How Bold Can Mongolian Cuisine Get? Hotpotting Lamb in Milk Tea!

When it comes to Mongolian cuisine, what comes to your mind?

Is it a yurt where singing and dancing girls surround a cart carrying a whole roasted lamb with a big red flower around its neck? Or a video of a burly man in a Mongolian robe using a jewel-encrusted knife to slice a piece of freshly boiled, quivering, half-fat-half-lean mutton, handing it virtually to you, the drooling viewer behind the screen? Is it a table piled high with dairy and meat under the slanting sunlight, so abundant it feels like a dream? Or perhaps a dusty traveler dismounting, greeted by a steaming bowl of milk tea poured from a large thermos by family?

For me, the first time Mongolian cuisine truly stunned me was with a humble bowl of beef noodles from a small, unremarkable Mongolian restaurant near the border. The massive bowl contained only noodles, a poached egg, and an astonishing amount of beef—tender, marbled, and faintly fragrant with milk. Its flavor was so sincere and simple, like a bowl of noodles hastily prepared by your mother after a long journey home at night, evoking an inexplicable sense of vastness and comfort.

Inner Mongolia is vast, stretching 2,400 kilometers from east to west like a backbone supporting northern China. The Mongolian people, who have lived there since ancient times, not only understand the rules of the grassland but once galloped across the entire Eurasian continent. Thus, Inner Mongolian cuisine isn’t just about "drinking big and eating meat in chunks"—it also gathers the culinary essence of surrounding geographical and cultural regions, forging a unique system. In other words, while Mongolian cuisine has the rugged, bold side of stereotypes, its richness and depth far exceed many people’s imaginations.

Inner Mongolian pot tea: a bowl that brings you back to "Father’s grassland, Mother’s river."

In the most traditional Mongolian culinary terms, food is roughly divided into "green food" (grains), "white food" (dairy), and "red food" (meat) (some regions also separate tea as its own category). Of course, no matter how many categories or variations there are, eating meat remains the eternal highlight of the grassland.

Traditionally, the grassland recognizes the "Five Livestock": the Mongolian horse, Mongolian cow, Mongolian Bactrian camel, Mongolian goat, and Mongolian sheep. Horses and camels are tools and generally not eaten—though this isn’t absolute. For example, camel humps and paws are said to be rare delicacies, and during the annual gelding of horses in pastoral areas, the removed horse testicles are eagerly snatched by young men to roast in the fire, an absolutely wild and secretive Inner Mongolian limited-edition delicacy.

The most popular meat in Inner Mongolia is undoubtedly lamb. And for a freshly slaughtered, steaming-hot lamb, the greatest respect grassland people can pay is to cook it into "hand-grabbed meat."

A large pot, plain water, some ginger and scallions, a handful of coarse salt—authentic herders would burn dried cow dung underneath (though natural gas is also fine). If the pot is big enough, half a lamb can be stuffed inside, covered with a dented aluminum lid, and boiled for an hour. Then, the piping-hot chunks of meat are forked onto a large wooden tray. As the host carries it into the room, dairy and pastries are pushed aside on the table—the grassland’s most majestic meal is about to begin.

In the past, herders always carried knives with them, often with chopsticks tucked into the sheath, specifically for such hand-grabbed meat feasts. For truly ceremonial meat-eating, after everyone gathers around, the host first cuts and distributes the meat. This shows respect from the guests and tests the host’s judgment: the platter includes various parts of the lamb, sometimes even heart, tripe, and liver. The elderly and children get tender cuts, women lean ones, and burly men rich or chewy pieces—reflecting the host’s thoughtfulness, care, and generosity. Of course, after the first round, everyone can cut and eat freely, drinking to their heart’s content.

Inner Mongolia is vast, and the taste of lamb varies greatly depending on local pasture conditions. Each region has unique ways of cooking local lamb. For example, Hulunbuir people love lamb hot pot, but it’s very different from the usual thinly sliced mutton—they roll fresh lamb into a massive 20-30-pound cylinder, hand-cutting thick, marbled slices piled high on plates, overwhelmingly lavish. After this, regular hot pot feels utterly bland.

Besides lamb, Hulunbuir’s Nantun beef steak is also famous. The beef has an intense aroma, with pale yellow fat, known as "yellow-fat steak." Like hand-grabbed lamb, it’s boiled in a large pot and heaped onto a tray. Sliced vertically along the bone, the marbled beef is dipped in leek flower sauce or garlic chili paste—a premium delight no expensive dry-aged Western steak can replace.

Hand-grabbed beef steak (Nantun beef steak).

Of course, beyond hand-grabbed meat, Inner Mongolia has many other ways to enjoy meat. Aside from the now-trendy "meat-stuffed tripe," Mongolian restaurants often serve meat sausages and blood sausages. Plump, springy sheep intestines are stuffed with chunks of lamb leg meat, spiced minimally, sliced, and dipped in leek flower sauce. Inner Mongolian blood sausage is far bolder than elsewhere, often challenging for outsiders, but I highly recommend trying fried blood sausage—large slices pan-fried golden, the unique aroma of sheep blood blending with crispy fat, an absolute hidden grassland delicacy.

Fried blood sausage. Mongolian meat sausage and blood sausage platter.

Fig. 1 Photo by Wang Xiaomiao; Fig. 2 Photo by Gobi Livestock.

In Inner Mongolia, various forms of grilled meat are also common. Beyond whole roasted lamb, lamb legs, or lamb backs, there are niche methods like stone-grilled meat—stuffing a sheep’s stomach with hot stones and small cuts of ribs or leg meat, slowly roasting it. Restaurants also serve lamb skewers and grilled intestines, simple but relying on fresh, chunky pastoral lamb to leave you greasy-lipped and deeply satisfied.

Fig. 1 Photo by White Zebra Crossing; Fig. 2 Photo by Deng Keke.

In pastoral areas, herders’ sun-dried meat is another traditionally vital ingredient. Wind-dried meat concentrates the most exquisite flavors, especially the fat—a sublime fusion of sun, wind, and grassland. It can be eaten raw, boiled as hand-grabbed dried meat, or grilled, all incredibly enticing. But its most important role in Mongolian cuisine is as the star of morning tea.

If you’re a honored guest in Inner Mongolia, you’ll likely be woken early for tea.

That's right, not only Cantonese and Yangzhou people have morning tea, but Inner Mongolia also has its own version. Moreover, Inner Mongolian morning tea is a grand showcase of Mongolian cuisine, incredibly lavish and diverse, with a per-person cost starting at two to three hundred yuan being quite normal. To introduce an authentic Inner Mongolian morning tea, beyond the aforementioned dried meat, three essential ingredients must first be clarified.

Inner Mongolian morning tea is all-encompassing.

Morning tea, of course, is inseparable from tea itself. Here, it refers to Inner Mongolian milk tea, made from plain black brick tea that herders have consumed for centuries. The milk, however, is pure, rich, fresh dairy straight from the pastures, boiled hot to brew the tea, sprinkled with salt, and poured into large thermoses—making it the undisputed king of beverages across Inner Mongolia.

The second staple is fried millet. Made from broomcorn millet, it was originally military rations carried by cavalry. Crispy and crunchy like puffed snacks, it’s convenient and delicious whether eaten plain, mixed with yogurt, milk tea, or sugar, earning its title as the ultimate hunger-filler on the grasslands.

The third category is dairy products. Inner Mongolia boasts an astonishing variety: milk bricks, cheese, milk curd, milk skin, yogurt... Essentially, these are solids formed at different stages of boiling, cooling, or fermenting milk. For instance, milk skin is the layer that rises when boiling milk. The textures and flavors vary slightly, but without added sugar, newcomers might find them unfamiliar at first. Yet once acclimated, you’ll never want to part with these "essences of milk."

Photo / @痣birthmark

At the heart of morning tea is a large pot. Melted butter is fried with dried meat until fragrant, then hot milk tea is poured in. As it nears boiling, assorted dairy products are added, simmering into a thick, aromatic stew. The rich flavors of dried meat, the sweetness of milk tea, the creaminess of dairy, and the crispiness of fried millet fill the air, whetting the appetite.

Pour a steaming bowl of pot tea, take a sip along the rim, exhale, and feel warmth spread through your body. Yet, a true Inner Mongolian morning tea feast has only just begun.

Add various dairy products to the pot tea.

Then comes the meat—like leftover hand-grabbed lamb from the night before, perfect for this moment. Some eat it plain, but most Inner Mongolians prefer slicing it into their tea bowls, mingling with dried meat, fried millet, and dairy for a unique interplay of textures: dry and wet, soft and firm.

But the stars of the morning tea table aren’t the meats—it’s the dizzying array of pastries.

Inner Mongolians adore hearty fillings. The quintessential example is Buryat buns from Hulunbuir, priced at 200 yuan per pound. Their filling? Massive chunks of fatty lamb—some with scallions or onions, others purely meat—dubbed "hand-grabbed lamb in dough." Each bite packs the heat, nutrition, and essence of an entire grassland summer.

This filling philosophy applies to all Mongolian pastries. Take Mongolian "moon pies," semicircular meat pockets fried wide and dipped in vinegar—explosively dense. Or Hohhot’s famed shaomai, with paper-thin wrappers encasing pure lamb, unlike southern糯米 versions. Then there’s Mongolian pies, buns, dumplings... Endless variations, all celebrating colossal lamb paired with regional dough styles, forming a carb universe that’s diverse yet unified.

Some regions boast unique staples, like Xilingol’s butter rolls—flaky, buttery flatbreads with a milky aroma, perfect with salty milk tea. Some places drape them over bowls of rich lamb stew, a ritual in itself.

Xilingol butter rolls with lamb stew.

Classics also include Mongolian fried dough twists (guozi), deep-fried in beef fat and butter dough—crispy yet soft, always on herders’ coffee tables for quick snacks (with addictive risks). Then there’s beef noodles, offal noodles, dried meat noodles, dried meat焖面... Inner Mongolian carbs, blending Shanxi and Northeastern techniques with local flavors, are China’s hidden "carb kings."

Morning tea epitomizes Mongolian cuisine, so covering it captures most of its essence. Yet Inner Mongolia’s vastness means each banner or county has unique dishes, impossible to fully catalog. Only by traversing its grasslands and deserts can one grasp its culinary richness.

Lastly, while Mongolian cuisine shares a consistent core, it’s remarkably inclusive. Finding Xilingol stew in western restaurants, pickled pork with potatoes in Hetao, or even sauerkraut-blood sausage or锅包肉 in Hulunbuir—or even Russian dishes in some banners—shouldn’t surprise you. After all, Mongolians have never been insular; their adaptability and openness have long impressed the world.

Hohhot’s super lamb hotpot.

Cover photo | @吃出马甲线菌

Cover photo | Xie Qing is me