, second dinner at 7pm, third dinner at 9:30pm, and night snack at 11pm. I have yet to have a student tell me I am wrong, if anything they will insert another meal form into my list. 

These snack shops have exploded in two forms. The first form is in the prolific building of glitzy shops with gigantic marquees and earworm jingles blaring from their entrances. They tend to cluster, meaning that not just one will beaming its neon lights into the night but rather a handful, turning that stretch of road into perpetual daytime. I actually joke that if an alien vessel descended into our town, they would most likely end up hovering over the snack shops assuming they are the signal for human connection. 

Within these shops are aisle after aisle of single-serve packaged products to be bought by the jin (500 grams, or approximately one pound.) If the food item can be packaged, it can be found here. One chicken foot? Yes. Two slices of bread? Yes. One tea egg? Yep. Four Oreos? Definitely. Nuts, dried fruits, cakes, cookies, sausage links, instant noodles, candy...the list is exhaustive. 

As expected, these shops are booming. They are ideal for student dorm life. They are fantastic for people looking to treat friends or family members. They are excellent for an intriguing product taste test without the commitment. They are a great place to amass travel snacks. Honestly, they have become some of our favorite shops to peruse when out for walks, because we never know what we will uncover among the inventory. 

The second form of these shops has been the super-size snacks. This trend caught our attention last May when we were in Changsha with Emma and her sister. As we were walking down the street, I kept noticing people lugging gigantic packages of latiao (辣条), a spicy stick of wheat gluten (a Zach favorite), and coils of Chinese sausages. People seemed overwhelmed in juggling their packages and when I pointed it out to Emma, she said, "There is a famous store here that sells oversized snack packages."

We immediately veered towards that store. 

It did not disappoint. We laughed ourselves silly. How could we not when it felt as though we had stumbled into a Honey, I Shrunk the Kids in the Snack Shop set? 

We were handling instant noodles the size of our torsos and candy bags that were comparable in size to our bed pillows. It was a shop of utter joy and we could not help but get caught up in the delight of it. We refrained from purchasing anything, as the size did thwart travelability. Yet, we did hesitate about our decision after watching the shipping company kiosks, perched in front of the store, slapping shipping labels on fellow shoppers' purchases with such ease and efficiency. 

Such a trend could not be contained in Changsha, so in the past year these gigantic snacks have popped up in our local supermarkets and even in our single-serve snack shops, which does have a twinge of irony to it. Whenever I see these giant packages, I cannot help but stop and have a happy-shoulder-squinch moment.  

I have yet to purchase any of them; but, I must confess that I deeply regret not buying the Lay's dragon boat canister last year. I really feel it was the size of the firework canon that Mulan used to off Shan Yu and save China at the end of the movie, though filled with an obnoxious amount of potato chips rather than black powder. I am secretly hoping it makes a reappearance this upcoming Dragon Boat Festival season.

While trends in China typically run as fast as their high speed trains, I do feel the snack shop empire is going to be around for a bit longer. The fact that we have had the same stores for nearly a year and a half is a good indication of survivability, as we have seen the rise and fall of a milk tea empire in a mere semester. Thus, I will continue to enjoy snacking on my seven pistachios while pondering if a five jin carton of popcorn is really consumable. 

Start Small

The blog has suffered thus far this year. 

When my beginning-of-the-year personal reading and writing beach retreat was unexpectedly flipped into a scramble to reach the other side of the globe in order wrestle with a devastating loss, pausing to write seemed indulgent in the following days. 

Returning to Asia, with a mere ten days between sorrow and a semester, our attempt to reset ourselves was thwarted with food poisoning. Writing was pushed aside. 

We returned to our hutong fourteen hours before we began teaching, to a very full work load as another foreigner was not hired. 

Being tossed into this semester in the wobbliest of ways has meant discombobulation has been a near constant state. Life feels a bit more fragile. Emotions seem to surface a bit more. Decisions seem to bear a bit more weight. 

A friend messaged me the other day, writing: I don't think we are ever the same people again after losing a parent. 

This was a sentence I needed to read. With my dad's death, our world did not crumble, but there has been such a subtle shift within our souls that has felt precarious. Thus, grappling with words and stories has edged closer to battle rather than solace.

The blog post that was due to be published next was our 2024 ABCs. My annual reflection on our year which is always a behemoth to write, but such a delight to craft because Zach and I have so much fun reminiscing about our wild adventures. It was in the outline draft mode before the first of the year, ready to be filled in on that beach retreat. In the past three months, I have opened it more times than I want to admit, only to sit and stare. For all the joy, delight, and incredible moments it held, Zach and I now must, and have, acknowledged that 2024 holds so many lasts for us. 

For both sides of our families. 

At this point, I must be honest in that I do not know if I can finish it without it taking on a patina of sorrow. My want to finish a reflection piece before stepping into the tales of this new year has been the internal struggle these weeks in facing this blog. In the past few days, I have realized that I cannot let that post be my barrier to the other life stories worthy of chronicling. Therefore, the 2024 ABCs is going to be left in draft mode. One day this year, I may be able to face it without tears. One day, I may decide to parcel its stories into smaller posts, marring my effort to adhere to a semi-true chronological life timeline. I do not know. As for the stories woven within the first two months of 2025, where joy and grief walked hand-in-hand, one day I will face those as well.

As for now, I am taking the small act to be OK with putting some stories on hold. Our life is wild, crazy, so full, and I need this blog to make sense of it most of the time.