China's Most Adventurous Bacon Province: If It Exists, They Can Cure It!

Friends who recently visited Hunan, be warned: when you look up at the sky at a 45-degree angle, you might encounter some dark, air-drying giants. They might be hanging outside Hunanese homes, on clotheslines, fitness equipment, or even atop bus stops—dense as an armory, yet far from weapons. These are, in fact, a delicious ingredient for the pot—yes, it’s the season for Hunanese smoked cured meats.

Hunanese love spice, but they adore "cured" even more. While making cured meats is a common technique in Sichuan, Guizhou, Guangdong, and Zhejiang, it’s in Hunan where the practice takes on an especially wild form. Here, the question isn’t what can be cured—it’s what can’t. Cured pork, chicken, duck, and goose are just the basics. With Hunan’s mastery of curing, even turtle and frog are fair game. A viral photo once showed a Hunan cured-meat shop with walls lined with cured crocodile and loach—so striking it looked like a museum’s biological specimen exhibit. Today, Hunan’s cured meats come from legally farmed animals, but the variety remains astonishing.

Why are Hunanese so obsessed with cured meats? The answer likely lies on their dining tables. Unassuming in appearance, cured meats transform into countless delicacies—stir-fried, steamed, or simmered in a warming winter hotpot. They’re also snacks to pair with drinks. This flavorful universe of cured meats brings Hunanese an especially rich and fragrant winter happiness.

Around the winter solstice, Hunanese families all begin bustling with activity—rural pig farmers gather friends to prepare for slaughtering New Year pigs, while city dwellers clear supermarket shelves of meat. All for one shared goal: smoking cured meats.

Cured pork is a must-have for Hunanese every lunar December. Its origins weren’t about taste but practicality—Hunan’s damp climate, especially in western mountainous regions, made preserving fresh pork difficult. Locals adapted by curing and smoking it. Salt drives out moisture and locks in freshness, while time and weathering give the meat a deep red, rugged crust and an increasingly rich, intoxicating aroma. Glancing up at the beams of a wood-fired stove, rows of hanging cured pork give Hunanese kids the illusion of being in a land of plenty—a direct measure of New Year happiness, much like northerners stockpiling cabbage for security.

To make perfect cured pork, start with well-proportioned cuts of belly, rub them generously with salt, and press them into clay jars to cure. Once the salt fully penetrates, string the meat on sturdy lines and let it bask in the warmth of the stove’s smoke. Locals often add cypress leaves, sawdust, or dried citrus peels to the fire. Patience is key—wait ten days to half a month for the meat to absorb the smoky fragrance, reaching peak deliciousness.

Southern China broadly makes cured meats, but each province has its own style. Guangdong’s roasted meats are mild and balanced, Sichuan’s are fiery with Sichuan peppercorns, while Hunan’s cured meats pursue bold smokiness and the most intimidating appearance—jet-black, rock-hard, and capable of a thud when dropped. At first glance, it’s hard to imagine appetite, but this rough exterior is just a "protective shell." Once cleaned, sliced, and cooked, it reveals a glistening, tender interior with translucent fat, hinting at its chewy texture when stir-fried.

Hunanese maximize every part of the pig—head to toe, nothing goes to waste. The head, prized for its flavor, becomes cured pork face; trotters are treasures; offal like intestines turn crispy and fragrant when cured, winning over even skeptics. Heart, lungs, and even blood get the treatment—Shaoyang’s cured blood tofu blends pig’s blood with tofu and pork, perfect for slicing and stir-frying.

It’s not just pork—Hunanese see all meats as candidates for curing. Lakeside dwellers swear by cured fish, especially bighead carp and grass carp. But their ambitions stretch further: cured turtle, resembling a massive shield, looks battle-ready. Whole cured chickens, ducks, geese, and even squab hang dramatically, as if still mid-cry. In this light, cured meat isn’t just food—it’s a testament to Hunanese boldness in culinary exploration.

Spend a few days eating in Hunan, and you’ll see—cured meats aren’t just a winter staple but year-round fixtures on Hunanese menus, representing the essence of local flavor in their handmade craftsmanship.

Despite its tough appearance, cured pork is a cooperative kitchen ally. A quick boil washes away grime and excess salt, leaving slices ready to steam or stir-fry—versatile enough to pair with anything.

Steamed cured pork is the simplest way to savor its original flavor. Blanched, sliced, and topped with dried chilies and Liuyang fermented black beans, it’s finished with a drizzle of tea oil. The result glistens with fat, needing no extra seasoning. Impatient kids lurk by the cutting board, snatching slices mid-prep—the first bite is always the best.

Liuyang’s tables boast the most steamed cured dishes, from ribs and sausages to fish, plus the ultimate "Cured Meat Medley," where pork, fish, and ribs unite as a guest-worthy centerpiece. The method is deceptively nuanced: spices are stir-fried first to infuse the meat, filling the room with an aroma that signals—no one’s leaving without seconds.

Hunanese love stir-fries, and cured pork shines here too, offering wok-fired intensity unlike steaming. Its flavorful fat coats ingredients perfectly: paired with winter bamboo shoots, it delivers salty and fresh explosions; with smoked bamboo shoots, it’s deeper and earthier. Sun-dried radish adds crunch, while garlic chives or shallots balance richness with brightness.

Hot pots are winter warmers, with cured trotters stealing late-night shows—tender, not greasy, and utterly addictive. Dry pots of cured duck or frog grow more enticing as they simmer, ideal with drinks.

Beyond meals, cured meats sneak into snacks. Fried cured fish with spicy toppings pairs with rice or stands alone as a nibble. Cured pork dices stuff Xiangxi’s glutinous rice cakes, offering savory bites of daily joy.

While commercial cured meats now fill shelves elsewhere, vacuum-packed versions can’t replace the slow-crafted flavors etched in Hunanese memories.

To them, homemade cured pork remains the gold standard. Post-holiday, luggage and car trunks overflow with it, yet they’ll still call out: "Mom, pack two more!"

Cover & header image | Tuchong Creativity

This article is original content from [Di Dao Feng Wu].