Only 16 Yuan for an All-You-Can-Eat Feast! Why Do Chongqing Locals Drive Ferraris to This Buffet?

'Mountain City Mobile Foodie' Certification

Just 16 yuan for over 30 dishes all-you-can-eat: steamed pork belly, twice-cooked pork, spicy chicken, Kung Pao chicken, fish with pickled vegetables... Your favorite Sichuan dishes are stir-fried fresh. Forget whether the boss makes a profit—this is the undisputed king of buffets in Chongqing locals' eyes: Taxi Fast Food!

In Chongqing, these eateries are also nicknamed "Stool Fast Food." Most drivers of the city’s yellow "Ferraris"—the "Mountain City Mobile Foodies" (taxi drivers)—choose to feast here. Of course, nearby residents also treat it as their canteen, minus the dishwashing.

When your body craves energy the most, 16 yuan (some shops, buckling under pressure, have raised it by 1 yuan to 17) lets you wolf down food until you’re glowing. But think that’s all? No no—this 16 yuan even includes unlimited spicy hotpot at some spots, with duck intestines, blood curd, and sausages free to boil. It’s arguably China’s cheapest麻辣火锅, with everyone charging chopsticks-first into their bowls!

Even as Chongqing’s temperature plunges by over 10 degrees today, this mountain city still warms hearts like a bubbling hotpot in a taxi fast food joint. Red oil dances on your tongue, chilies sprint across your taste buds—so spicy you stomp your feet yet too delicious to put down the chopsticks. Drivers, porters, students just out of school, office workers... No hierarchies, no judgments. Sharing a meal here turns strangers into sworn brothers!

How rich is this all-you-can-eat "Museum of Jianghu Cuisine"?

Here, the 16-yuan price tag is a mystery...

In Chongqing, "rice-compatible" is the baseline for judging a dish, so heavy oil, numbing spice, and heat dominate. Spicy duck blood, braised eggplant, mapo tofu, stir-fried lettuce, chicken with green peppers, duck with konjac, pickled chicken feet, stir-fried cured pork... Most Sichuan-Chongqing home-style dishes are a狂欢 of carbs and fats, fueling you to "climb 3,000 steps without breaking a sweat." Taxi fast food spots serve them all—a folk "Sichuan Cuisine Museum."

High tables, low stools. Near taxi hubs, bowls piled mountain-high with rice land on tables. Yet no matter how full, Chongqing cabbies must grab melt-in-your-mouth steamed pork belly: made with skin-on pork belly, fried until the skin wrinkles, layered with fermented mustard greens, then steamed to tender perfection.

Its aroma alone is a体力-replenishing "energy bomb" for laborers, compelling cabbies to devour two extra rice bowls with gusto.

As Chongqing’s most down-to-earth buffet,硬菜 emerge in waves—and by the basin. On the hour, diners放下筷子,勺子 in hand, swarm the serving counter. Dishes like fish with pickled vegetables vanish in minutes: paper-thin fish curls upon cooking, dissolving on the tongue, with pickled and dried chilies delivering a鲜辣 that’s "like the Yangtze breeze—gentle yet thrilling."

If a "King of Sichuan Cuisine" poll were held here, twice-cooked pork would win by a landslide. It’s the itch in every Chongqinger’s throat—"savory, fragrant,醇香" at its core. Glossy, aromatic, with curled "lantern" slices, it demands two rice bowls pronto. 不摆了 (no words needed)!

At Chongqing taxi fast food joints, folks dig in if there’s meat; if not, they chat until the boss cooks more—zero pretenses.

Seasonal shifts bring refreshing cold dishes. Fishy-scented折耳根 with crunchy bean sprouts cuts the grease; hair-thin土豆丝 and tangy lotus root slices; slippery凉粉凉面 delivering sweet-sour-spicy-salty in one bite!

Their magic lies in the sauce. Veteran chefs balance chili oil’s heat, Sichuan pepper’s麻, vinegar’s tang, and sugar’s sweetness to perfection.

Cap the meal with crispy pork soup—where peas often vanish before the pork. Rich meat meets crisp greens: Chongqing romance.

China’s cheapest, liveliest麻辣火锅

Every table’s a "Yanzi" (local slang) stage

Here, diners juggle towering rice bowls while涮ing hotpot—yes, the 16 yuan covers unlimited "DIY hotpot" with duck intestines, blood curd, and more!

"24/7" broth, 8-10涮菜 refillable anytime—this all-inclusive edge crowns taxi fast food as buffet royalty, setting it apart from外地 "boxed meal" shops.

"Blanch the center, swish the edges, tripe only needs a quick dip." Even if you're an out-of-town girl, the locals at the table will warmly teach you how to hotpot like a Chongqing native. "Here, add broth! Drop the meat!" Once you've shared a pot with Chongqing folks, whether you're an introvert or not, you'll naturally become an extrovert.

Eating taxi driver fast food feels like stepping back into Chongqing's riverside world a century ago, rediscovering the original purpose of spicy hotpot—those dockworkers and boatmen, to ward off cold and dampness, would toss cheap offal and greens into a peppery broth, give it a quick boil, and eat it right out, warming up and filling up while bantering.

The method is simple and crude, but the flavor is undeniably "solid." The most essential part lies in the art of "blanching."

Whether it's duck intestine or duck blood, neither should be overcooked to preserve their tender texture. In Chongqingers' eyes, hotpot follows a strict order: meat first, veggies later. Start by adding two bowls of thickly sliced duck blood to the pot. Tripe and duck intestine get a quick "seven up, eight down" dip—just until they curl slightly—then are swiftly fished out and dipped in an oil sauce with mashed garlic, delivering unparalleled tenderness and crispness, infused with a bold, numbing-spicy aroma.

Chongqingers have notoriously "picky" palates, especially those who grew up on hotpot and swear by the old-school flavors. Yet the hotpot at taxi fast-food joints is not only flawless in taste but also brimming with atmosphere, leaving you craving more.

The drivers' chopsticks fly as they chat about today's traffic controls and road closures. Nearby, dockworkers, their signature ropes still slung over their shoulders, munch on duck intestines while cracking local slang-laced jokes. In the corner, a construction worker, fresh from the site in his cement-splattered overalls, eagerly shovels a piece of melt-in-your-mouth duck blood into his mouth.

They can jump from global affairs to household gossip, with empty seats quickly filled. As long as Chongqing slang keeps flowing, the hotpot keeps boiling. A meal, a pot of broth, and a hearty "solid!"—flavorful, full of camaraderie, just like the song *Chongqing Soul* goes: "Fight for turf, squeeze in tight, no scene’s too big to handle." At this table, even the biggest problems boil down to "meat today, blanch today."

To eat proper Chongqing taxi fast food...

Chongqing taxi fast food embodies the city’s blunt character—dishes come fast and plentiful, and the rules are straightforward: pay, grab chopsticks, and start serving yourself. The owner might hand you chopsticks while saying, "These are 8 yuan a pair. Eat all you want, but leftovers cost an extra 5 yuan—your call!"

Yet leftovers are rare here. Each taxi fast-food joint’s signature dish is a favorite among these "urban gourmets"—maybe braised pork, maybe steamed pork belly, or even just a simple stir-fried water spinach. If you came for it, there’s no reason to leave any behind!

Chongqing drivers have popularized countless dishes like boiled fish, and these "culinary Columbuses" know every taxi fast-food spot’s best offerings. If you’re wandering Chongqing’s streets unsure where to eat, just hail a "yellow Ferrari" and ask, "Driver, where do y’all usually grab fast food?" They’ll zip you through the city’s alleys straight to that fragrant little shop.

From Yanggongqiao in Shapingba to Liugongli in Nan’an, from Shiyoulu in Yuzhong to Wulidian in Jiangbei, Longtousi in Yubei... Near every gas station, there’s always a row of fast-food joints.

The decor is unpretentious and cozy, with plastic stools often lined up outside as makeshift dining tables—a Chongqing staple known as "stool culture," as if saying, "Come, sit, take your time." Many owners are ex-taxi drivers who know the city’s flavors inside out. With roaring flames and veins popping as they flip woks, these bosses have turned taxi fast food into another Chongqing culinary legend.

"Straighten up, straighten up, pull in more!" Sometimes, owners double as "parking attendants," directing drivers to squeeze into tight street spots. Those yellow cabs, neatly lined up, become a vibrant part of Chongqing’s streetscape.

Occasionally, someone might even roll up in a real Ferrari to eat here, but no one bats an eye. The Ferrari diner quietly sits down to eat, no airs—because in Chongqing, everyone believes: before good food, all are equal.

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