We were interested to learn on CNNGo today that Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province, has recently been named Asia’s first “City of Gastronomy” by UNESCO.

How did it beat out the competition (which is fierce, considering the many delicious Asian cuisines that exist)? Besides its delectable history of fiery cuisine, the city fit UNESCO’s extensive criteria for the distinction described by CNNGo:

“A city must have a well-developed cuisine that is characteristic of the region; nurture a vibrant community of chefs and traditional restaurants; show local know-how of traditional culinary practices and methods of cooking that have survived industrial and technological advancements; maintain traditional wet markets; have a history of hosting gastronomic events; prove active in the promotion of sustainable local products; and be committed to nutritional education and the inclusion of bio-diversity conservation programs in cooking schools.”

As author Annabel Jackson mentions, this is a great opportunity to showcase some of China’s lesser-known cuisine to the world. As big fans of Sichuan, we’re thrilled that the area is receiving more publicity for its culinary heritage.

Read more about Chengdu’s appetizing award and its culinary delights on CNNGo.

“While cooking, we don’t measure ingredients. We cook with our heart.“ ~Yáng Hóngyǐng 杨宏影

Yáng Hóngyǐng 杨宏影 (daughter) and Wáng Shúlíng 王淑玲 (mother) live together in Chengdu

Chengdu, Sichuan, China — In 2007, a visit to Chengdu with my nephews barely hinted at the flavors and character I had yet to discover three years later. The difference between traveling guided by a Lonely Planet versus traveling guided by locals, can for the moment be best described by saying, “Was blind but now I see.” Through serendipitous internet ties, a popular Sichuanese blogger and restauranteur Jiǎng Yì 蒋毅, introduced me to Wáng Āyí 王淑玲 (mother) and Yáng Hóngyǐng 杨宏影 (daughter). As Wáng Āyí motions the simplicity behind famous Sichuan dishes, Hóngyǐng introduces each dish using Chinese and English.

Marinating Wuchang fish 武昌鱼.

The kitchen is long and wide, clean, bright, and the counter is lined with bowls of ingredients. Wáng Āyí uses her left hand to mince pork she will use for Má Pó Dòufu. She slides her cleaver to scoop the meat into a bowl and keeps a little on the blade to add umami to the Wuchang fish. Hóngyǐng asks me if “American people steam food” and I rattle off a list of foods often steamed. These family visits give my hosts and I much needed opportunities to demystify our cultures.

Qīngzhēng Wǔchāng Yú (清蒸武昌鱼, Steamed Wuchang Fish)

Fifteen minutes after steamed over high flame, Qīngzhēng Wǔchāng Yú (清蒸武昌鱼, Steamed Wuchang Fish) is tender, light, the meat flaky and fragrant from ginger, scallions, rice wine, and soy sauce. Wuchang fish is a type of bream fish, but this dish can be prepared using other whole fish such as carp, grouper, or sea bass.

Suāncài (酸菜, pickled mustard greens)

Another dish, famous in Sichuan, is Suāncài Yú (酸菜鱼, Pickled Mustard Greens and Fish). Wáng Āyí, pickles her own mustard greens and peppers, as well as makes her own dòubàn jiàng (豆瓣酱, chili bean paste/sauce), in earthenware pickling jars she stores on the balcony.

Grass Carp and pickled mustard greens sliced diagonally, pieces sharing the same size and shape.

Suāncài Yú (酸菜鱼, Fish Soup with Pickled Mustard Greens)

Every piece of fish is soft and zesty from the sour and salty mustard greens. One story behind this dish tells of a servant who pickled vegetables with salt after noticing fellow servants struggling to eat old vegetables. After soaking them in salt and water for several days, the vegetables were delicious and used in many recipes thereafter. Another story follows how a fish was dropped accidentally into a soup of pickled mustard greens from whence this dish was born.

One chicken and one small rice bowl of red chillies.

Hóngyǐng shares endearing details as the cooking lessons proceed. She loves listening to all kinds of music and lets on that she enjoys listening to Lady Gaga. During holidays, when the family members come together, all the men cook together. Jiǎng Yì, the only male in the room today, doesn’t take backstage while Wáng Āyí cooks. He slices the fish for the soup, chops the chicken into 1-inch pieces for the Làzǐ Jī (辣子鸡, Chicken with Chillies), and tosses the pieces into the bubbling oil, crisping the outside while maintaining a moist and tender center.

Làzǐ Jī (辣子鸡, Chicken with Chillies)

Everything in the wok is ablaze with color of red Sichuan peppers, but the stinging spicy aroma flows out of the wok filling the kitchen. Each of us in the kitchen step away from the stove, but the cook is bound, squinting his eyes while tossing the chicken pieces hastily lest the peppers should blacken and burn.

Liángbàn Cándòu（凉拌蚕豆, Cold Mixed Broad Beans)

In the past, Chinese rarely ate raw food. Liángbàn Cándòu (凉拌蚕豆, Cold Mixed Broad Beans) is as Hóngyǐng calls it, a “Chinese salad.” The broad beans are boiled until tender, then mixed with a medley of potent flavors, and left to cool until meal time. Liáng means cold and bàn means mixed. Cucumbers, potatoes, spinach and more can also be parboiled or splashed with hot oil in order to not serve raw.

Má Pó Dòufu (麻婆豆腐, Pock-marked Old Mother's Tofu)

I thought I knew what Má Pó Dòufu (麻婆豆腐, Pock-marked Old Mother’s Tofu) was until I had the real thing in Chengdu. Going to the Asian food aisle in a Western supermarket and picking up a packet of the Ma Po Tofu instant powder to help your hamburger meat, won’t do justice to the real Má Pó Dòufu. Huājiāo (花椒, Sichuan peppercorn) is the magic spice I’d been missing until I moved to China; it not only numbs the senses from the burn of chillies but suffuses the olfactories and taste buds with another woodsy-citrusy-pine-floral flavor. This 19th-century dish is a famous Chengdu dish once served by Lady Chen who was indeed pock-marked. All the fame and deliciousness of her tofu couldn’t bring her a better name, but one would be hard-pressed to find a household in Chengdu unable to whip up a plate of Má Pó Dòufu. Get the recipe!

Wang Ayi making Ài Mó Mó (艾馍馍, Glutinous Wormwood Cakes)

As time passes, Ài Cǎo (艾草, Wormwood) has become more scarce in Sichuan’s markets. Wáng Āyí mixes a little sugarcane-preserved Wormwood with glutinous rice flour and pats together cakes she fries in the wok.

Ài Mó Mó (艾馍馍, Glutinous Wormwood Cakes)

As if eating as many possible now could preserve these cakes from disappearing from existence, Ài Mó Mó‘s (艾馍馍, Glutinous Wormwood Cakes) herbal-sweet flavor stretched my appetite a little more, after eating all of the above. Learning more about dishes in China becoming rarities, I have a strong urge to consume them. I want to remember how these endangered specialties taste, perhaps the same way my dad remembers theatres presenting two special features, a newsreel, and popcorn all for a dime. Wáng Āyí says the herb is no longer easy to find, but just as the ingredients vanish from market stalls, the repertoire of home-style recipes I fear are departing with them. Busy lives, urbanization, and the ease of consuming ready-made foods are amongst some of the factors leading to treats such as these turning into childhood memories.

Yáng Hóngyǐng with mother Wáng Āyí

Together, Hóngyǐng and her mother tell stories and describe their culture through food. Wáng Āyí demonstrates how simple it is to preserve culture through easy-to-cook dishes. Furthermore, one doesn’t need a measuring cup or spoon to learn these dishes. As Hóngyǐng puts it, one need only use their heart.

You can find the original post on Shanti’s blog, ShowShanti.

About the author
Shanti Christensen (湘緹), Storyteller and Food Explorer, travels China meeting families who teach her their favorite home-style recipes. She writes and photographs for ShowShanti.com while collecting recipes for her future cookbook. Her Filipino mother and Danish-American father passed their wanderlust and passion for food to her through their own stories. Shanti and her husband are from San Francisco and have lived in Beijing since January 2007. Shanti enjoys making dinner for friends and family, bringing new flavors and tales to the table.

This is the third post by guest blogger Shanti Christensen.

Méixiàn 梅县, Guangdong, China — I am fascinated by the diaspora of any people. Given the ease of mobility, we find ourselves in every country of the world and even on the moon. The family I met today is Chinese, of the Hakka minority group. They migrated from China to Indonesia and descendants dispersed from there; some moved to the United States while some like my host, Wēn Pó (age 82), “returned” to China. Chinese who have lived abroad and return to live in China are called huáqiáo (华侨).

To further illustrate the complexity of the Chinese diaspora, I’ll explain how I met Wēn Pó. My former colleague at eBay, Rose, took interest in the ShowShanti project and told me of an aunt she never met. Her aunt, Wēn Pó, was known within the family for her Hakka home-cooking. I love Hakka cuisine and the relationship between Rose in the states and her great aunt in China, intrigued me.

Upon arriving inside Wēn Pó’s home, she approached me warmly, clutching my arms and welcoming us with a grandmother voice endearing me to her instantly! We were introduced to her son’s schoolmates and wife, who would teach recipes Wēn Pó taught them.

Before the lessons began, Wēn Pó showed me a photograph of herself seated with siblings taken at least 20 years ago. After a bit of discussion challenged by my failure to arrive with Rose’s Chinese name, we figure out which siblings’ daughter I knew.

The recipes taught to me today are Hakka cuisine and the dialect spoken amongst my gracious hosts is Hakka as well.

Ingredients for today's cooking lesson

Fan Shifu begins by introducing me to the ingredients. Flanking me at both sides are Chén Ayi (Wēn Pó’s daughter in-law) and Li Ayi. When Wēn Pó moved to Meizhou, her son grew up with these friends. Her son, Wēn Lǐ, a police officer managing new business licenses, joined us later for lunch.

Kèjiā Niàng Dòufǔ (客家酿豆腐, Hakka-style Stuffed Tofu) is one of my husband’s favorites, so I’m excited over this opportunity to learn how to make it. The process involves a bit of construction. Taking triangular cuts of firm tofu, we slit the hypotenuse and stuff it with a mixture of ground pork, cuttlefish, shallot, and scallion.

The dish could look like this, or better, depending on the amount of oil used.

Tossed with tomatoes then somewhat destroyed in the process, Fan Shifu reasons how this dish looks better in restaurants because they use a lot more oil. More oil means, less tossing and an even, overall-golden crisp.

Kèjiā Niàng Dòufǔ (客家酿豆腐, Hakka's Stuffed Tofu)

Looks set aside, at least the tofu parcels were hàochī (好吃, delicious)!

Slicing the parboiled pork belly for Méicài Kòu Ròu

One pleasure I have acquired from living in China is eating a pork belly cooked until it melts in the mouth, releasing the flavors of accompanying ingredients intertwined with the divine and gratifying savor of pork. Fan Shifu parboils a hunk of pork belly then slices pieces which will return to the wok to crisp and season with soy sauce and salt.

Méicài Kòu Ròu (梅菜扣肉)

Méicài Kòu Ròu (梅菜扣肉) is a dish prepared for special occasions given its multiple steps and perhaps the possibility that this much pork belly should be eaten sparingly. After stir-frying the sliced pork belly in the wok, the slices are placed on a dish with preserved greens between each slice. The slabs are steamed for an hour until the salt-preserved vegetable-fragranced fat seduces and woos taste buds to submission.

The first step to making Suān Tián Cù Liū Yú (酸甜醋溜鱼, Sweet and Sour Fish) takes me back to when I was little and my mom filled the house and her clothes with the aroma of fried fish. Mondays after my piano lessons, my mom would sometimes arrive in the pick-up truck, smelling like the food she was cooking for dinner. Some people like to close all the bedroom doors when cooking, but not me. A house that smells of the food cooking endears me. The aromas fade anyway.

Suān Tián Cù Liū Yú (酸甜醋溜鱼, Sweet and Sour Fish)

So simple! Shredded daikon stir-fried with a little ketchup, sugar, vinegar and ginger then heaped atop the fried fish. I chuckle a little when I see ketchup added to a dish that isn’t fast-food fare. For this dish, Fan Shifu used the ketchup to add color to the dish.

Wēn Lǐ fills our glasses with warm local rice wine

Wēn Lǐ, Wēn Pó’s son, arrives for lunch and warms up a pot of the local Nuòmǐ Jiǔ (糯米酒, Glutinous Rice Wine). Oh, this is too easy to drink!

We retire to the living room for conversation, multiple cups of tea, and pomelo slices. Wēn Lǐ sends us off with two pomelos and two gallons of wine. Usually, after visiting families, I ask myself why I am so lucky to meet such wonderful people and experience the warmth paired with the food I’ve come to discover. After this visit, my heart sinks a little, wishing my colleague whose relatives have never met her, could join me in this full-circle of connections. I’m grateful Rose suggested this visit and I hope today’s gathering is something she can add to her family stories.

This is the second post by guest blogger Andrew Stein.

“Not for all the tea in China,” once uttered an anonymous soul eons ago. What this person meant was, “I wouldn’t do that for all the money in the world.” At that time, likely between the 18th and 19th centuries, tea translated directly into money and the quantity of tea that China—the world’s leading producer—contained within its large borders was as unfathomable as all the word’s money. So, how do we begin to understand an entity as diverse, massive, and unimaginable as China’s tea?

Dark Green Longjing Tea Bushes

All Chinese tea, in the traditional sense of the word, comes from the same plant species: camellia sinensis. This plant grows in tropical and subtropical climates, requires a significant amount of rainfall, and often thrives in high elevations. Although all tea belongs to the camellia sinensis species, this does not mean that all tea plants are identical. Tea plants vary as much as apples; they often produce dissimilar flavors like a “granny smith” and a “golden delicious.” A tea plant’s climate and setting strongly affect its tea leaves. This sensitive plant responds differently to various soils, elevations, weather conditions, and air qualities.

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This is the second post by guest blogger Shanti Christensen.

Fóshān, Guǎngdōng, CHINA — After a thrilling market experience, Qiūfán brings me to her apartment. Her apartment is a stark contrast to most homes I’ve visited; complete with a car parking lot, security gate and balconies. Compared to most homes I’ve visited, her apartment is palatial. Qiūfán lives with her husband and daughter, but for six days of the week her daughter lives at school only to visit on Sundays. Without an opportunity to photograph their family portrait, Qiūfán provides me with her most recent photograph of them together to complete their story.

The Chen family

Taking very little time to prepare, Qiūfán minces Shājiāng (沙姜, galangal / sand ginger) then combines with soy sauce and salt for a whole chicken rub between the skin and meat. She places the chicken into the rice-cooker pot, drizzles a little peanut oil, closes the hatch and presses play. That’s it? This must be the easiest recipe I’ve learned thus far in my project. Get the recipe!

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This is the first post by guest blogger Shanti Christensen.

Fóshān (佛山), CHINA — Every great meal begins with the fun adventure of grocery shopping. This may be tedious for some, but for me it’s another chance to connect with the locals and get seduced into buying other things not on the evening’s menu. Flash me a smile, call me péngyǒu (friend), and tell me “Hao jiu bu jian!” (Long time no see!); I’ll flirt back with the ladies and buy tomatoes I don’t need. “I should keep the house stocked with tomatoes anyway,” I justify to myself.

I arrive in Fóshān and wait at the subway stop for Qiūfán to meet me. She arrives driving a blue sporty hatchback. She apologizes for not having yet bought the ingredients for my cooking lesson and suggests I wait in the car while she pops into the local market.

Wait in the car and miss a market experience? Not me, I had to tag along! Who knows how many amazing things I missed out on when I was kid, waiting in the car while my parents shopped in an antique store? There was nothing I could break in this market, but there were things that broke me with awe.

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Shanti Christensen, storyteller and food explorer, travels China meeting families who teach her their favorite home-style recipes. She writes and photographs for ShowShanti.com while collecting recipes for her future cookbook. Her Filipino mother and Danish-American father passed their wanderlust and passion for food through their own stories. Shanti and her husband are from San Francisco and have lived in Beijing since January 2007. Shanti enjoys making dinner for friends and family, bringing new flavors and tales to the table.

WildChina’s Alex Grieves recently sat down with Shanti to discuss food, travel, and how the two intersect in an interesting journey through culture, customs, unknown ingredients, and more.

Shanti Christensen combines a love of food, travel and blogging in her culinary adventures across China.

WildChina Travel: What inspired you to begin this project?
Shanti Christensen: I had already been in Beijing for two years, working previously as a hospitality coach for Chinese staff. When the economy soured, I reevaluated what I wanted to do with my life. I originally was going to get an MBA, but right before I had planned to leave Beijing I slipped off my bike and broke my arm – thus, traveling was out of the cards. I thought about my interests, and knew that I loved to travel, design, eat, cook, blog and tell stories. Then I had the idea: I love to cook but don’t really know how, so why not travel China and learn from local Chinese families? I want to teach my children to cook in the future, so this opens many opportunities.

WCT: Why China, and why Chinese food and culture?
SC: I really wanted to be part of this growing culture. I arrived here with my husband before the Olympics, which was an incredibly exciting time to be here. I loved being a part of that. Furthermore, I have always loved food – my own heritage [Filipino American] is all about eating, and my mother wanted her children to try everything. I believe that food is something that defines a culture and defines my trips, so I gravitate towards it, and I really enjoy hosting and story telling with recipes and meals.

WCT: When, and where, did your project start?
SC: This project came to me in late March, 2009, and I began traveling in April, 2009. I first visited three families in Shandong province, in Zhanqiu (an area known for its hot springs), a countryside village, and Qingdao. To date, I have visited families in Beijing, Guangdong, Shandong, Sichuan, and Yunnan provinces.
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When you are the founder of a China-based adventure travel company, the weather is cold and you want to entertain, what do you do? Host a holiday dumpling making party, of course!

Guests eagerly prepare their dumpling dinner at Mei Zhang's home

On December 4, 2009, WildChina founder Mei Zhang hosted a number of former WildChina clients, Washington DC-based travel agents and tour operators, university professors, friends and neighbors at her home for an evening of dumpling creation, photo and story sharing, and merriment.

Guests observe a demonstration by Mei

After Mei showed her 30 guests – including those from Portfolio Travel, Cruise Vacation International, and Georgetown University – how to craft didao (authentic) dumplings, everyone sat down to enjoy their creations. Afterwards, guests watched a photo presentation by Mr. and Mrs. Tischler, who went on the Chinese Treasures journey this past fall. Their pictures and stories were enjoyed by all.

Of course, guests didn’t leave without a surprise. Everyone received a dumpling recipe and a bottle of Chinese vinegar as party favors.

Happy holidays from WildChina!

Upon reflection, as a ‘city girl’, I guess I never thought much about where my food came from. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I knew apples grew on trees, and a pumpkin had to be way too heavy for that, so most likely grew on a vine … and I even had a mini (albeit fairly unsuccessful) veggie patch in my inner-city Melbourne share house. In fact, to be completely honest, friends of mine back home would probably testify that I investigate the origin of my food more than most, having chosen long ago the life of a ‘pescetarian’ (seafood eating vegetarian) for ethical reasons. However, my knowledge, until now, has been intellectual rather than experience based.

Autumn in Huayang, Shaanxi

Living, working and exercising in the town of Huayang has allowed me to watch my dinner grow before my very eyes. I have seen the full process, from seed to harvest of some of my favourite vegetables and grains – including eggplants, corn, pumpkin, beans, carrots, rice and wheat to name just a few. It has had a profound affect upon me, and while saying it is a spiritual experience may be taking it too far, at times it has certainly felt like it.  In the cities of the ‘wealthy west’ so often we fill our days and lives with the pursuit of meaningless things … and to watch farmers at work and vegetables slowly growing through the seasons is a nice reminder of our life sustaining needs and the hard work and reliance upon the elements that is required to obtain these necessities.

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When traveling to Shanxi Province (not to be confused with its neighbor, Shaanxi Province) this autumn and winter, the words “wool,” “fleece,” and “long underwear” quickly come to mind. Though Shanxi is located southwest of Beijing, Shanxi is in fact already much colder at this time of year than the Northern Capital. How, then, do visitors enjoy a trip to this province during the colder months?

Not to be deterred by weather, WildChina’s Alex G. set out to find ways to enjoy this compellingly historical province even in down-jacket-season. The secret? Shanxi’s fantastic local selection of specialty noodles. As wheat is one of Shanxi’s main crops, a wide range of noodle dishes are enjoyed here. Thick or thin, round or flat, pulled or sliced, these noodles can please, and warm, any visitor in this ancient cultural hub. The following dishes are some of the author’s favorites, which travelers can find in local restaurants or neighborhood street corners:

1.  Kao Lao Lao: Kao Lao Lao refers to short and hollow cylindrical noodles that are crafted from buckwheat. Known for its unique, honeycomb-like shape – the noodles are all connected – Kao Lao Lao is first steamed and is then stir-fried with a variety of sauces.

A traditional Shanxi buckwheat noodle dish, served with meat and spices

2.  Dao Xiao Mian: These “shaved noodles,” sliced from a ball of dough and then immediately boiled, are chewy, hearty, and taste great in any soup or sauce.

3. Mao Er Duo: As one might imagine, “cat’s ears” are small, curled, and resemble their Italian cousin orrechiete. They are often served with meat and vegetables.

4. Jiu Pian Er: To prepare this noodle dish, one simply pulls off small bits of dough from a large coil of dough and tosses them into boiling water. The result? Bite-sized morsels of wheat-y goodness.

Shanxi’s many types of noodles are traditionally served with a tomato and egg or spicy meat sauce (which vaguely resembles what might be the Chinese version of Bolognese). However, there are many more combinations of vegetables, meat and tofu that the province’s noodle chefs pair with their delectable wheat creations. No matter what type of noodle dish you choose, be sure to add a little extra flavor with another prevalent local specialty: Shanxi vinegar!