Skip the Crowds in Sanya: Discover Hainan's Best Late-Night Bites Here!

Let’s start with the conclusion: Haikou is the city with the best food in Hainan.

Compared to Sanya, the provincial capital Haikou is decidedly low-key. While Sanya spares no effort to fulfill people’s tropical fantasies with sunshine, beaches, and seafood, Haikou—a leisurely, bountiful port city—takes its time savoring one balmy night after another.

Slow-paced Haikou has the most delicious nights.

As the city on land dims its lights late at night, the tropical ocean monsoon still rustles the coconut trees across town and stirs the appetites of Haikou’s people. Only when the night market stalls light up do you truly grasp the rich culinary depth of this gentle city—

It hosts a quarter of Hainan’s permanent population, folding in the flavors of the entire island. As a historic trading port, Teochew, Hokkien, and Hakka influences have layered its culinary foundation, while tastes from Southeast Asia add a lively, dynamic flair.

The Baishamen Night Market by the sea.

Just how many sweet treats does Haikou’s night hold?

The humid heat of Lingnan makes people crave something cool. After dinner, sipping a bowl of sweet dessert under the gentle sea breeze—what could be more refreshing?

Thus, the countless sugar water shops and ice parlors become twinkling beacons in the night. Haikou’s evenings offer ten thousand kinds of sweetness, and one is bound to hit the spot.

Qingbuliang, the dopamine king of Haikou’s nights!

Haikou locals believe that every resident will eventually meet at a qingbuliang shop.

Qingbuliang contains fresh coconut meat.

First-timers might find the name puzzling—what’s “qing”? What’s “bu”? What’s “liang”?

Step into any small shop in the alley—almost every place serves this sweet treat, even noodle shops—and you’ll hear, “Hey there, want a bowl of qingbuliang?” But timing is key; come too late, and you might miss out. Take one sip, and you’ll sigh in satisfaction:

The light of summer, the fire of midnight snacks—qingbuliang.

The “qing” (cooling) comes from the coconut milk or coconut water base, while the “bu” (nourishing) is provided by assorted grains. Red beans, mung beans, snow fungus, lotus seeds, taro, and gorgon fruit offer hearty comfort, while snow fungus and coconut shreds add a unique texture. Topped with fresh fruit, each spoonful bursts with sweetness—a harmonious, all-encompassing delight.

Qingbuliang with an ice cream ball—pure satisfaction~

Coconut is Hainan’s “provincial fruit,” and Haikou is full of them. If chilled coconut milk or water isn’t refreshing enough, add a scoop of coconut ice cream for a “shaved ice” version of qingbuliang.

Haikou’s qingbuliang also prides itself on rich ingredients and bold flavors, embodying the spirit of “vendors dare to make it, eaters dare to try it.”

Imagine fishing out a soft, glutinous tangyuan (usually reserved for Lunar New Year) from a bowl of fruity sweetness, only to find it stuffed with peanuts. And then, a quail egg—typically found in hot pot—pops up in your qingbuliang? Locals would just laugh at your confusion. This bowl packs carbs, protein, and sugar—filling, nourishing, and downright delicious. What could be better?

Colorful fruits are the dopamine source in Qingbuliang.

Photo / Hope the little fish eats without gaining weight.

Nowadays, Qingbuliang has long burst out of Haikou and Hainan, not only overshadowing other sweet drinks in Guangdong and Guangxi but also gaining popularity in cities further north. Yet, Qingbuliang with such generous ingredients and rich flavors can only be found in the alleys of Haikou. Diners sit in rows on small stools, taking a sip—it’s a mini "tropical rainforest" unique to this place, a dopamine paradise in the mind.

Jishiteng stands at the pinnacle of Haikou’s desserts alongside Qingbuliang.

Don’t be scared off by the name. Though it’s called "shit," it can make people love it to death. It’s a vine plant that thrives in damp, warm shrubs. When crushed, it emits a peculiar smell—yes, somewhat like chicken droppings, but upon closer sniff, it grows increasingly fragrant, with an addictive quality.

It looks a bit odd at first glance but is highly addictive to eat.

Jishiteng tastes good and is especially cooling for summer heat. As recorded in "Guangdong Xinyu: Grass and Vines," "Those suffering from heatstroke consume its powdered roots and leaves, while the weak cook it with pork stomach." Such a herbal remedy is perfect for making sweet soup.

Fresh jishiteng leaves, mixed with rice, are ground into a paste and pinched into small, chewy dumplings—utterly irresistible. Boiled with brown sugar, ginger shreds, and coconut flakes, it’s a traditional flavor from memory; drizzled with coconut milk, it becomes even fresher and sweeter. This bowl of jishiteng dumplings is the highlight of a midnight snack.

Jishiteng dumplings are versatile, and adding coconut milk makes them even more refreshing.

The stomachs of Haikou locals would break without fruits and coarse grains.

Haikou’s desserts follow a widespread formula: vibrant fruits + soft, sticky coarse grains. This idea is explosive in the late-night snack scene but makes perfect sense in this city.

After all, this is a treasure trove where "tropical fruit freedom" is fully achievable. On this sunbathed golden island, only the rich aroma of fruits can revive those overwhelmed by the heat. The island also widely cultivates coarse grains, forming a "potatoes as staple food" dietary habit. As recorded by Qu Dajun in the Qing Dynasty, "South of Jingzhou, coconut powder is eaten as rice, called coconut frost rice," showing Haikou’s long-standing love for treating fruits and coarse grains as meals.

It’s hard to imagine how many strange coarse grains are in sweet soups and desserts.

As a well-connected port city, Haikou adds another layer of fusion to its fruit and coarse grain pairings.

Take mango rice rolls, for example—very Southeast Asian in style, subtly echoing the culinary creativity of Fujian and Guangdong immigrants. Rice rolls and mangoes are two things Fujian and Guangdong folks might eat with soy sauce, but combined, they need no soy sauce—their sweet, smooth taste balances all monotony and rawness. Topped with fruit jam and coconut milk, a tropical-flavored dessert is born. With this approach, it’s easy to see why "coconut shred rice rolls" came to be.

Rice rolls wrapped around mangoes add a chewy texture.

The seemingly harmless "sweet potato paste" puts coarse grains in the spotlight. This dessert is called "milk" but contains no dairy—just sweet, white rice porridge with sweet potato paste rolled into plump dumplings in boiling water, looking adorable. The old-school version adds brown sugar and ginger, mild and unassuming. But with a touch of南洋 (Nanyang) influence, shrimp paste and chili oil are mixed in, creating a sweet, spicy, and salty flavor with unique charm.

Refreshing and grease-cutting mung bean water, fibrous sweet potato water, warm and comforting sweet noodle soup, and the most common绿豆汤 (mung bean soup)—even Western macaroni makes a quirky appearance. With such bizarre sweetness, how can you resist trying it yourself?

Sweet noodle soup, sweet potato paste—how many more sweets does Haikou have?

At night, wherever electric bikes crowd the stalls, Haikou locals gather for late-night snacks. Every seafood stall here is like a small seafood museum.

Hainan is both a major maritime province and an ecological powerhouse, home to over 600 recorded species of marine fish and countless varieties of shrimp, crabs, and shellfish. In Haikou, you can sample an exceptionally diverse range of seafood—abundant, affordable, and exceptionally fresh. Locals buy seafood straight from the markets, with the open-air seafood market deep in the Qilou Old Street always bustling. Whenever fresh catches arrive at the shops, well-informed buyers flock in, eyeing the prices announced by the vendors while sizing up the bamboo baskets filled with ice. Inside those baskets lie the vibrant bounty freshly hauled from the sea.

Eating seafood requires patience and skill.

Haikou locals prefer their seafood lightly cooked—boiled in clear water or salted broth—rather than heavily oiled, salted, or charred, all to preserve its natural sweetness. This approach mirrors the culinary style of neighboring Chaoshan, rooted in an extreme pursuit of original flavors. The Qing Dynasty scholar Li Yu once said, "The essence of eating fish lies in its freshness." Food ingredient expert Nie Fengqiao also noted, "Fresh ingredients are inherently flavorful—why mask them with heavy seasoning?" What may seem like simple cooking techniques are, in fact, the ultimate respect for umami.

The holy trinity of seafood seasoning: garlic, scallions, and soy sauce.

Shrimp gets a blanching SPA. Freshwater-boiled shrimp are scooped out the moment they hit the pot, offering a firm, sweet bite. Sea fish, like grouper, turbot, or snapper, are steamed whole—fresh fish holds its shape, remaining tender yet firm, accompanied only by scallions and ginger for a pristine, irresistible aroma.

Abundant seafood fuels the confidence in its natural sweetness.

Shellfish shine with garlic sauce—fried minced garlic elevates oysters, abalone, and scallops to new heights of freshness. Clams are simmered into clear broth, seasoned only with salt, a triumph of simplicity.

Even pan-frying is done with a light touch. Thick slices of mackerel turn golden on both sides, dipped in soy sauce and a squeeze of kumquat juice. Sardines are lightly battered—just enough to crisp without overpowering (though exceptions exist, like stir-fried mango clams, which demand the fiery kick of red and green peppers).

Stir-fried mango clams—a rare burst of bold flavor.

Then there’s the island-special Zapo vinegar hotpot.

The ancients advised, "Take the essence, discard the dregs," but in Haikou, the dregs are pure treasure. For many hotpot lovers, this broth is an acquired taste. Legend has it that Hainanese discovered the tangy magic of fermented rice lees while brewing wine. This vinegary, rice-scented base pairs surprisingly well with seafood.

Clams are added to the broth for umami, followed by sea worms, scallops, and greens. The ingredients compete, melding into a complex harmony. This bubbling, eccentric pot boils away in the clamor of seafood stalls, lifting the stifling summer night into euphoria—a meal that leaves you lightly tipsy and utterly carefree.

The addictive tangy-spicy richness is hard to resist.

Chaoshan-style seafood congee thrives in Haikou’s porridge shops. A humble bowl transforms into a vibrant feast with seafood’s touch. The more lavish the toppings, the better. Pressure-cooked rice, soft and glossy, cradles chunks of crab—their golden roe stealing the show. Swap in shrimp, and their sweetness infuses the porridge with a soothing aroma. Even the intimidating sea worm softens in the porridge, gaining a bamboo shoot-like chewiness.

Curiously, Haikou’s congee shops don’t open at dawn but at midnight. Locals take it in stride—even at 2 a.m., these spots are packed, embodying the paradoxical "health ritual" of late-night porridge.

Gentle porridge can be surprisingly extravagant.

Noodles and rice vermicelli dominate the late-night stalls.

In Haikou, night markets have their own stubborn charm. Open at 8 p.m., they close once sold out. Many stalls are hidden, known only to regulars. Skyscrapers and bustling food carts coexist effortlessly. The moment the first customers arrive, they set up their own tables while the cooks focus on stir-frying noodles.

Historically, Hainan was a major rice producer, with Lingshui’s yields "enough for five years," plus the boon of fish and salt trade. Through the "Rice Road," Haikou connected to Guangdong’s trade network. In this shared "rice culture," Hainan’s noodles borrow freely—Hakka, Chaoshan, Minnan styles all blend in. Ingredients from sea, soil, or mud find their way in.

Hainan rice noodles are snow-white and thread-thin, finer than Guilin rice noodles or cross-bridge vermicelli. Tossed with toppings, they’re called "yan" (marinated). A handful of noodles is piled high with pickled bamboo shoots, crispy peanuts, and beef jerky, drenched in amber broth—this is "wet yan." The thin noodles soak up the flavors, making it the late-night champion. "Dry yan," sans broth, highlights garlic oil’s aroma—simpler yet refreshing.

Soup is a common element in the dietary culture of southern China. The same goes for Haikou locals—soup comes first, then the noodles and rice noodles. A bowl of clam soup pairs with all types of rice noodles. Though the clear broth may seem plain, it hides a subtle richness. Whether dry-mixed or wet-mixed, halfway through the meal, the clam soup arrives, turning the mixed noodles into soup noodles. Only when it makes you sweat slightly is it considered perfect.

Noodles + soup—bold or light, both work beautifully.

Mixed noodles are tied to Hakka eating habits. The difference is that Hakka mixed noodles are closer to tossed noodles, while Hainanese mixed noodles elevate the dish with toppings. Tender braised beef brisket is added, drenched in a thick beef sauce. The beef glistens with a lovely sheen and marbling, clearly rich in collagen—and of course, soup is a must, whether clam or conch, always served in a bowl.

Baoluo noodles, originating from Baoluo Town in Wenchang, are a more classic example of broth emphasis. Slightly thicker, closer to potato noodles due to Cantonese influence, the soup—simmered from beef bones—has a sweeter, fresher taste.

Mixed noodles always make their entrance with soup.

Late-night meals are really about the soup. Haikou’s famous "spicy soup rice" highlights this unique heat. The city’s red soil yields the prized "Dapo pepper," perfect for pork bone soup. A mild spiciness infuses the peppery pork offal soup. One bowl brings a fine sweat to the forehead, making you crave more rice.

The essential "mood boosters" of late-night snacks are fried foods and dim sum. Street-side "bazi" (rice cakes) and "zhazha" (fried skewers) keep the night alive until dawn.

The bazi family evolved from coarse grains. With ample grains—mixed with rice or other grains—any wrapper works. Sorghum, sweet potato, pumpkin, or winter melon—just stuff them with coconut shreds.

The bazi family is dazzlingly diverse.

Coconuts are endless too. Haikou’s 150,000 coconut trees back the locals’ consumption. There’s even "yibua," a coconut rice cake stuffed with coconut meat—incredibly soft, sticky, and lightly fragrant. Not to mention ubiquitous coconut rice and cakes, celebrating coconut in every form.

Southern Fujianese love turning taro into sweet pastes and winter melon into tea, but Haikou locals fry both into sweet skewers. Hainanese call fried skewers "zhazha"—fry anything.

Fried wontons, dumplings, chive cakes, shrimp cakes, cilantro—fry it, eat it. Winter melon rolls and taro rolls, dipped in condensed milk (who invented this?), are a Haikou-exclusive experience.

Fried skewers with condensed milk—truly savory and sweet.

Haikou’s late-night eats seem deceptively light, hiding depth: sweet soups with grains, seafood at its peak, farm-raised chicken, duck, or goose simply boiled or salt-baked, paired with top-tier dips. Every bowl of noodles is meticulously crafted, loaded with sides and broth.

This reflects Haikou’s legacy as Hainan’s sole trading hub—absorbing Chaozhou, Southern Fujian, Hakka, and Southeast Asian flavors while blending local ingredients into island-style tastes.

On this island, every night whispers a sweet truth: after all journeys, the flavors steeped in memory are the most precious.

The arcade-lined old streets have witnessed countless north-south memories.

Reading this, don’t you crave a bite to satisfy your taste buds?

Fengwu Bistro brings you an *exclusive* late-night guide❗

❇ Old-tree coconut milk—a hearty Hainanese coconut dessert in a can.

❇ Thin skin, thick flesh, tree-ripened red pitaya

❇ Traditionally grown, fiber-free Hainan Chengmai Qiaotou sweet potatoes

❇ Preserving Hakka heritage, Hainan salt-baked Wenchang chicken raised for 400 days

Delicious and affordable, a variety of tasty foods

Image editing | Cat Knight, Wang Yiran, Wu Xuewen

Header image | Hainan Jung Soo-jung

Cover image | Tuchong Creativity