But as our taxi pulled up at Tongda Ecosystem, we were confronted with a more local reality. Its size was so... manageable. It wasn't the behemoth structure we were expecting. After all, if you call yourself an "ecosystem," you'd better be more than just a greenhouse.

Tongda serves Jilin cuisine in a glass-encased hall filled with palm trees, begonias, birds of paradise, a miniature waterfall, and moss and lichen. Stepping through their doors, we were met with a membrane of warmth and moisture. Climate control is clearly their strength; the temperature is cozy enough for sweaters to come off but never stuffy. Follicles relaxed, heartbeats slowed, and there came over us a general sense of well-being. Tropical rainforest it is not, but in Beijing's harsh winter, Tongda is a welcome respite.

The incubator-like environment is not the most likely complement to Dongbei food, but Beijingers love the combination. We decided to sample the green leafy vegetables grown in Tongda's farm located near the restaurant. Xianzhai dafengshou (RMB12) was a generous basket of farm fresh greens, leeks, cucumbers, and watermelon radish. Dip the veggies in the chicken and bean sauce and wrap them in a bean curd skin. The vegetables were delicious but the sauce was too salty.

Qingcai chao doufu (RMB10), stir-fried vegetables with Tongda's homemade tofu, was wholesome homemade goodness. Di san xian (RMB12), the popular dish of eggplants, potatoes and peppers, was beautifully presented and not the usual oily slop served at similarly priced eateries. Suitably spiced, it would have been good if it weren¡¯t curiously lacking in peppers, and, again, so salty.

An assortment of Jilin-style breads and grains was a delicious surprise. Liu he bing (RMB 2) is made from six different grains and is exactly like a grainy buttermilk pancake. It has a wonderful chewy texture and slightly sweet taste that's sure to satiate carb-cravings. Nurhaci bread (RMB2), named after the founding father of the Manchu state, is a six-grain bread pocket filled with coarsely mashed red beans. Sticky rice dumplings (RMB 10) are unassuming little mounds of glutinous yellow rice with whole red beans. Their petite size belies how heavy and filling they are.

We felt like something was missing from the meal. Looking around at the other diners we realized they had mostly picked meat hotpots. So we hopped on the bandwagon and picked out a chicken and wild mushroom hotpot (RMB29). A good assortment of mushrooms simmered away side by side with tender chunks of chicken. It was no surprise that the broth was on the salty side, but a bowl of rice balanced things out.

We scratched our heads at the menu of exotic fare and wondered how the restaurant could reconcile their support for environmental awareness with deer¡¯s blood and swan¡¯s meat dishes. But that's because we had once again forgotten where we were. This is nature, Sino-style. Cheerfully colored and probably very expensive budgies are housed in tiny cages, competing with the diners to be heard. The combined din echoes off the glass roof, and bounces around the woodcarvings, red lanterns, and steaming hotpots, as the unmistakable aroma of baijiu fills the room. This was never meant to be a peaceful greenhouse restaurant. Tongda has succeeded as a raucous, lively zoo.

Location: 99 Laiguangying Lu, exit at Beigao from the Airport Expressway, go north on Jingshun Lu to the first stoplight and turn left, and go straight for 1,000m.
Tel: 010-64319099/64319299