The spice of life

I have attended many gourmet events around the world, and the most common comment I hear about Sichuanese food is that it is always very spicy. Such a remark could not be more wrong. In Sichuan, we have a saying that goes ‘yi cai yi wei, bai cai bai wei’: it literally translates to ‘a flavour for one dish, and a hundred flavours for hundreds of dishes’, but it essentially means a couple of Sichuan dishes do not represent the profile of our cuisine. So while Sichuanese people enjoy the ubiquitous ma la (tongue-numbing) hotpot—where meats and vegetables are cooked in a piping hot broth filled with red chillies and pepper—the dish itself is not what our cuisine is all about, or how diverse it really is.

Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province, is a paradise for foodies. One of the must-try dishes is fei chang fen, yam noodles with pork intestines: the offal is washed thoroughly, simmered in a broth with spices, and served with noodles, chilli oil and vinegar. A bowl of fei chang fen usually costs about 8 yuan, and it often comes with not more than three pieces of the juicy, tender intestines. So when I order it, I will tell the cook to add an extra 10 yuan’s worth of the offal, and I’ll have a great meal. The dish is usually eaten for breakfast.

Shops that sell fei chang fen are usually roadside stalls or small establishments that are family-run. I recommend Hua Xing Fei Chang Fen, a popular place among the locals. The proprietor will open for business in the morning and shut his shop at 4pm, after which he’ll go for his mahjong game with his mates. He says that as long as he has made a decent profit, he is contented—there isn’t a need to work his socks off. This idea of taking time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life is ingrained in the psyche of the locals. In fact, it is said that if you do not know how to take spicy food, play mahjong and kick back to unwind, you are not a bona fide Chengdu native.

Excerpt from the September issue of epicure.