Northwesterners Who Can't Pronounce "Fēng Qǐ Yún Yǒng" Right, and Their Steamed Buns, Hand-Kneaded Noodles, Fish-Shaped Dough, Rolled Pancakes, and More...

Can you accurately pronounce the four characters "风起云涌" (fēng qǐ yún yǒng)?

Recently, a video of a little girl from Baiyin, Gansu, struggling to pronounce "风起云涌" went viral. The child read it with such effort that it came out as "fēn qǐ yǒng yǒng." Many Gansu netizens, refusing to believe it was that hard, tried imitating her—only to find it equally "tongue-twisting" for themselves.

The tongue-twisting "风起云涌." Photo/Shaanxi News

The hashtag #WhenGansuPeopleSay风起云涌# trended online. Who gets tripped up by pronouncing "风起云涌"? The answer: Northwesterners.

The Great Northwest often conjures images of ruggedness, but the locals' endearing accents and speech quirks don’t quite match that stereotype. Beyond mixing up "un" and "ong" or nasal sounds in "风起云涌," their daily speech is also packed with reduplications.

More importantly, the reduplication universe of Northwesterners hides countless delicious treats.

In Gansu and Shaanxi, daily meals start with steamed "guanguan" buns and "guanguan" tea for breakfast. In summer, lunch might be "biangbiang" noodles or chilled "miànyúyu" (noodle fish). Snacks include dried fruits ("shuǐguǒ gāngān") or watermelon slices ("xīguā yáyá"). Dinner could be a bowl of "róurou jiéjie," and midnight snacks might feature chicken soup jelly ("jītāng dòngdong")...

In Tianshui, don’t miss "guāguā." Photo/Gansu Yiyiguxing, via Tuchong Creative

Shanxi folks just smile and drop a rap-like string:

"Morning or night, it’s 'nàiyǎoyao,' 'hūtātā,' 'zǎowōwo'... For meals, there’s 'liūjiānjian,' 'kǎolǎolao,' 'gēcuōcuo'..."

They say the Loess Plateau is rugged and bold, but with all these cute-sounding foods, are you sure you’re not just being adorable?

"Mómo," "quānquan," and "juǎnjuan" make bellies big and round.

On the Loess Plateau, there are as many types of "mómo" (buns) as there are hills.

The most common, like Jingchuan’s "guanguan" buns, resemble small jars—soft and fluffy. Soaked in hot water, they make a hearty meal. Even plain buns can feel ceremonial, like Zhuanglang’s giant "mómo," weighing several pounds, a staple at weddings and funerals. From Dingxi to Wuwei, "gāogao mómo" are daily delights, even replacing mooncakes during Mid-Autumn Festival.

Flower buns ("huāmómo") weighing several pounds. Photo/Minshan Hua'er

These "gāogao mómo" are plain outside but colorful inside: sweet red rose or lily, spicy yellow turmeric, earthy green lentils, and glossy flaxseed—layering humble wheat with rich flavors.

The most famous Northwestern bun is Shaanbei’s yellow "huángmómo" from *A Bite of China*. Made from millet and stuffed with sweet bean-jujube paste, it’s rustic yet sweet. Locals also love plump "yóumómo," golden like coins, perfect for celebrations.

"Yóumómo." Photo/Pengbo Images, via Tuchong Creative

Deep-fried "mómo" become "quānquan" (rings). Small ones, like Shaanbei’s "yóumómo," fit a chopstick; large ones, like Tongwei’s buckwheat rings, could rival Nezha’s cosmic hoops. Crispy outside, tender inside, they’re delicious. Add a base to the ring, use less oil, and you get "wōwo" (hollow buns).

In the Northwest, "mómo," "quānquan," and "juǎnjuan" often go hand in hand. Photo/Zhang Lütang, from *Fengwu China Zhi: Pingliang*

Juanjuan, a term nestled between momo (steamed buns) and quanquan (rings), refers to a common street food stall where these three often compete for attention. A staple on Northwestern Chinese tables, juanjuan is particularly notable in Pingliang's version made with fermented glutinous rice (jiumi), a key ingredient for brewing. Ground into flour, rolled, cut, fermented, and steamed, it yields a soft, sweet treat with a subtle wine-like aroma. Minqin locals take it further: freshly made juanjuan with flaxseed oil is quickly dried, becoming essential sustenance for watermelon farmers. During breaks, it doubles as a natural spoon to scoop watermelon, striking a perfect sweet-salty harmony on the palate.

Fermented rice juanjuan often swirls into vortex shapes. Illustration by Lin Tianyi, from *Fengwu China: Pingliang*.

How many "flour faces" can one snack create?

In summer, nothing beats the coolness of a bowl of "yuyu."

Yuyu aren’t made of meat but flour. Wheat flour for finesse, cornmeal for grit, buckwheat for heft—each "flour face" shines. Boiled into a paste and dripped through a colander into cold water, they form fingernail-sized dough drops resembling tiny fish. Topped with refreshing sour-fermented vegetable broth (jiangshui) and chive blossoms, they’re called guozou in Tianshui. With braised broth and chili oil, they transform into Shaanxi’s mianyu (noodle fish).

Shaanxi-Gansu’s jiangshui yuyu becomes diliu in Shanxi. Photo © Huituwang.

Simple yet revitalizing—cool broth, fresh grains, and aromatic greens make this yuyu a summer cleanser in a bowl.

In Shanxi, mian yuyu turns into hanyu, swapping the "diving" method for dry-rubbing. Hearty oat flour, suited to highland tastes, is hand-rolled into fish shapes, paired perfectly with sweet-tomato sauce or lamb and potatoes.

Oat flour, a tri-province staple, is lifeblood in northern Shanxi. Another star is kaolaolao (aka oat flour "nests" in Inner Mongolia). Rolled into cylinders and steamed, they pair with tomato-egg sauce, minced meat-potato ragout, or simple pickled cabbage brine—all earthy Loess Plateau flavors.

Oat flour kaolaolao—delicious! Photo © Internet.

The same reduplicative word carries different flavors here. Gansu’s jiao jiao—oversized fried leek pockets—become steamed dumplings in Shanxi. Guagua, the chewy star of Baoji’s cold-skin noodles, is a buckwheat jelly snack in Tianshui across the Qinling Mountains. Either way, a glossy spoonful of chili oil is the soul.

Reduplicative snacks shine at festivals. What’s known as mahua or dansan elsewhere becomes guoguo in Gansu. February 2nd’s fried beans are called miandoudou (or qidou) in eastern Gansu—egg-and-sesame-enriched dough cut into cubes, fried in lard till golden. In Shanxi’s Linfen, they’re "fried paopao," earth-cooked in loess soil. Sifted clean, these crispy bites carry no earthiness, just a wheaty fragrance—pure magic.

Doudou or paopao, cutting comes first. Photo by Zheng Li.

On the Loess Plateau, it’s all about "eating rou rou" (meat) and shanyao dandan (potatoes).

After staples and snacks, the Plateau’s culinary MVP is the humble potato (shanyao dandan).

Shaanbei’s heileinglei: grated potato balls, great stir-fried or cold. Shanxi’s oat flour "dumplings" wrap potato shreds like spring rolls. Qingyang’s spring mutton/alfalfa or potato-steamed buns are called muxu/yangyu liangliang. Tianshui’s jiangtuan—soft, translucent potato starch pudding—is cooled, sliced, and dressed as "ranran."

Sour-spicy potato ranran. Photo © Apple.

But the Plateau’s potato crown goes to yangyu qunqun (east Gansu/Shaanbei). The name, echoing *Epang Palace*’s spirals, suits its coiled shredded potatoes. Tossed with flour, steamed, and dipped, it’s a healthy, oily yet flavorful staple-snack hybrid. In Shanxi, tweaked as "potato caca," same reduplicative deliciousness.

Yangyu qunqun, a Northwestern favorite. Illustration by Lin Tianyi, from *Fengwu China: Pingliang*.

Corn plays potato’s counterpart. Ground into porridge (mianhuhu), short noodles (mianjiejie), or yuyu, or cracked into grits (yumi shenshen), its simplicity carries a nostalgic sweetness. There’s also qianqian饭: flattened copper-coin-shaped soybeans boiled with millet or sorghum into a sticky-sweet gruel.

People in Ningxia love to eat lamb, and the texture and flavor of Ningxia Tan sheep meat are beyond question. In Ningxia's lamb hot pot, two magical side dishes are indispensable: potato cakes and translucent jelly skins. The potato cakes are chewy, while the jelly skins are crystal clear. Dipped in lamb broth, they offer a delightful combination of smoothness and chewiness, creating a uniquely wonderful texture.

Which one is the potato cake, and which one is the jelly skin? Photo/Geethan

Reduplicative delicacies paired with meat are even more common in Min County, Gansu, on the edge of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau. A winter breakfast is incomplete without a bowl of lamb porridge, which traces its origins to ancient meat broth. The base is made from lamb bones with marrow, simmered with small pieces of lamb and japonica rice over low heat, seasoned with the soul of the soup—pepper. This exclusive winter breakfast on the plateau is truly fragrant and spicy.

After the porridge, there’s barley "suosuo," best paired with finely sliced cured meat. Even in the chilly winter night markets, the atmosphere is lively—tear half a roasted chicken and slurp a bowl of steaming, slippery chicken soup jelly. Shepherd's purse jelly is fresh and tender, while the pepper-laced chicken soup is rich and enticing.

Barley "suosuo," the perfect match for meat. Photo/Minshan Hua'er

In Shanxi, "moca" (rubbed dough) pairs perfectly with minced meat or chopped lamb tails. Stir oat flour and mashed potatoes into a sticky mixture, spread a damp cloth over a steamer, and use chopsticks to evenly portion the dough onto the cloth. Add seasonings like scallions and salt—the result is chewy yet not tough, sticky yet not soft. Topped with gravy, it’s the heartiest dish.

Of course, it’s not accurate to say the Loess Plateau only offers noodles and meat. Because wild vegetables were once scarce, Northwesterners have especially affectionate names for them—"huihui" greens, "kuku" greens, "jiji" greens... These wild vegetables are either dressed with garlic paste and oil for cold dishes or become green "seasonings" in fermented pickled vegetable brine: adding a fresh aroma to the sour tang of the brine, then blending into snacks like "yuyu" and "jiaotuan," or everyday meals.

The pickled vegetable brine hides many reduplicative greens. Photo/onekeys, Image/Hui Tu Net

The reduplicative words of Northwesterners conceal a culinary secret.

Looking at the rugged terrain of the Loess Plateau, it’s as if these reduplicative foods emerged because ancient communication "relied on shouting." Behind the reduplicatives may lie culinary secrets. Though two villages might be separated only by a ravine, the chasm is bottomless, requiring ten days to a fortnight to traverse. Thus, people could only shout across the gully:

"What are you eating today—day—day?"

"Buckwheat—wheat—cakes—cakes..."

However, the idea that echoes birthed reduplicative foods is just a simple guess. In reality, reduplicatives stem from remnants of ancient language and the linguistic melting pot along the pastoral-agricultural border. These "cute" terms genuinely hide the secrets of deliciousness.

Guess what’s inside—"laolao" or "xiaoxiao"? Image/From the trailer of "Flavorful Origins: Gansu"

A simple descriptor can imply subtle differences in texture: Take a gleaming block of jelly—what’s the difference between "laolao," thin strands scooped from the top with a slotted spoon, and "xiaoxiao," thin slices shaved from the side with a knife? Without tasting it in Tianshui, it’s hard to grasp the mystery.

In eastern Gansu, reduplicatives are a guide to noodle variations. The "caca" and "rourou" often mentioned by Pingliang locals involve kneading, resting, and rolling dough—scrub here, knead there, add minced meat "keke," and you get a hearty, comforting staple. Hand-pulled noodles are called "cuocuo" noodles; cut into inch-long pieces, they become "jiejie" noodles. Beyond these, there are "xianxian" noodles, "bangbang" noodles, and "gungun" noodles—ranging from thin to thick, catering to all preferences.

Do you prefer wide or thin noodles? Photo/Zhu Rui

On the other end of the Loess Plateau, in Shanxi, the noodle powerhouse, reduplicative guides are even more intricate. Shanxi people wield "18 martial arts" like shaving, picking, flicking, rubbing, pressing, pulling, and rolling to create a dazzling array of styles: "woliuliu," "gecuocuo," "qiebanban," "xiepianpian," and more. Coupled with Shanxi’s dialect diversity—where accents change every ten miles—even a local might struggle to name the standard terms for this feast. For example, Qi County’s "naiyaoyao" is hard to decipher without explanation—it’s actually a type of pancake that becomes tough when cold.

Shanxi’s first noodle-making technique: shaving. Image/Internet

From eastern Gansu to northern Shaanxi and Yanbei, everyone enjoys reduplicative foods from the same yellow earth. The staples are largely similar—what matters are the accompaniments and seasonings: beef and lamb or pork? Chili oil or aged vinegar? Potato and tofu mince or tomato sauce? Different tastes reflect people’s love for everyday flavors.

Reduplicated delicacies are not just the fare of the Loess Plateau people; they bloom in the scattered wildflowers along the Yellow River's banks and thrive in the layered verses of the Book of Songs and Tang poetry, turning everyday life vibrant and radiant.

Which "reduplicated-word" Northwest delicacies have you tried?

Cover image丨Zhang Lütang, from *China's Local Flavors: Pingliang*

Discussing reduplicated words in Northern Shaanxi dialect—Starting with "zhuanquanquan hong" *Guangming Daily*

Those adorable reduplicated words make Shanxi dialect irresistibly endearing *Shanxi Evening News*