How Did This Street Food Staple at Just 3 Yuan Per Serving Win Over the Entire Nation?

A cold snap sweeps across the country, quickening the steps of pedestrians, yet certain spots on the streets remain bustling with activity. A closer look reveals roadside stalls wafting with the enticing aroma of grilled sausages. In the chilly air, one's sense of smell becomes unusually sharp, making the fragrance of sizzling sausages irresistible. Following the scent, rows of starch-based sausages are seen perfectly grilled—crispy on the outside and tender inside. For just a few yuan, you can take one away, slathered in sauce, and experience an explosion of warmth and flavor on your tongue—who could resist that?

Crispy outside and tender inside, starch sausages are the deadly temptation of winter streets.

When it comes to the most resilient street food, grilled sausages undoubtedly take the crown. From scenic spots to night markets near residential areas, from school convenience stores to subway stations frequented by commuters, all it takes is a sausage grill or a frying pan for sausages to set up shop, luring countless passersby with their aroma. In today’s thriving late-night snack culture, they still outshine many options as a breakout hit for young entrepreneurs. Many document their starch-sausage stall diaries on social media: "Day one of my stall—I ate five myself..."

Grilled sausages at a skewer stall.

How much adults love sausages is evident in how often they mention them. Recently, netizens jokingly self-diagnosed as sausages because they "lie around all day, occasionally turn over, have high fat content, and explode under pressure." When life feels overwhelming, they say, "Enough! I’m quitting to sell sausages." And when faced with setbacks, they console themselves with the phrase, "Life is unpredictable—big intestines wrap small intestines."

Nothing can’t be solved with one grilled sausage. If there is, then two will do.

Steaming sausage stalls create the lively, everyday scenes of street corners.

The sausage world also has its "red and white roses."

The Chinese have a history of making sausages spanning at least a thousand years, with regional variations on this delicacy. Grilled sausages, however, are a much more recent phenomenon, largely a product of modern food processing trends over the past few decades.

In 1967, Zhang Fengxu from Pingtung County introduced Western meat-processing techniques to China, applying them to sausage production. Soon, piping-hot street snacks appeared in Taiwan, and businesses seized the opportunity, setting up factories along the southeastern coast. Taiwanese-style grilled sausages gradually spread nationwide, becoming a shared culinary memory.

Plump, meaty grilled sausages.

While affection for sausages is universal, specific taste memories differ. Much like the classic debate over "should tofu pudding be sweet or savory," the humble sausage also divides opinions into two camps.

Don’t believe it? Try asking netizens, "Do you usually eat starch sausages or meat sausages?"—it’s sure to stir up a storm. Northerners will rush to defend starch sausages, claiming their crispy-yet-tender texture is the true standard. Meat sausage fans will counter: "Starch sausages are mushy—how can they compare to the juicy burst of a meat sausage?"

Starch sausages vs. meat sausages—which camp are you in?

For meat sausage lovers, childhood memories are inseparable from the Taiwanese-style sausage grills labeled "Taiwanese-flavored grilled sausages." Regardless of the season, these machines hum patiently near school convenience stores, rows of hot dogs rolling leisurely on metal rods until they split open with a satisfying pop—a sound that seems to dissolve all stress. Students flock with coins in hand: "Boss, I want the burst one!"

Taiwanese-style sausages commonly found near schools.

The most authentic Taiwanese grilled sausages are made with pure meat and cooked over an open flame. Long, firm sausages sizzle on charcoal grills, manually turned with tongs for even cooking. One bite releases a burst of savory juice, rich with meaty flavor—though they come at a higher price.

To promote this fast food and boost sales, manufacturers once altered production strategies—lowering prices, reducing meat content... A race to the bottom led to inconsistent quality, and sausage safety became a concern.

Taiwanese grilled sausages at Shilin Night Market in Taipei.

Fortunately, the industry has strived to upgrade in recent years. Supermarkets now offer basic meat sausages alongside premium options like volcanic stone-grilled sausages, black pork sausages, and squid sausages. With cleaner ingredients and real meat flavor, quality sausages have regained loyal fans. Young enthusiasts stock up in bulk, reclaiming the joy of "self-grilling, self-sufficiency"—one sausage at a time.

Devouring meat in large bites is the true essence of life.

Starch sausages are seen as "heresy" by many meat sausage enthusiasts, but for northern kids, they define the ultimate truth of the grilled sausage world. Every northeastern child away from home can never forget the yellow-packaged starch sausage, nor its crispy aroma when deep-fried.

No one can resist the allure of starch sausages.

Starch sausages hold more credibility among northern kids, likely because the "ham sausage" as a food form originated in the north. Henan, a major grain-producing province, supported half of the instant food industry and was also the cradle of ham sausages. In 1987, China's first ham sausage was born in Luoyang's Chundu. This cheap, accessible processed meat product, easy to store and cook, once had dealers flocking to its doorstep.

Ham sausages are the perfect garnish wherever they appear—sliced into instant noodles for a meaty richness or stuffed into jianbing guozi as a great pairing. But the true glory lies in street-side fry stalls, where only a bubbling oil bath can transform a starch sausage into its ultimate form—scored with dazzling cuts, fried until golden and crispy, then slathered in sauce. Biting through the crispy shell releases a burst of texture, creating an unmatched heavenly bite.

Only when fried to a crisp does a starch sausage gain its soul.

High-starch ham sausages once became a relic of the past, but the starch sausage-loving youth, now the internet's dominant force, have revived its relevance. "Grilled sausages must be starch-based; I won’t touch them if they contain meat," they declare, even spawning new memes. It’s clear that affordable, delicious starch sausages will never go out of style.

The battle between starch and meat sausages remains unresolved—uncertain, let’s wait and see.

Blooming sausages, northeastern grilled red sausages...

The grilled sausage universe can get even more exciting!

Across late-night snack stalls nationwide, grilled sausages have evolved far beyond these basics. Locals, armed with regional flavors, have contributed advanced interpretations of grilled sausages.

Golden, blooming sausages from Changsha.

Changsha’s blooming sausage is a prime example. Alongside its partner stinky tofu, it has conquered tourist spots nationwide, bringing Hunan flavors beyond the province. Yet, local foodies barely bat an eye at this tourist fare—they’d rather take you to Dongguashan, a late-night food haven. After tart-sweet pickled perilla peaches and ginger, grab a Dongguashan meat sausage. Bite through the skin to savor the chewy meat inside, balancing salty, savory, spicy, and even a hint of sweetness.

After Harbin became a "Hogwarts" for tourists, its grilled red sausages seem poised to follow blooming sausages as the next viral hit. In bustling northeastern morning markets, where breath turns to frost, a mountain of sizzling red sausages on the grill outshines even Ma Die’er ice pops. Their smoky aroma and oily sizzle make them irresistible. Rolled in spices, these hefty sausages are not just delicious but also filling—warming you up for another two hours of exploration!

The impressively large Harbin grilled red sausages.

In contrast, Yibin barbecue’s mini sausages are tiny but mighty. Skewered on bamboo sticks, they may seem unassuming, but their small size packs a punch—crispy, springy, and even more satisfying when devoured two or three at a time.

Yibin mini sausages, grilled until glistening with oil.

Then there are the rebels of the grilled sausage family, like Taiwan’s beloved "large intestine wrapping small sausage." Despite the name, it’s not offal—it’s a grilled sausage snugly wrapped in sticky rice sausage, stuffed with refreshing toppings like cucumber and fragrant rice for a layered bite.

Life is unpredictable—just like large intestines wrapping small ones.

Photo credit: Tuchong Creative / Photographer: Robbin Lee

Time seems to form a loop—those who loved grilled sausages as children often rediscover this beloved treat after entering society. Perhaps it’s only after facing the pressures of survival that people realize the world imposes more and more constraints, while genuine fulfillment becomes increasingly rare. Only the emotional comfort of grilled sausages remains forever within reach.

Childhood doesn’t last forever, but a grilled sausage stall is always waiting at the next corner. Cast aside the inner struggles and be a child again, just once more.

You can never have too many delicious grilled sausages.

Image source not credited | Visual China