It’s never going to fit in there, you think. Surely not. But every time, the giant stuffed Chinese answer to a crepe somehow manages to fold its way into the bag, before a plastic fork is jabbed unceremoniously into its innards.
I’ve been going to Gerry’s on Piccadilly Gardens for a few years now, generally alternating between the belly pork bahn mi at Viet Shack in the Arndale Centre’s market hall, and the scorching jianbing from Gerry’s when I’m seeking ‘walking food’.
But every time it still astounds me - considering how much is going on - that a pancake which must measure at least 15 inches across gets into the seemingly tiny bag, like culinary origami.
Gerry’s was originally an ice cream van, but was taken over by the noodle and jianbing makers quite some years ago now. They appear not to have got round to changing the livery yet. Red lanterns hang from the awning, so that's a bit of a giveaway, I suppose.
Let’s put it this way, they haven’t been serving jianbing and noodles to the populace of Manchester since 1898, as mentioned on the sign. More’s the pity, really.
Time was, ‘street food’ wasn’t a term of endearment, least of all an enduring hospitality industry trend. Rather it was something you'd find abandoned beside an overflowing bin.
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And while the chaat carts of South India and night markets of Bangkok put the British culture of street food quite rightly in the shade - such is the quality of the latter that some apartments in the city are sold without a kitchen - there are still echoes of the old days of that original ‘street food’ on Market Street.
There’s Scappaticci’s ice cream truck, which was there long before Market Street was even pedestrianised in the early 80s.
It’s now run by the genial Rob Scappaticci, fourth generation of the family who have been selling ice cream in Manchester for over a hundred years, originally from hand carts and vans after arriving from the Lazio region.
He tells me he’s thinking of rekindling his ice-cream making - it's soft serve and bought in at the moment. With all that rich heritage like his, not to mention a book full of family recipes, it feels like exactly the right thing to head back down the artisan route again, and he should absolutely go for it.
Meanwhile, Louis’ Famous Street Food, plotted up outside Debenhams (RIP) for the past 40 years, is now run by David McCrann, after he took it on from original owner Louis Gerezidi, who’d owned the van since the 1950s.
Louis himself said he wanted to sell it someone who would keep it, and not have a merry-go-round of owners taking it on, so that he could proudly take his grandson down Market Street and show him what he founded.
David bought it five years ago and has run it ever since.
It feels like a relic compared to the shiny airstream trailers and converted horse boxes which dominate the food truck scene these days.
So yes, few of these ‘old favourites’ from the centre remain, other than the remnants of the Christmas markets which appear to be a more permanent fixture outside McDonald’s.
But Gerry’s is the exception. You could walk past it a hundred times and presume it was your average noodle hut. Perhaps even give it a wide berth.
But the jianbing, served for breakfast all over China, are one of the hidden treasures in Manchester’s food scene, no doubt about it, and surely confirmed by the abundance of Chinese students who seek them out daily.
It’s no wonder they’ve not had time to change the signage, with the queues ebbing and flowing all day long.
Watching them being made is very much part of the charm too, as is the swift efficiency in which they’re shoved at you afterwards, followed by a demand for hard currency.
On the large crepe iron, batter is poured and swept to the edges with a wooden implement which no doubt has a charming and traditional name - just looked it up and it’s called a ‘crepe spreader’ - before two eggs are bashed together and also spread across the surface, yolks popped.
The filling is vigorously flipped around in a wok while all this is going on, with pieces of chewy yet still slightly crispy fried chicken, in this case caked in cumin and hot spice, also being hurled into the mix, spending more time in the air than on the surface of the searing metal.
Then it’s a liberal coating of hoi sin, squirted from a bottle with three pointed apertures which no doubt has a charming and traditional name (it’s called a ‘triple nozzle bottle’), followed by natty black and white sesame seeds and spring onions.
Crushed wanton crackers, which provide the all-important crunch, then lettuce and coriander follow. You can go for all manner of extras too - from the not massively tempting luncheon meat to spicy beef, sausage, crab sticks or pork floss - that dried, deeply savoury Chinese pork with the texture of cotton candy.
And that’s without the other filling options, like the spicy cumin king prawns, soft braised duck, or salt and pepper beef or chicken, though I seem pretty stuck on the cumin chicken judging by multiple recent visits.
A word of warning; when asked whether you want it spicy, they’re really not messing around. Answering in the affirmative ensures a liberal scattering of scorching hot green chillies, followed by tears.
Then comes the impossible folding, before it’s somehow crammed into its little foil-lined heat bag, you’re relieved of a reasonable £7 (though they used to be a fair bit cheaper) and thrust back onto the street.
The only choice remaining is the suboptimal one of sitting on a bench on Piccadilly Gardens while the narrative of Mad Max unfolds in front of you, or the better option of wandering down Mosley Street to find less of a foaming hellscape.
But a quick glance around, and Gerry’s beats everywhere in sight for anything resembling fast food, from the upscale but ultimately spiritless Byron on the other side of the gardens, to its nearest competition Burger King.
Which, to be fair, is a bit of an open goal. I'd rather eat the bag my jianbing comes in than a Whopper.
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