Gansu Noodles Go Green!

If you ask a Gansu native what they crave most in spring, they won't say potatoes, beef noodles, or hand-grabbed mutton—it's the perfect pairing with noodles, steamed buns, and flatbreads—

You might be puzzled: What on earth are these?

Alfalfa sprouts and five-tip herbs with sliced noodles, bitter greens in fermented soup with stirred dough, sand leeks in beef pancakes, mountain lily-dyed sweet buns... Gansu folks pair carbs with wild vegetables, feasting from spring to summer, and even freeze them for autumn and winter until the next spring. Some say half a Gansu person's fridge is filled with wild greens—and that's no exaggeration!

In eastern Gansu, many wild herbs accompany the side dishes for noodle soup.

Gansu people's wild vegetable feasts

Just how much flour do they go through?

As the meat-heavy holiday feasts end, wild vegetables in the markets herald spring's arrival. They add a touch of vitality to Gansu's noodle-centric culinary world.

The simplest way to enjoy wild greens with noodles is "qing xia guo"—tossing hand-torn noodle slices into boiling broth with wild vegetables or other ingredients, then devouring it. Though basic, the variety of wild greens makes it endlessly versatile. I once had a "qing xia guo" made with premium morel mushrooms, seasoned only with salt—a delicacy as bold as Liaoning fishermen's classic dish of potatoes stewed with abalone.

Lamb soup with cilantro and wild greens,

A more elaborate spring specialty is "qun qun"—wild greens coated in flour, kneaded, and steamed. Locust flowers, elm seeds, or alfalfa can all become "qun qun," served as main dishes or snacks, brimming with rustic charm.

The term "qun qun," from "Ode to the Epang Palace," captures the dish's soft, layered texture and complex flavors. In Shaanxi-bordering eastern Gansu, a fiery spoonful of chili oil is drizzled over "qun qun" to achieve true satisfaction!

"Qun qun" is called "mai fan" in Shaanxi.

Photo / Longxingtianxia008; Image / Huituwang

For national favorites like shepherd's purse, Gansu has unique takes. In Dingxi's Min County night markets, after drinks, potato jelly, and lamb legs, the real crowd-pleaser is an unassuming chicken soup jelly.

The star here is shepherd's purse—chopped and mixed with chicken broth and starch, frozen, then sliced. Served with more broth, shredded chicken, and tea eggs, this fragrant jelly warms many a reveler through chilly nights.

Courtesy / Dingxi Culture and Tourism Bureau

Earth-ear mushroom buns, with their umami richness, have won over Gansu and half the Northwest. Despite Gansu's meat-loving culture, authentic versions use no meat—just rain-plumped earth-ear mushrooms, vermicelli bits, and tofu.

These buns are often face-sized. Gansu kids have a trick: place the bun in a bowl, mix garlic, vinegar, soy sauce, and chili oil with sesame oil as a dip, bite an opening, pour in the sauce, and nibble away. Many locals fondly recall childhoods spent clutching bowls of these buns.

The classic way to eat earth-ear buns: stuffed with spicy sauce.

GIF / Xiaojianjian's Everyday

Behind such a diverse array of Gansu's "spring-exclusive" noodles lies a "wild vegetable universe."

Gansu locals are no strangers to shepherd's purse, Chinese toon, and bracken. Beyond these, the sheer variety of wild vegetables in Gansu—with their peculiar names, unique forms, and diverse preparations—solidifies the province's status as a standout wild vegetable hub. Not to mention the rap-worthy reduplicated names like "huihui, kuku, jiji," just consider "chicken baby," "sheep horn," "wolf belly," and "black dragon head"... Do Gansu folks secretly raise mythical creatures deep in the mountains?

Unlike wild vegetables elsewhere that vie for attention only in spring, Gansu's 3,000-li expanse condenses wild greens from all seasons and regions.

In the Hexi Corridor, sand leeks strike the wild notes of the northwest; in Longnan and Gannan, fish mint bridges seamlessly with the southwest; while on the Loess Plateau of eastern Gansu, locust flowers and elm seeds echo across the mountains with Shaanxi. Visit any Gansu market in spring or summer, and you’ll find baskets brimming with colorful wild greens.

Whether tree buds or ground sprouts, Gansu foragers pluck them, blanch them to "pull out" the bitterness, rinse them in cold water, then plate them with minced garlic and scallions. A sizzling ladle of hot flaxseed oil poured over releases the fresh aroma of spring across the table.

The black dragon head, or Aralia elata shoots, is one of Gansu’s most distinctive wild vegetables. Bullet-shaped, they "bloom" one by one in the mountains every March and April, also blossoming in the hearts of Gansu locals.

Left: Black dragon head; Right: Five-tip greens (five-leaf vegetable).

March’s black dragon heads are still unopened, like bamboo shoots. To eat, peel away the tender stems and folded leaves layer by layer. Their bitterness requires repeated blanching and soaking—though some connoisseurs find this "too bland," preferring a quick blanch before cold-tossing or stir-frying with cured meat, jokingly calling it "bitterness-reminiscent sweetness meal."

Beyond black dragon heads, tree-top delicacies like elm seeds, locust flowers, broom flowers, and Chinese toon are common. In Longnan and Tianshui, lush vegetation yields even more variety. Take "twisty walnuts": stripping off the catkins leaves only the pistils, which are cold-tossed for a crisp, fragrant bite. Young peppercorn shoots, served cold or with scrambled eggs, deliver a fleeting numbing spark on the tongue, leaving only a heart-fluttering aftertaste.

Besides Chinese toon, which other wild vegetables can you recognize?

Among ground greens, bracken and five-tip greens (aka five-leaf vegetable) are Gansu favorites. Bracken here is further classified into green "sheep bracken," purple "cow bracken," and large-headed "water bracken" (chicken baby greens). The rarest and tastiest, water bracken, is the "wei" gathered by Bo Yi and Shu Qi—a wild delight steeped in cultural lore.

Even in the desert solitude flanking the Hexi Corridor, Gansu’s wild greens thrive. Summer is prime time for "snatching" sand leeks. "Snatch" implies speed—like the "chilling rush" of gulping icy water on a hot day. The term captures the lively scramble for sand leeks. During foraging trips, excitement often leads to plucking a few straight into the mouth, their fragrance bursting, lips stained green.

Photo / LTL8; Image / Huitu

Sand leeks resemble a lovechild of chives and scallions. Fry them into pancakes or with eggs—golden hues tinged with green—and it’s like tasting an oasis in the desert. Simpler still, blanch them, toss with chili flakes, and serve cold. Their tender crispness defies their arid origins!

Beyond tender blooms and shoots, Gansu’s wilderness hides another secret: earth moss, morels, and silverweed.

After gathering earth moss, soak it in hot water.

GIF / Documentary "Rural Xiaofeng"

Earth moss (aka ground skin greens) carpets Gansu every spring, sprouting en masse after rains, drawing crowds to damp fields for gathering.

Morels, Gansu’s prized mountain treasure, often grace gourmet soups elsewhere but here are tossed into stews or noodles. Intriguingly, in Wuwei, they’re rebranded as "wolf belly greens"—a name as bold as the city itself!

Morels, exquisitely savory, are mostly used in high-end dishes.

Photography / PAOPAOANFANG ; Image / Tuchong Creative

The sweet Potentilla anserina, known as "ginseng fruit" by the people of Gannan, has also given rise to the "black pearl" of the plateau—the Potentilla pig. These small black pigs feed on Potentilla leaves and morel mushrooms, essentially becoming walking gourmet hams. In fact, the only northern ham, the Longxi ham, uses this pig as its premium ingredient.

Strictly speaking, the above delicacies aren’t exactly "wild vegetables," but in Gansu, where potatoes = vegetables, these mouthwatering specialties are casually lumped into the wild vegetable category.

How have Gansu’s wild vegetables transcended time?

Such delicious wild vegetables are best enjoyed for as long as possible. So, whenever they hit the market, Gansu mothers busy themselves buying, cleaning, blanching them in hot water, then soaking them in warm water in sealed bags before freezing them. The essence of spring in the wild is thus preserved as "solidified time." Even on the next year’s New Year’s Eve table, thawed and dressed wild vegetables remain as green and fresh as spring itself.

In the days before refrigerators, drying was the simpler method. Leafy wild vegetables couldn’t last long, but ingredients like Nostoc commune, bracken fern, walnut blossoms, and toon shoots could be air-dried in the shade for long-term storage.

Left: Dried lily flowers, Right: Dried Nostoc commune.

Among these, dried bracken fern is the most popular. Fresh bracken harvested in spring is scalded in boiling water to wilt, then air-dried. Though it looks dark and unappealing, its flavor is robust. Cooking dried bracken requires soaking and stewing, testing a chef’s skill—overcook it, and the fern turns mushy and tough, losing its silky, spring-rain-like texture.

But when it comes to flavors born from time and wild vegetables, nothing surpasses the "jiangshui" (fermented vegetable brine) that originated in southeastern Gansu and spread across the northwest. Making jiangshui is similar to pickling, and its addictive taste could fill an entire article (click to read: Why Do Northwesterners Have Jiangshui in Their Veins?).

Jiangshui pairs perfectly with Gansu’s loose rice and stirred dough.

It’s this tangy, wild vegetable-derived sourness that gives rise to hearty jiangshui noodles, sour rice, refreshing jiangshui "fish" jelly, and even today’s surreal jiangshui yogurt and sparkling drinks...

To connoisseurs, making jiangshui is like mixing a cocktail: pungent leeks, fragrant water celery, and robust cabbage create everyday flavors. But only in spring can ingredients like dandelions, clover, and bitter herbs blend into a crystal-clear "seasonal special." Among these, bitter lettuce (kukucai) jiangshui, slightly bitter and chewy, is especially beloved by Tianshui locals, who "carry their jiangshui pots wherever they go."

Bitter lettuce jiangshui, the king of jiangshui.

Image / Documentary "Flavorful Origins · Gansu"

For Gansu kids, wild vegetables and their accompanying sour jiangshui or toothsome dried versions might not be fond childhood memories. Children reluctantly drank jiangshui and ate wild veggies under parental lectures about "clearing heat" or "reducing fire." But as they grew up and left home, seeing wild vegetables become "urban luxuries," those childhood "grass-eating" memories transformed into complex nostalgia and gratitude.

Today, the era of "Gansu’s three staple vegetables: potato, spud, and tattie" is long gone. With "plateau summer vegetables" and specialty produce as its trump cards, Gansu has risen to become one of China’s top five commercial vegetable bases. Once banquet-exclusive delicacies like daylilies, desert onions, and mountain Aralia shoots are now part of Gansu’s "geographical标志蔬菜" (signature vegetables).

From south to north, Gansu is rich in unique vegetables.

Yet, every spring, Gansu people still scour the mountains for these gifts of nature, using life’s wisdom to extend their flavors across seasons. These wild vegetables, rooted in fertile soil, were once symbols of survival in hard times, shaping Gansu’s resilient spirit—far more than mere seasonal treats. They’re hidden in names like the Longyuan band "Low Wormwood" and linger as eternal longing in the hearts of wanderers.

Villagers harvest now-cultivated daylilies.

Cover image | Tuchong Creative

This article is original content from [Didao Fengwu].