Sold 20,000 yuan in a Day of Vegetable Sales—We Tearfully Ate 2,000 of It……
On 7 February 2026, two years later, “Occupying Jishi” returned and successfully evolved into the Foodthink Annual Meeting. Over these 12 hours, we used vegetable selling as a way to delve deeper into the food-agriculture system. The eight members of Foodthink transformed from consumers into shop staff, experiencing a real-life “Vegetable Shop Simulator” and challenging ourselves to hit a single-day sales figure of 20,260 yuan.
On the day of the annual meeting, we also prepared plenty of timely activities: the editorial team’s year-end report, a dialogue on the sales side of ecological farm products, Foodthink’s first live-stream shopping session, and a lamb soup film screening. Thank you all for your in-person support and online viewing. If you missed the fun, check out the event summary and live-stream replay below 👇
To make a successful “debut” on 7 February, we underwent 48 hours of professional training over the past few months. The occupation action is now over—did we meet the sales challenge? What problems did our members encounter? And what observations and reflections came out of it? As we round out the tail end of the Year of the Snake, come savour the vegetable-selling insights of these eight new and veteran trainees~
I. Sold 20,000, Ate 2,000
I always brag about having professionally sold vegetables for ** years (it will be almost 16 this year!), but since 2017, when I shifted my energy to Foodthink, my actual time selling vegetables on the front line has decreased, whether at markets or in community shops. Only during those pandemic years, because we had to run collective purchasing so that Jishi friends could buy vegetables “contactlessly” (what an archaic term!), did I still sell vegetables a few times a week. So my vegetable-selling skills have rusted beyond all measure. Every year I rely on Foodthink’s “Occupying Jishi” to reheat my abilities and keep my hand in.
I always brag about having professionally sold vegetables for ** years (it will be almost 16 this year!), but since 2017, when I shifted my energy to Foodthink, my actual time selling vegetables on the front line has decreased, whether at markets or in community shops. Only during those pandemic years, because we had to run collective purchasing so that Jishi friends could buy vegetables “contactlessly” (what an archaic term!), did I still sell vegetables a few times a week. So my vegetable-selling skills have rusted beyond all measure. Every year I rely on Foodthink’s “Occupying Jishi” to reheat my abilities and keep my hand in.
In 2025, a group of new colleagues joined Foodthink. None of us actually had a deep food-agriculture background, and some of us did not even know what seasonal vegetables were when cooking or shopping. The one colleague who had worked as an agriculture journalist for a few years also admitted she did not really understand food. So in the three months before “Occupying Jishi”, each colleague began a 48-hour distributed “apprenticeship” at Jishi. I also hope that through this experience, everyone will become familiar with food, meet more farming friends, serve consumers, and understand how an “alternative” vegetable shop operates. More importantly, to find writing pitches and research topics from it, rather than just sitting in the office racking our brains and hammering the keyboard.
When the day of “Occupying Jishi” actually arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to find that our bunch of amateur vegetable-selling trainee colleagues were actually quite proficient. Although things went wrong constantly, we resolved them all without any real disaster, and we even cooked two full meals—not only feeding ourselves but also hosting friends who came to visit and take part in the activities. What delighted me most was that, before closing, we discovered we had not only broken the all-time sales record for “Occupying Jishi” but also exceeded the modest sales target we had set for ourselves: It’s 2026, after all—we sold over 20,260 yuan! But when we went over the day in detail, we found that just eating cost us nearly 2,000 yuan. Who could blame us for eating so well!
II. Service Work Is Really Hard!
I never expected that on the day of “Occupying Jishi”, the first difficulty I ran into was actually stock-in.
Stock-in means recording the vegetables and other goods that arrived fresh that day on the stock-in sheet, after which the colleague on the till enters them into the system. I thought that, with my previous 48 hours of on-the-job experience, I was already quite familiar with this process.
But the moment I walked in on 7 February, vegetables from Xiaoliushu were already waiting for me. Northern people always seem to have a built-in disadvantage when it comes to leafy greens… Staring at the vegetables in that bag, I was a bit dumbfounded. Was this spinach, or komatsuna? Fortunately, I managed to grab Jishi’s proper shop manager, Sister Qi. In just two seconds, Sister Qi identified every single vegetable for me and neatly solved the problem.
Back when I used to work there, customers would always ask us things like which farm a vegetable came from, what the texture was like, how to cook it, and so on. As the person at Foodthink with the least general life knowledge, I was completely at a loss for these questions and could only lean on the veteran staff. Fortunately, on the event day, veterans popped up randomly, and with colleagues covering for each other, we could just about keep up.
The 48-hour “work stint” at Jishi before had always been my kind of “rest”. That day, I had a full six hours where I could ignore my phone and WeChat and just focus on customer service, sorting, and stocking, and it was easy to slip into a flow state. But this day, with the New Year just around the corner and four events running back to back, customers buying vegetables and New Year goods mingling with readers coming to the activities—the place was packed. I had hardly ever seen so many people in the shop. And each of us had to manage sorting and packing online orders while also dealing with the in-store foot traffic… I genuinely wished I could grow three heads and six arms.
In the end, when one customer asked me not to put his things on the floor, I really could not help the urge to roll my eyes… I’d like to offer an apology to this distinguished customer here. I had always thought I had a people-pleaser personality, but after this day, I need to revise that self-assessment. Service work is genuinely hard!
III. First-Time Live-Stream Shopping Experience
This was already my second time occupying Jishi. Compared with the frantic scrambling of my first attempt at selling and sorting, this time… I was still terrified—because I was about to do my first-ever live-stream shopping session. I know “live-stream shopping” sounds all power and authority, but in reality I probably did not shift that many units 😂. Friends who ended up buying something because I recommended it—raise your hand 🙋🏻♀️~
I spent the whole time frantically pitching the flower shiitake from Fang County in Hubei, Bu Le’s cheese, and my absolute favourite Jishi’s “Sustainable Corner”—where you will find loose dry goods sold by weight, reusable plastic packaging that customers bring back to be refilled, and a little bookshelf set up by Foodthink. Shoppers who come to the store for vegetables rarely make it over to that side, but it is truly my treasure zone.
After years of watching live streams, I finally did one myself. The on-the-ground feedback was pretty encouraging, and I suddenly feel a little more confident—maybe I will do more of these in the future. Let’s get out there and occupy Jishi again, soon!
IV. A Day of Relentless Frontal Lobe Drills
This was the day I encountered the most people at Jishi. During the earlier 48-hour stints, the most common working rhythm was: receive an instruction in a WeChat chat window → grab a basket and launch a sorting operation → use experience to decode what the customer on the other end of the screen means by “big and small”, “more and less”, “a bit more floury”, and “a bit more watery” → pack, box, seal, and dispatch via FlashEx courier. This produced a kind of satisfaction that came from single-threaded work, from being reduced to a machine, an ant worker.
I was lost in that pleasure when a passerby commented on my mental state: “Excuse me, is this a ghost vegetable shop?” Even more curious souls pushed the door open, peered inside, and left shaking their heads: “There is no one there—what are these few staff members so busy doing?”
7 February was no ordinary day. I was head-down, writing copy and running the live stream, when I looked up and—”tsunami”! The beaches of Hawaii at this very moment probably did not look any different. Real customers, flesh and blood, filling every last crevice of the vegetable shop, lighting up every corner. It felt like being transported back to the scene of buying New Year goods as a kid, minus the big sacks of rice you could plunge your hands into. This year’s New Year spirit is not strong enough to thaw out Andy Lau or Chilli Girls, but here at Jishi, it managed to defrost at least 30 percent.
It was also a day of relentless frontal lobe drills. Today I was on the events team—12 hours, four events… I could only keep telling myself: close your eyes, open them, and the day is done. It is a genuine blessing to meet the farmers in person and to find kindred spirits who commit to sustainable eating, I suppose that is the point of Foodthink’s public events too—you always meet people along the way who are both fellow industry workers (háng) and fellow travellers (xíng).
The feeling of doing my first live-stream shopping session is this—some money is better left for others to earn (not really)
An amateur troupe is bound to make frequent mistakes, including but not limited to: constant lag, occasionally not being able to hear the audio, failing to pop up the little yellow cart… But our “hosts” were incredibly dedicated and outstanding. Next time I will definitely study live-streaming techniques properly and keep the network stable (if there is a next time)
V. So Busy I Nearly Had to Drink the Leftover Broth
The night before, I was seriously warned: tomorrow will be exhausting, dress warmly, bring a power bank, and brace yourselves. That day had four events, with new and regular customers coming and going non-stop. Although it was tiring, seeing that everyone else was working even harder, I had little complaint to make.
In the evening, we prepared lamb broth rice noodles for the ten friends who had signed up for the screening. The lamb was incredibly plump and rich, which also meant the dishwashing would be exceptionally brutal. At the Foodthink office, it is usually the last colleague to arrive who is responsible for washing the dishes that day. On the day, the editor Yuyang, who had arrived late, volunteered: “I’ll wash—I’m the only one who can.” But after everyone had eaten, the broth had gone cold, a film of white fat floating on the surface, and some bowls still had a lump of rice noodles left. If Yuyang had been left to deal with all of this alone, it would probably have been called workplace bullying.
Jishi’s professional kitchen equipment (a 3+1 sink setup) and Foodthink’s adaptable spirit (doge) enabled these hunched-over office drones who cannot bear hardship to, successfully turn one person’s predicament into a team-building exercise for everyone. See colleague ZX’s account for details. In short, look out for each other when things get tough—forget about lamb fat, even engine oil would be a piece of cake.
Of course, in the spirit of not telling a “human-centred” story, we must also offer a grand thank-you to the camellia seed powder, the unclogged drain, and the seemingly inexhaustible supply of hot water. Factoring in labour costs, the 68-yuan bowl of lamb broth rice noodles and the film were genuinely not expensive at all—getting to eat them was a bargain!
But in reality, due to limited supply, the Foodthink members did not get to drink any lamb broth. Everyone exchanged bewildered glances, and we even considered pooling the remaining bowls of broth, heating it up, and sharing it—saving the effort of washing dishes while still getting a taste of the delicious broth… In the end, we never managed to take that step. This devoted tomato-and-egg enthusiast seized the opportunity and volunteered to pitch my all-time favourite. I grabbed a carton of eggs from the shop, six tomatoes, a packet of leftover bean sprouts, and the rice noodles that had not been finished cooking in the evening, plus a big bowl of shredded tofu tossed with napa cabbage, and quickly threw together a simple, no-frills staff meal. Served with stainless-steel cutlery, I felt what the aunties must feel when they cook for the hard-working construction workers on site.
VI. A Dishwashing Guide for Spring Festival Group Meals
That lamb broth rice noodle soup is absolutely delicious 😋
Until I saw the dishwashing sink caked in lamb fat—pot, pot, pot, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, ladle, basin, basin, basin 🥶
The free-range, grass-fed lamb from the Harigoubi Grassland in Inner Mongolia enjoyed a life of luxury in life—plump and robust, its fat white as jade, with a rich aroma that fills the nose. The stewed broth shimmers with delicate swirls of oil, the flavour pure and lingering on the lips and teeth.
In the bowl while it is hot, it is broth; once it cools down, it is a sin. People leave, the broth cools. The congealed lamb fat, together with vegetable peels, spice dregs, and broken rice noodle strands, coats every bowl, plate, pot, chopstick, and spoon that had any connection to the meal—impossible to wipe off, impossible to wash clean.
They say eating lamb and sipping broth is a moment of bliss, but washing and sorting out the aftermath ***. Roughly twenty or more people’s worth of cutlery and cookware! Facing these towering peaks of dishes, even the battle-hardened veterans of Foodthink’s “Dishwashing Division” (since disbanded), which operates twice a week, could only gape in helpless “lamb” at the sight.
A colleague volunteered to test-wash one bowl, but both the dishcloth and the hand were defeated. If the dishes are not done, the shop cannot close; if the shop cannot close, we cannot go home. Staring at the row of sinks in the back kitchen, we all had a brainstorm and decided to rely on the power of numbers, adopting an assembly-line approach to tackle the challenge.
Steps:
1. Gather the dirty bowls and rinse off large food scraps such as vegetable leaves and rice noodles—Station 1;
2. For items with lamb fat residue, scrape off most of it with paper towels—Station 1;
3. Wash vigorously with a mixture of hot water + camellia seed powder + dish soap—Station 1;
4. Rinse clean with plain water and inspect for approval—Station 1;
5. Drain, store, and put away—Station 1;
Five stations, five people in total.
Precautions:
– Start with the least dirty items;
– Fill a large pot or the sink with hot water, and add camellia seed powder (for grease) + dish soap (for odour)—a two-pronged attack works best;
– If something is not clean enough, send it straight back to the previous step for re-washing;
– For the inspection step, do not wear gloves—you should check for grease residue with your bare hands;
– After washing, clean the sink and flush the drain with the hot solution from Step 3;
– Apply hand cream once everything is done.
Conclusion:
Unity is strength, indeed—sorted it all out in just over half an hour, and everything came out white and gleaming ✌️
VII. Even Selling Vegetables Can Make You Feel Climate Change
After 60 hours of working at Jishi, I have come to appreciate more dimensions of the food and agriculture system at the community level.
From a climate change perspective, cold chains and freezers are one of the major sources of (fossil) energy consumption in the food and agriculture system. But running an eco-organic food shop, starting from consumer demand, to ensure that food is always in stock and available for purchase at any time, our meat must be portioned, sealed, and frozen. Storing dairy products also relies on freezing and refrigeration. Temporality seems to have been an essential part of supply-chain philosophy all along, and time is a source of carbon emissions.
We have to use plastic. And this too is from the perspective of time and consumers. In Beijing, if vegetables are not individually wrapped in plastic bags during transport and while waiting to be sold, they will wilt, yellow, and lose their moisture. Could we switch to greaseproof paper or newspaper instead?—Many customers who even insist during a FlashEx delivery that the food must be sealed and that the courier’s hands must not touch the bags—could they accept this kind of “uncleanness” and discomfort? Compared with ordinary supermarkets and e-commerce, we already use relatively little plastic. Not only is there no over-packaging, but the various bags we use are repurposed from the e-commerce and delivery packaging that customers bring in.
I have also observed other lose-lose situations for both efficiency and the environment under the logic of capital-driven rent: Over more than a decade, Jishi has always been at Sanyuanqiao, but has still been forced to undergo its own “three relocations of Mencius’s mother,” and the current shop lease is renewed on a year-by-year basis. This instability means that an eco-organic shop with a cash flow as tight as ours and fairly thin margins has neither the means nor the inclination to replace the shop’s windows with better-insulated, thermally broken aluminium double-glazed windows (having done home renovations myself, I have a rough idea of what windows cost in Beijing).
So during my 60 hours working at Jishi, especially on windy nights, my colleagues were often bundled in down jackets, with several electric heaters running simultaneously behind the till and in front of the kitchen. Even so, with my not-so-great health, I fell ill twice; and in summer, I sometimes get so hot I run to the coffee shop next door to catch my breath, while wondering: Is the cooling from the freezers sufficient? Will the vegetable losses get worse?—All of this means even more energy consumption and carbon emissions!
Of course, economically, electricity is cheaper than thermally broken aluminium windows with double glazing, but that does not mean the same is true ecologically. If the property management could provide this hardware to tenants, or allow us to sign a multi-year contract at a stable rent, or even when a tenant is forced to vacate, negotiate with the landlord and the successor tenant to retain the upgraded hardware rather than a blanket “restore to original condition” rule—could there be other answers to these questions?
Jishi once opened its kitchen, but it has been stalled ever since because we couldn’t find a suitable chef willing to work with eco-organic ingredients. Customers are always peeking in: Do you sell food here? You actually cook in here, how lovely! (Can I have some?!)
After 60 hours of working the shop, the bigger realisation is: Cooking is real, tangible labour that must be acknowledged and seen. It is far more than an idealised, beautiful, hearth-and-home kind of warmth with its connotations of reunion and togetherness. It is the ache of bending over the dough, the stir-fry that fills your lungs with PM2.5, and—on top of the daily inventory work, stock receipts, new listings, and packing—the bowls and vegetables to wash and chop, multiplied by household size × N.
I experienced the open small dining table at a community eco-agriculture shop called Tianshe in Chengdu, but they use disposable cutlery, which also makes FlashEx delivery more straightforward. If Jishi were to restart its small dining table and hire a chef, we probably couldn’t also afford a part-time dishwasher—yet another burden that holding fast to our principles entails. I wonder whether that extra layer of workload is another reason it’s so hard to find a chef.
VIII. NPCs Bonded by Labour
Selling vegetables—we meant every bit of it! The “Occupying Jishi” event is over. Whether you look at it from the revenue angle or from the genuine feeling of how we collaborated internally, I think we handed in a near-perfect answer sheet. At least there was no fatal blunder like sending an order to the wrong address, haha! (Who gets this old running gag!)
We are not professional vegetable sellers, nor do we make our living this way, but we still carry a real sense of responsibility. Even if, to outsiders, the whole thing looks more like a piece of performance art or a game. I can feel, though, that every single one of my colleagues was wholehearted and sincere. So sincere that even if it were just a game, we would have stuck faithfully to the roles assigned to us, diligently handling inventory, stock receipts, new listings, customer service, order picking, and after-sales—every last one of them. Even when trouble came up or bad feelings crept in, we stayed in character, working through it properly, never once breaking out of our personas.
Of course, we all have to go back to our regular jobs and lives. But in those twelve hours of non-stop labour, we built a connection and a resonance that no outsider could fully appreciate. In the vegetable shop as a public space, customers streamed in all day long, the place buzzing and alive, people linking up with one another. Yet there is another kind of connection, one that hides very quietly inside each of us—present in our hurried footsteps and loud calls across the room, embedded in the rhythm of each of our bodies. Perhaps on some day in the future, when I remember this day, that resonance will still be the feeling I most instinctively long for: labour is the best medium for connecting people.
Edited by: Tianle