China's Most Night-Owl City: How Wild Are Their Late-Night Eats?

On April 1st, Baoye Road began its demolition.

This was the liveliest late-night food paradise in the hearts of Guangzhou locals. Once, this 800-meter-long street called Baoye Road was lined with dozens of time-honored eateries and open-air food stalls, bustling all night long with bright lights, the clatter of dice, and the mingled aromas of beer, charcoal grills, and garlic—a haven for souls unwilling to sleep.

And the soul of Baoye Road: Stir-Fried Snails Ming.

Photo/NanDu N-Video, Yuechengji

Fortunately, even without Baoye Road, Guangzhou still offers many joyful dining options. The comfortable nighttime climate of Lingnan provides ideal conditions for the "Guangzhou late-night snack" scene. At 2 a.m. on Enning Road, the arcade streets buzz under the hazy moonlight, with crackling clay stoves and roaring charcoal fires. Rows of steaming clay pots release an intoxicating mix of aromas—whether lamb hotpot, chicken hotpot, or congee—playing a hypnotic nocturnal serenade.

Congee hotpot, a style of Cantonese hotpot.

Rice noodle rolls, congee, hotpot, sizzling clay pots… From the earliest open-air stalls along Yanjiang Road to the unnamed alley behind Chen Clan Academy’s square, packed with seafood stir-fry joints, then across the Pearl River to the Party Pier beer and arts district, Baiyun District’s Korean-themed Yuanjing Road, the perpetually parking-challenged Tianhe Yuancun Siheng Road, and the brightly lit Nansha District’s 19 Yong Seafood Street—Guangzhou’s late-night scene thrives.

In Guangzhou’s late-night feasts, clay pot dishes are indispensable.

Guangzhou’s late-night snacks are like an extension of urban joy. Countless stalls fill the void between late night and early dawn. If cities that cherish late-night eats are happier, then Guangzhou’s happiness index ranks first nationwide.

In Guangzhou, tea is a must, morning or night.

"Night tea" is the essence of Guangzhou’s tea culture.

The first lesson in Guangzhou’s late-night dining: night tea. If a local says, "Let’s have tea sometime," don’t rush to set an early alarm—half the time it’s politeness, the other half, they might mean night tea, not morning tea. Since a century ago, Guangzhou’s teahouses have adopted the "three teas, two meals" model: morning, afternoon, and night tea, plus lunch and dinner, welcoming guests around the clock.

In the early 1980s, as disco music swept China, Guangzhou’s night tea scene introduced evening music tea lounges. The city’s Dongfang Hotel hosted the nation’s first music teahouse, where diners enjoyed dim sum alongside live performances. The 1980s-90s marked the golden age of Guangzhou’s night tea culture. On sleepless nights, friends gathered at Pearl River-side restaurants for tea.

Today, some teahouses still offer folk performances.

Photo/Ear East Dust

Few old-timers remember the music tea lounges. More middle-aged locals will eagerly recount which historic hotels—Da San Yuan, Da Tong, Aiqun, Xinya, Xinhua, White Palace, or East Asia—offered the best-value night tea or the most flavorful chicken feet, spare ribs, and shrimp dumplings.

On one side, the night view; on the other, night tea.

Night tea dim sum differs little from morning tea, but the vibe is more relaxed. Morning tea is about dignified leisure, while night tea thrives amid boisterous Cantonese banter (and the occasional expletive). Locals’ signature attire—shorts and flip-flops—is also more common after dark.

Unlike morning tea’s decorum, night tea’s essence lies in "snatching." Shedding daytime formality, diners jostle for the best baskets—like molten custard buns or chef’s special pepper tripe—before they’re gone till tomorrow.

At the dim sum cart, hesitation means missing out.

The night tea auntie, though not the most polite but full of energy, is also part of the teahouse scenery. Pushing her cart in circles to sell freshly made dim sum, she skillfully and steadily passes steaming baskets of juicy snacks over the heads of the bustling diners, all while clearly marking the sizes (large, medium, small) and special or premium items with greasy stamps on the order cards.

The relaxed joy of "having a sip of tea and a bite of a bun" at 11 PM is a unique "late-night snack" happiness for Cantonese people. It’s not about tirelessly chasing flavors; what matters more to them is the free-spirited, lively entertainment vibe behind the noisy teahouse tables, which grows even more vibrant as the night deepens.

There’s always one who shows up at a Cantonese late-night food stall.

Cantonese late-night dining also comes with a hidden time-sensitive playbook.

If you’re after a bowl of perfectly fresh pork offal congee, leaving downtown at 10 PM is ideal. Traffic is inevitable, but arriving at Panyu Nancun’s marked spot by 11 PM to secure a seat, chatting and drinking with friends as a warm-up, sets the stage. Around midnight, the shopkeeper shouts "Line up!"—a crowd surges forward, forming a long queue. The staff swiftly grab pig livers, intestines, hearts, and more, tossing them into plastic baskets with seamless efficiency, as if waiting even a few seconds would cause the mountain of offal to lose its prime color and freshest "eating moment."

Pork offal freshly delivered from the slaughterhouse.

Photo / *Drunk on a City*

Every night at the pork offal stall, this intense race between food and time plays out. Most diners can’t tell the difference between iron-plate sand ginger pork offal at 1 AM versus 2 AM, but those who get the first wok of sand ginger stir-fried offal at 12:30 AM undoubtedly earn the envy and respect of everyone present.

Four hours later, another group of Cantonese will time their arrival in the old town, convinced that the final plate of stir-fried beef hor fun before the 4 AM closing is the best of the night. Because "the wok at 4 AM has been frying beef hor fun all night—it’s the one with the most *wok hei*."

It’s an important criterion for judging a Cantonese restaurant.

*Wok hei*, always an indefinable mystique in Cantonese cuisine, isn’t just about food seared at 200°C to trigger caramelization and Maillard reactions. It’s also the aroma, flavor, and presentation, infused with the warmth of old streets and the hustle of life—ensuring tender beef, evenly heated bean sprouts, and hor fun that’s fragrant but never burnt.

Naturally, this defies scientific explanation. But who knows? That 4 AM street-side wok frying beef hor fun holds the secrets of bus drivers ending their shifts, witnesses the excitement of Cantonese emerging from mahjong parlors, and carries the triumphs and sorrows of overtime office workers in CBD high-rises. It’s no ordinary wok.

At 4 AM, no one can deny it’s the most storied plate of beef hor fun in the city.

Chilled, stir-fried, freshly slaughtered, boiling congee—

Spiciness is the dividing line between Guangzhou’s late-night snacks and those elsewhere. Crawfish, grilled fish, skewers… the national trio of greasy, spicy late-night staples isn’t the Cantonese mainstream. Nightlife may be indulgent, but the dietary moral bottom line of "no heatiness" must be firmly upheld.

Traditional Guangzhou late-night menus don’t need spice to stay fiery. High-heat boils, claypot explosions, chilling, frying… Seafood stir-fries, congee, noodles, and rice are already masterfully performed under layered nightscapes and flickering lights. Every late-night spot is a battleground for Cantonese chefs to flaunt their wild culinary skills.

The control of heat affects every dish’s outcome.

Photo / *Drunk on a City*

Decades-old dai pai dongs have perfected the "fire and ice" signature to attract customers, balancing coolness and warmth to dispel the stifling southern heat. Just-out-of-the-wok soy sauce king prawns, salt-and-pepper squid, and garlic chicken wings pair with bitter gourd and conch chilled all day in the fridge. Frog hotpot and shrimp paste-fried water spinach must be eaten hot, while soy milk, sarsae, and Zhujiang beer are served ice-cold. On the glass round table, one side holds thinly sliced Shunde fish sashimi spread over a block of ice, while on the other, a pot of deboned crucian carp congee bubbles fiercely—a mutual vigil. In this Cantonese late-night feast, fire and ice coexist, each leaving a profound mark.

Top: Thinly sliced Shunde fish sashimi spread over a block of ice;

For Guangzhou locals at a late-night meal, nothing is more essential than a pot of congee. There's a Cantonese saying, "having eaten some midnight congee," which implies having some skills. The origin traces back to Hung Hei-gun, who ran a martial arts school in Guangzhou during the Qing Dynasty. His disciples, exhausted from nighttime training, were rewarded with congee prepared by his wife. The more "midnight congee" one ate, the more "kung fu" one practiced—a notion that still holds relevance today.

Everyone who seeks a bowl of hot congee on the streets late at night has a story of hard work from earlier in the evening. Without needing words, a bowl of hot congee soothes and heals all. In the past, debates occasionally arose over whether Cantonese "sang gun" congee or Teochew claypot congee was superior. Now, with countless congee varieties at late-night stalls, few locals delve into the origins of claypot congee. Silky-smooth congee enhances everything it touches, and claypot congee, having thrived in Guangzhou's late-night scene for years, is now unquestionably part of the city's congee lineage.

A bowl of hot congee soothes and heals all.

The bustling Panyu streets offer the ultimate fresh pork offal congee; the old Xiguan rice noodle shops serve piping-hot "sang gun" congee; beneath the Tianhe overpass, claypot congee with live shrimp and crab coexists with grilled oysters. Hidden in alleyways are boat congee, century egg and lean pork congee, dried vegetable and salted bone congee—all masters of depth and flavor. Under neon lights, a bowl of "midnight congee" inevitably meets rice noodles and stir-fries, together forming the backbone of Guangzhou's late-night dining scene.

Guangzhou mothers often remind their children: "Eat rice when there's rice; eat congee when there's congee." A bowl of congee, infused with local flavors and deep affection, is the most comforting way to end a long night.

On the late-night streets, beneath Lingnan's evening breeze, lies the Guangzhou spirit of contentment—a simple, free-spirited love for life.

A rice noodle roll shop still open late at night.

Cover image | Zhang Haibin

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