China's Top Garlic-Loving Province: No Meal Is Complete Without It!

If you ask someone from Shandong if they love eating pancake rolls with scallions, they might not be too pleased to answer—after all, pancake-eating regions make up only a third of the vast province, and while scallions are great, they’re not universally adored.

But if you ask instead, "Do you eat steamed buns with garlic?"

You might well hear, "Of course! Who eats garlic plain? That’d burn your stomach!"

Shandong is home to two nationally famous "garlic capitals"—Jinxiang and Lanling (formerly Cangshan)—and leads the country in garlic production. In 2021 alone, Shandong planted 3.95 million mu (about 395,000 hectares) of garlic, more than double that of second-place Jiangsu, and its consumption is off the charts.

Of course, tastes vary—not every Shandong local is a garlic fanatic, and habits differ across the province’s diverse regions.

Jinxiang and Lanling, located in southern Shandong, are hubs for hardcore garlic lovers. Street vendors offer garlic in abundance, and even sweet locust flowers picked in spring are drizzled with garlic paste. Moving north, central and northwestern Shandong split their garlic passion between pancakes and steamed buns, casually munching raw cloves and insisting on garlic with barbecue. Coastal areas dial down the "garlic fever" slightly, but seafood dishes still rely on garlic for flavor, and stir-fries often start with scallions and garlic sizzling in oil.

In short, despite regional differences, Shandong’s love for garlic is like Yu Qian’s love for animals—

It’s a must at every meal.

Of Shandong’s 10,800 dishes, garlic stars in nearly 9,000.

Shandong cuisine has deeply influenced culinary traditions across northern and northeastern China, with many local specialties tracing back to Shandong chefs. The most obvious legacy? The sizzle of garlic and scallions in woks echoes through households across the North China Plain and the three northeastern provinces.

Shandong cuisine without garlic is like martial arts with half your skills sealed!

The most famous Shandong dishes are refined "official-style" fare, broadly divided into three schools: the seafood-rich Jiaodong style, the mellow Jinan style, and the elegant Confucian Mansion style. All share a commitment to balance and refinement. Even bold ingredients like kidney or intestines are meticulously prepared to remove gaminess while enhancing flavor—a process impossible without garlic.

Take the iconic "Nine-Turn Intestines": cleaned intestines are steamed, boiled, fried, and braised, with garlic, ginger, and scallions working to neutralize odors without overpowering. The result is a glossy, rich, melt-in-your-mouth dish that wins over even the most skeptical diners.

Home-style Shandong cooking is even more beloved. Guests are often treated to "garlic-burst pork"—thinly sliced meat lightly coated in starch and stir-fried with garlic until just fragrant. Overcooked garlic turns bitter; undercooked, it’s too sharp. Only perfect timing yields tender, aromatic slices. Clean your plate with two bowls of rice, and the host’s pride will soar.

Photo/shuizhongya2018

Some regional Shandong dishes, though not part of the classic repertoire, also hinge on garlic. Zaozhuang’s famed "spicy chicken" hides its secret in a rhyme: "Scallions in segments, garlic in chunks, peppers in wedges—don’t forget the cilantro." Linyi’s "garlic-mashed fish" balances steamed freshness with spicy garlic oil, a scent alone is irresistible.

By day, Shandong dazzles with the Yellow River’s rush to the sea and Mount Tai’s solemn grandeur. By night? Who can focus on anything but the aroma of sizzling skewers?

Start your barbecue tour in Jinan, the "skewer capital" that devours 7.2 tons of grilled meat daily. At low tables on tiny stools, amid vendors’ cries of "Fresh lamb skewers, sir?" listen for the rustle of diners peeling garlic. A bite of meat, a bite of garlic—the crisp heat cuts through richness, the only proper way to barbecue.

"Fresh lamb skewers, sir?"

Don’t miss "garlic-clove meat," skewered alternating meat and garlic. The garlic chars slightly but stays juicy, its burst of flavor merging with meat juices in a heavenly rush.

Zibo's barbecue stands out with its unique setup: small grills paired with thin pancakes, a combination found nowhere else in the country. The skewered meat is served about 70-80% cooked, leaving the final doneness to the diners. Unfold a pancake, lay two spring onions on it, dip the skewers in a mix of sesame salt and crushed peanuts, then roll it up—but don't rush to eat yet. Squeeze on some garlic chili paste, tuck in a couple of garlic cloves, and take a bite—full, satisfying, and utterly delightful!

Garlic cloves with pancakes—pure bliss!

Qingdao folks love "chuozi meat." In Qingdao dialect, "chuozi" refers to a winnowing basket, and the dish is cooked in a small, basket-like utensil. Chunks of pork belly and garlic sizzle together in the "chuozi," releasing an irresistible aroma that could lure anyone's soul away.

Roasted garlic turns sweet and soft—absolutely fragrant!

Of course, the soul of Qingdao barbecue lies in seafood. Think mussels, razor clams, crabs, squid, abalone, lobster, clams, oysters, fresh scallops... The only limit is your appetite. To judge a restaurant's expertise, check if they use "golden and silver garlic" for grilled oysters and scallops. The garlic is added in two batches—half cooked until golden, half left fresh—maximizing its umami-boosting power. Pair the feast with a few gulps of Tsingtao Draft Beer from the No. 5 Brewery, and your summer is complete.

No one can resist oysters grilled with golden and silver garlic—no one!

Until you visit Shandong, you won't know how fresh garlic can be.

Everything mentioned so far uses garlic as a condiment. To truly understand how Shandong people eat garlic, you must share a meal of dumplings with them. Then you'll realize: dipping dumplings in garlic paste is nothing—gnawing on garlic cloves while eating dumplings is the real deal!

One dumpling calls for one garlic clove; one baozi demands at least three. A meal isn't satisfying unless you've polished off two whole garlic bulbs.

"Isn't it too spicy?" you ask. A Shandong local hands you a clove to try for yourself.

Spicy! The moment your teeth break the skin, garlic juice rushes to your taste buds, shooting up to your head and burning down to your chest. You might sneeze or tear up—it feels like the garlic has cleared all seven orifices. But it's so fresh, with a sweet aftertaste. Now you understand: who wouldn't love garlic this vibrant, grown on Shandong soil?

Fresh garlic belongs to summer, but to taste its peak freshness, you must act in spring.

While others forage for wild greens, Shandong people scour the hills for wild garlic. Its flavor, somewhere between scallion and garlic, carries a mountain-fresh aroma. Chopped and tossed with tofu, it's so delicious it could "make your eyebrows fall off." When locust blossoms bloom, pick a bunch, coat them in flour, steam them, and drizzle with garlic paste. Don't dismiss this as odd—one bite reveals a harmony of清香甜辣, as if the entire spring's freshness bursts in your mouth.

Pluck some fresh garlic sprouts from your garden and dip them in fermented bean paste—you'll swallow a year's worth of sweetness in one bite. Wait ten days or so, and garlic scapes emerge. These can also be dipped in sauce, though they're spicier now, so sweet bean paste balances it better. Alternatively, blanch the scapes and quick-pickle them with seasonings for an hour or two—texturally complex, yet just as鲜.

If you're not ready to啃生蒜, garlic paste is a great alternative. There's a trick to pounding it in a mortar: steady hands are key. Avoid heavy, erratic strokes that splatter juice. Instead, use small, rapid, and firm "taps" to create a smooth, sticky paste that elevates any dish.

Garlic paste is incredibly versatile. Southern Shandong locals steam elm seed buns and dip them in garlic paste to avoid dryness, savoring the mouthwatering result. Yantai's焖子 (a jelly-like dish) tastes incomplete without garlic paste, no matter how much seafood or shrimp oil is added. In Weifang, summer isn't complete without sesame sauce salad—but a spoonful of garlic paste is what truly brings it to life.

Elm seed buns and sesame sauce salad—how could you eat them without garlic paste?

Fig.1: Elm seed buns. Photo/VCG

Fig.2: Sesame sauce salad. Photo/只会爬树的猫

In spring, coastal areas have a专属下酒菜—raw marinated snapping shrimp. Freshly caught pistol shrimp are腌生, tossed with ginger shreds, minced garlic, and doused in piping hot chili oil. The taste is so鲜甜 and plump, you can't help but exclaim, "Devour 300 shrimp a day, and I'd never leave Jiaodong!"

When it comes to eating garlic paste, people from southern Shandong have a clever trick to teach you: boil an egg until it's well-done, peel it, toss it into a mortar along with a clove of garlic, add some salt, and mash it all together. The result is an incredibly delicious egg and garlic mix. Don’t let its simplicity fool you—the creamy yolk, chewy egg white, and crunchy minced garlic are so good that you could spread it on steamed buns, mix it with rice, or even slather it on bicycle brake pads for a snack (just kidding, don’t actually do that…).

Psst, let me tell you, it’s also great tossed with noodles.

After all this, some friends might still frown and say, "No matter how tasty garlic is, the smell is just too strong."

That’s not a problem—Shandong folks have a solution: after eating garlic, just munch on two apples. This isn’t a joke. The abundant polyphenols in apples react with the sulfur compounds in garlic, effectively neutralizing the odor. Eating some lettuce or chewing mint leaves also works, but with Yantai apples right at hand, why not enjoy the good stuff?

Of all the pungent flavors in the world, Shandong people have a special love for garlic. (You say scallions? Aren’t those just fruit?)

Admittedly, garlic has a knack for making people recoil: the first bite burns the mouth, the second burns the heart, and the pungency shoots up your nose and straight to your brain. Even three mouthfuls of steamed bread can’t suppress the fiery heat rising from your chest, and the smell is practically a mobile biochemical weapon.

Only after tempering steel into suppleness do you realize garlic is a gentleman among flavors: it’s always the first into the wok, cutting through grease, absorbing oil, and boldly drawing out the umami of all other ingredients, then retreating into the background, leaving behind just a hint of soft sweetness.

Roasted garlic is always gentle.

Pungency is garlic’s backbone; sweetness and softness are its warmth. Like a tough-as-nails man with a heart full of boundless tenderness.

Even Shandong kids who’ve left home and aren’t big garlic fans will find their memories stirred by its familiar aroma—those ordinary moments they once took for granted—and recall garlic’s many virtues.

So they dig out that bulb of garlic their parents tucked into their luggage, peel it, take a bite, and suddenly their eyes feel a little warm.

It’s not homesickness—it’s just that this garlic is really, really spicy.