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The flame-shaped neon gates can be seen from miles away, which is a good thing for no other reason than anyone in this part of the city, a vast expanse of rice paddies outside the industrial city in eastern China. Lights flicker between icy blue and hot red, leaping into the night sky next to a jumbo sign: “Zibo Barbecue Experiential Ground.”
And an experience to look forward to. Inside this Coachella barbeque, visitors can pose with mascots dressed as meat skewers. They can watch a concert with a glowing LED backdrop. They can eat from one of the hundreds of grills scattered on grounds the size of 12 football fields – if they wait an hour for a table, and if the meat purveyor they choose has not run out of food.
Zibo, a once-obscure chemical manufacturing town in Shandong Province, has suddenly—because of all things, barbecue—become China’s hottest tourist destination.
The city of 4.7 million received 4.8 million visitors in March, after it began to attract attention on social media. During a public holiday earlier this month, the Zibo vegetable market was more popular than the Great Wall, according to the mapping service. High-speed train tickets from Beijing sold out within minutes of their release.
The local government has set up 21 buses to transport visitors from the railway station directly to the barbecue restaurant. They held a barbecue festival on the site of a vast seafood market, the only place big enough to hold 10,000 people.
“We’ve all had a good meal before, but this hustle and bustle, this warmth, it’s hard to find,” said Zhang Kexin, a college senior who, within half an hour of arriving at Zibo during the recent holiday, bought it. six souvenir tubs of pan-fried crackers, another local specialty.
Mrs. Zhang had traveled 500 miles from Shanxi Province – not a journey he had ever considered before, even though Zibo was a friend’s hometown. “I feel like it’s a very familiar place,” he laughs.
The question of why, exactly, this ordinary place has taken over all of China, with officials in other cities even sending research teams to Zibo to try and replicate its success. Most explanations attribute the origin of the craze to college students, some of whom posted on social media about the joys of local barbecue style. Diners grill their own skewers on the table charcoal stove, which lends the meal a DIY feel, and wrap it in a local specialty of a tortilla-like shell, along with a sprig of raw green onions and a smear of hot sauce.
Low prices were also a draw – skewers start at 15 cents at the most popular restaurants – so more young people began flocking to the city. Influencers follow suit.
But perhaps most important is the very fact of Zibo’s unexpected revival. As a result, the locals – seemingly in disbelief of their fate – have done everything they can to keep the madness at bay.
Residents have offered their homes to others who could not find a hotel. After some social media users joked that they wanted eye candy with the barbecue, officials organized the “180 group” – people taller than 180 centimeters, or 5 feet 11 inches, and wearing suits – to greet them on arrival at the train station.
At the station during the May 1st holiday, there were no suitable men. But there are many more cheer greeters, handed out bottles of water, sunscreen, watermelon (grown on the outskirts of Zibo), mouthwash (for after the barbecue), even flasks of local liquor.
“Welcome, out-of-town visitors! I hope you have fun!” the woman shouted when she pressed the pumpkin-flavored crackers into the hands of the visitors’, many of whom have been flooded with freebies.
For many visitors, the crazy crowds are the point, after China’s long Covid lockdown. At one of the most popular barbecue restaurants, where hundreds of diners sit on small folding benches around an outdoor grill, officials have chosen a higher viewing platform just for tourists to watch the people below eat, through a cloud of cumin-scented smoke .
Li Yang, a local man, snagged a table around 6 pm, after having lined up at 3 am to commute to a job at a steel company now clogged with traffic. But he didn’t think so.
“To see all this liveliness, after three years of the pandemic, my heart feels very hot,” he shouted, because of the sound of maracas being shaken by four people, seemingly unrelated to the restaurant, who were gallivanting between the tables serving eat.
A few tables away, Bai Lingbin, 25, had been digging, had been waiting since midnight. His grill, along with four other men, was piled high with toothpick-thin skewers mixed with crispy pork skin, sweet potatoes and wraps.
Mr. Bai, who has traveled from Anhui Province, is honest: He prefers to grill in northeastern China, another famous grilling region. However, he said as he offered a beer to his friends, whom he met in line: “The atmosphere here is the best.”
However, some locals secretly claim to want to see their hometown’s fame, at least a little.
The staff at the barbecue restaurant say they only get a few hours of sleep each night. Residents who used to buy their groceries at the suddenly popular vegetable market – which now has no vegetables, thanks to snack and souvenir vendors – will have to find their produce elsewhere.
However, there is intense pressure to please customers, as the government has decided to keep Zibo’s streak going, said Wang Jiuyuan, manager of a barbecue place 30 minutes from the city center, but it is still being beaten. Mr Wang has pasted posters on every table, asking customers to be patient as many of the waiters speak the local dialect.
“We are afraid that there will be complaints filed against us, because as long as the customers are outside the city, the government will accept it, whether it is enough or not,” said Mr. Wang, adding that the restaurant already exists. scolded after the customer complained for not sitting down.
Some online are worried that the pressure on locals is getting worse, especially after a viral video showed one restaurant owner kneeling down to apologize to customers upset by long lines.
In the past month, even the Zibo government appeared to be backing down, urging people to visit other towns, as they have been flooded.
On a quiet street on the outskirts of town, workers in aging factories are churning out handmade sesame crisps, a local delicacy that has also seen an increase in orders as tourists arrive, said Gao Juan, the factory’s owner.
Mrs. Gao has considered pivoting to make barbecue wraps, which are in even greater demand. The packaging vendor had already taken orders in August.
But the machines to make the packaging are sold. Ms. Gao is willing to take a long look at how the madness will last.
“When there’s a shortage in the market, it’s easy to overreact,” he said. “Let’s wait and see.”
Li You contribute to research.
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