How Did Northeast China's Most Overlooked City Give Birth to the Perfectly Balanced Sweet-Sour-Spicy Street Food King?

At the beginning of 2024, "malatang" (spicy hot pot) has once again become a buzzword. Nowadays, when browsing delivery apps, you’ll not only find malatang from Northeast China and Gansu, but also a rising star in recent years: "malaban" (spicy mix). The mixed form is perfect for takeout while retaining rich flavors, winning the favor of many urbanites.

Those unfamiliar might ask in confusion: Isn’t malaban just malatang without soup? If someone turns red with urgency, slaps their thigh, and exclaims, "It’s totally different!"—they’re likely from Fushun.

Unlike the diverse malatang factions, if malaban has a prefix, it can only be Fushun. As the hometown of malaban, Fushun seems distant from trends, but as the birthplace of the Qing Dynasty, one of the first direct-controlled municipalities after the founding of the PRC, China’s "Coal Capital," and Lei Feng’s second hometown... this small fourth-tier city in eastern Liaoning has truly shone.

Since the turn of the century, it has lost its former pride but seized a new opportunity, creating an incredibly youthful and distinctly Northeastern dish: malaban.

Northeasterners who’ve tasted Fushun malaban know it’s far more than just malatang without soup. It’s a bold regional dish developed by locals, blending sweet, sour, and spicy flavors—a pride when promoting their hometown and a taste that fuels nostalgia.

Everyone says Northeast China is the "master of culinary adaptation." Just look at the street versions of "authentic Yunnan cross-bridge rice noodles" or "authentic Sichuan malatang"... These quick Northeastern twists reflect their philosophy of localizing cuisine. Fushun malaban is no exception. This snack, now widespread across the Northeast in just two decades, was also adapted by locals, embodying Fushun’s resilience.

In the mid-1990s, the government encouraged laid-off workers to start businesses, sparking a rise in small eateries. Crowded street vendors became symbols of hope. Back then, Sichuan cuisine swept the nation, and malatang reached the Northeast, becoming a popular choice for new entrepreneurs.

Over the past two decades, Fushun malaban

has become a new hope for local entrepreneurship.

The first Fushun spin on malatang was called "malapen" (spicy pot)—a stainless-steel bowl filled with noodles and veggies in a fiery red broth, inheriting malatang’s soupy heat.

But its appeal was limited. To attract more customers, a couple revamped it: too much broth diluted flavor, so they drained it for a dry mix; Sichuan’s spice wasn’t universally loved, so they added the Northeast’s beloved sweet-sour tang... The result, though novel, was a hit. Others followed, and malaban’s fame spread, dominating Fushun, Shenyang, Dalian, and beyond.

Today, malaban has gone national with chains and migrating Northeasterners, even adopting sesame paste for broader appeal. But Fushun stays stubborn—no sesame paste here. Ask for it, and the owner will kindly refuse: "Kid, we don’t do that here! Try the sweet-sour version?"

Fushun malaban is proof of Northeasterners’ love for sour and sweet. Other flavors can be adjusted, but these two are foundational. The balance isn’t from exotic spices but everyday ingredients (sugar, vinegar, salt)—simple yet masterful, neither too cloying nor too sharp. Every malaban vendor is a flavor virtuoso.

Chili oil adds aroma without overwhelming heat, while cumin and crushed peanuts complete the mix. Drained of broth, the dry toss lets flavors cling to ingredients, delivering a punch with every bite.

Malaban’s rapid local spread owes to its portability. Packed in bags, it stays tasty, making it a schoolyard favorite. For boarding students, it was a lifeline—day students smuggled bags back to dorms, sparking shared feasts.

Even after college or work, loyalists still crave it, packing homemade sauce for trips. A pound of veggies tossed with their stash isn’t perfect, but it’s close enough.

Sauce alone captures 50% of the magic—the other half lies in ingredients. Fushun malaban isn’t self-serve; the owner curates the mix, featuring local innovations absent in malatang, showcasing Northeastern adaptability.

Take potatoes: cut into grids for flavor absorption with a crisp bite, or thinly sliced for max sauce cling. Then there’s "red balls" (fried veggie balls)—humble outside, but broth-soaked, they burst like flavor bombs, a delicacy to Fushun kids.

More veggies elevate malaban: wide noodles, ham slices, tofu skin, cabbage... Ordinary ingredients, transformed. Elders often wonder, "It’s just sauce—why the obsession?" The answer: "Exactly—it’s all about that sauce!"

For a fuller meal, pair it with carbs. Instant noodles are ideal—tossed dry, they become "malaban noodles." Or dip bread in the sauce. Add some fried skewers and a bottle of Hongbaolai soda, and you’ve got a Northeastern kid’s feast of dreams.

Spicy Mix is a friendly and affordable street food, as well as a symbol of Fushun people's optimistic spirit. While this dish has flourished across various regions, its authentic flavor remains rooted in the northeastern soil.

Northeasterners who venture far from home always order a plate of Spicy Mix when returning to the city with their suitcases. They never forget its original taste, just as they never forget their hometown.