Dare You Say You've Been to the Northwest Without Trying This "Carb King"?

Mid-spring April is the perfect time for outings. Across the northwest lands—from the millennia-old Chang'an by the Wei River, to the flower-covered slopes south of the Qinling Mountains, and the "Jiangnan of Longshang" in southeastern Gansu—everywhere is filled with endless lines of cars and seas of people.

Steamed, boiled, roasted, pan-fried, or deep-fried—the eighteen styles of carb-loaded delights, along with bold and hearty servings of beef and lamb, make the northwest an unbeatable destination for food adventures. Yet after being bombarded by carbs and meat, the final act often features a mysterious snack with vibrant red-and-green hues, delivering flavors that range from spicy and rich to uniquely sour and lingering—

Jiaotuan: A classic traffic-light color scheme, with an authentic tangy-spicy taste.

It may seem unremarkable at first glance, but one bite reveals the fragrance of buckwheat, the sweetness of corn, and the soft, sticky texture of potatoes dancing on the tongue. It returns to the essence of carbs—"formless yet transformative"—capable of endless variations: served cold, stir-fried, in soups, or pan-fried. Pickled vegetables, fermented brine, chili oil, preserved leeks... the secrets of northwest seasoning all shine in this humble dish.

Jiaotuan can be cut into blocks or shaped into corn-flour "fish" served with fermented brine.

Its preparation is hardcore: boiling water meets flour in a pot, resembling a cement mixer at a construction site. The chef, initially chatty and relaxed, soon falls silent, sweating profusely, brows furrowed, teeth clenched, until exhaustion sets in, prompting a desperate cry: "Who’ll take over stirring?" Beginners may end up poking a hole through the pot with a rolling pin, causing a kitchen disaster.

So, some abandon the belief that "food lacks soul unless made by hand" and turn to power tools—

Watching the process, someone once asked me,

"Did your stocks crash, so you’re eating concrete now?"

Exactly—this is Jiaotuan, ubiquitous in the northwest. Once a staple powerhouse, it has now morphed into a snack so hardcore it’s like a culinary mudslide!

How does a bowl of Jiaotuan stir up the entire northwest?

The northwest is a land of rugged loess plateaus. Where there’s loess, there are coarse grains and potatoes—and where there are coarse grains and potatoes, there’s Jiaotuan.

Gansu is a Jiaotuan universe!

Gansu, where the Loess Plateau, Tibetan Plateau, and Inner Mongolian Plateau converge, boasts diverse terrain and climates, producing nearly all of China’s coarse grains and potatoes—making it the epicenter of Jiaotuan’s countless styles and preparations.

Take, for example, the potato Jiaotuan that wowed China in *A Bite of China*. Despite its name, it requires no stirring—just boiling, peeling, cooling, pounding, and seasoning, showcasing the northwest’s deep carb wisdom.

It’s the tender, tangy, and spicy potato Jiaotuan.

Wudu, Gansu, is a city awakened by potato Jiaotuan.

"For a good meal, pound potatoes into Jiaotuan." Select thin-skinned, starchy, low-moisture potatoes, steam them thoroughly, peel while hot, then pound relentlessly in a wooden trough with a mallet. The chunks dissolve into pale yellow mash, then gain elasticity until glossy and slightly luminous.

The final product looks jade-white, feels springy and smooth, and tastes impeccably dense—the pinnacle of potato cuisine.

Making potato Jiaotuan is an art.

Some compare its silky texture to Michelin three-star chefs' triple-sifted mashed potatoes, yet with superior chewiness; others insist on pounding it with a stone mortar to highlight the potatoes' resilience; while some, driven by cravings, simply use beer bottle bottoms to smash cooked potatoes in the pot—embodying the DIY spirit of self-sufficiency...

Such potato jiangtuan has long been elevated to a culinary faith.

Further north, grain-rich regions like Dingxi, Baiyin, Pingliang, and Qingyang join the jiangtuan tradition with their "sanfan" (scattered porridge).

Bitter buckwheat, now prized as a health food, is one of the ingredients for jiangtuan or sanfan.

Beyond similar preparation methods, distinguishing the two can be tricky. In some areas, jiangtuan is firmer, cut into chunks for soups, while sanfan is softer, typically served as a solid lump with dry toppings. Elementary teachers might scold students: "How can you not tell jiangtuan from sanfan?" Elsewhere, sanfan specifically uses bean or barley flour. For instance, Linxia's bean-flour sanfan, paired with crimson chili oil and pickles, offers a steaming, spicy delight—a highland antidote to the cold.

For many Gansu locals, coarse grain dishes surpass wheat-based meals in flavor.

Along the Hexi Corridor, Wuwei's jiangtuan combines buckwheat with yam flour for extra creaminess. In Zhangye's Sunan County, Yugur mothers replace water with butter tea and flour with barley or tsampa, blending in butter during stirring. Served in bowls topped with sugar and assorted nuts, this "Halmas" butter jiangtuan is a premium dessert for guests.

How many stories does Shaanxi's jiangtuan hold?

Shaanxi is jiangtuan's legendary birthplace. Divided into southern, northern, and central regions, its jiangtuan comes in three variants: potato (similar to Gansu's tangy soft version), buckwheat (often with lamb mince, reflecting nomadic influences), and the iconic cornmeal jiangtuan of Guanzhong—immortalized in local literati's writings.

Making cornmeal jiangtuan is labor-intensive.

In Shaanxi, jiangtuan demands broth. Serving broth first with jiangtuan floating atop is called "water besieging the city," while placing jiangtuan in a bowl, creating a well for sauce, earns the name "city surrounding water."

Savor these sauce-drenched "city walls" while hearing tales of Zhuge Liang inventing jiangtuan to relieve Shu soldiers' noodle fatigue during the Qishan campaign. Each bite carries whiffs of Three Kingdoms lore and statesman-like culinary grandeur.

A bowl of jiangtuan stands mighty as city ramparts.

Photo/Jin Ding Zhi Ying, Image/Hui Tu Wang

As jiangtuan requires coordinated effort, timing, and strength—impossible solo—Shaanxi folklore says: when quarreling lovers suggest making jiangtuan, it's a covert peace offering.

In Shaanxi, every bowl of jiangtuan brims with stories, far transcending simple snack status.

Across the northwest, how many more jiangtuan await discovery?

The region boasts unique variations: Tibetans' sweet butter jiangtuan, Qinghai's bean-flour version immortalized in folk songs: "Three coins buy garlic cloves, stone-milled bean flour. Chili oil and garlic, devour spicy jiangtuan."

Ningxia's buckwheat jiangtuan, mixed with brine, excels in chewiness. Served hot on flat trays, spoon-indented depressions become natural dipping pools. Diners pick edge pieces to dunk in central sauce—fun and flavorful.

Jiangtuan: nature's perfect dipping vessel.

Jiao Tuan, also known as "Jiao Nao Gao" in Shanxi and Inner Mongolia, has spread across the Loess Plateau. Apart from being made with oat flour, the only difference lies in the method: the flour is first mixed into a smooth batter, then poured into boiling water while stirring. Regardless of the name or slight variations in preparation, the resulting dish is equally dense and fragrant with the aroma of grains.

Jiao Tuan thrives in the streets and alleys of Northwest China.

Jiao Tuan itself is one of the most primitive and simple carbohydrate staples, with no standout flavor beyond the natural taste of grains. Thus, people have put much effort into its seasoning and presentation.

In terms of seasoning, it is generally divided into sour soup and sweet soup. Sweet soup is made with flax oil, stir-fried potato shreds, dried leeks, and red onions, while sour soup showcases the essence of Northwest flavoring.

For instance, the people of Qishan, who rival Shanxi natives in their love for sourness, prepare sour soup by stir-frying tomatoes for juice and adding vinegar. Jiao Tuan served in a bowl of this sour soup, topped with leeks, minced garlic, and chili oil—now that’s a full-bodied flavor!

In the Northwest, there’s another type of sour liquid: Jiangshui, a fermented vegetable brine. When combined with flax oil and dried leeks, the resulting soup has a bizarre sourness compared to fruit or vinegar. Those who love it can’t get enough, while others avoid it at all costs. Jiangshui is rich in flavor and cooling, making it a great appetite stimulant in summer, often leading people to devour several bowls of Jiao Tuan.

Jiangshui vegetables paired with chili oil deliver a refreshing, cooling bite.

Jiao Tuan itself can also take many forms, not always appearing as a lump in a bowl. For example, the most prized part—the crust—is just a thin layer. Whenever the crust is peeled off, children gather around the stove in eager anticipation. Baked over low heat, the crust turns golden and crispy, with a toasty aroma, embodying the essence of carbs—akin to the skin on boiled milk or the creamy layer atop congee.

The crust is the most treasured part of Jiao Tuan.

If Jiao Tuan is spread on a flat tray to cool and slightly solidify, it can be cut into strips, slices, cubes, diamonds, or other shapes. This is the inspiration behind dishes like liangfen (cold jelly) and "noodle fish." In summer, hot Jiao Tuan poured through a slotted spoon into cold water transforms into strands of "fish fish." Unlike the dense lump form, these strands are distinct, smooth, and better at holding sauces. Eating them is also easier—no need to scoop or cut from a large mass—making them suitable for all ages.

Jiangshui Fish Fish, derived from Jiao Tuan, is popular across the Northwest.

Photo / Tu Rui, Image / Tuchong Creativity

This dish goes by many names in the Northwest, such as "noodle fish," "guo zou," or "di liu," and is served in various ways: with potato mince and chili oil, a spoonful of Jiangshui, or cold-tossed with dried tofu and chili oil. It’s a microcosm of Jiao Tuan’s versatility.

In the days of scarcity, Jiao Tuan filled stomachs quickly but left them empty just as fast, earning it nicknames like "fool the slope" or "three-time fool." Yet, this "memory-of-hardship meal" has become a flavorful snack, thanks to its use of coarse grains and diverse seasonings, now cloaked in an aura of rustic authenticity.

The first bite of fresh potato Jiao Tuan is delicious.