Best Tofu

Tofu in Belleville

More than a century after Li Shizeng’s soy factory outside Paris went quiet, Belleville offers a different kind of evidence of tofu’s place in the city.

Just outside Belleville metro station, a modest green storefront at a busy intersection is hard to miss. A queue often spills beyond the entrance. Across the facade, the shop’s name appears in Chinese: Dong’s Tofu Workshop (董氏豆腐坊), and in English: Best Tofu. The Chinese name identifies the family behind the shop, while the English one makes a bold claim in a city with no shortage of places to find tofu. It's difficult to trace the history of the Dong family and why and how they founded this shop. What we know is that today this small busy eatery is not only a place for locals, but a destination for many visitors.

At Best Tofu, the day begins before dawn. By the time the doors open, at eight o’clock, the line is already gathering, as if a signal had gone out to tofu lovers across the neighborhood. Some are Chinese residents who have lived in Paris for years and still crave a hot meal. Others are Parisians who have acquired a taste for tofu and steamed buns, or visitors drawn by douhua and glutinous rice.

Behind a counter three or four meters long, buns, flatbreads, youtiao, and tofu in several forms are stacked close together. Steam clouds the glass. The regulars seem not to mind. They know the menu and the routine by heart. Moving to the end of the counter, they call out what they want, in Wenzhounese, Mandarin, French, or a mix of them.

Behind the counter, three or four women greet customers, open plastic bags, pick out each order, tie the bags, and line them up for checkout. The work moves quickly, almost without pause. Beside the sink, on the narrow strip of floor by the counter, even above the glass case, every spare surface is stacked with freshly prepared food.

Against the opposite wall are a few tables, with simple stools squeezed between them. Customers who want to eat in can sit and wait for someone to take their order. But the tight layout seems to hint that this is not a place to linger. Service is minimal, and there's no self-service: no menu, no QR code, and no English. Every few minutes, a woman from the kitchen comes out with a dish, clears a finished bowl, and takes the next order. “Would you like sugar in your soy milk? You want savory douhua, right?” No pen, no paper. The orders stay in her memory.

Over the overlapping calls and the clink of payment, soy milk and douhua arrive at the table. In a plain plastic bowl, silken douhua is topped generously with seaweed and dried shrimp. Soy milk comes in a plain takeaway cup, sealed with the store’s name. The humble containers do nothing to diminish what is inside. The douhua is soft enough to melt on the tongue, savory and briny. The soy milk is rich with the aroma of beans.

Here, tofu is neither a symbol of sustainability nor an imported novelty. It is everyday sustenance. Made fresh, sold quickly, and eaten while still warm.

Belleville, and Paris at large, has been shaped by waves of migration, and the languages heard at the counter reflect that layered neighborhood. Multiple languages and dialects overlap in a swift exchange of orders and payment. People come in, collect their food, and move on. The city changes around them. The daily rush carries on.

Paris’s tofu story holds more than one layer: an early experiment in soy-food production, a homey and affordable anchor for migrant communities, a trendy spot for urban foodies, and an emerging ground for sustainable craft.