The Best Flavors of Autumn Are Hidden in China's Top Prefecture-Level City

"Thirty-six thousand days pass easily, but life is only truly lived in Suzhou." Since ancient times, Suzhou has been a land of elegance and charm, attracting both commoners and literati alike. Tang Yin, one of the Four Great Talents of Jiangnan, once sighed: "The happiest place in the world is Wuzhong (Suzhou)."

To this day, its peerless classical gardens and the poetic lifestyle of small bridges and flowing water continue to captivate countless hearts.

Squirrel-shaped Mandarin Fish and Stir-Fried Shrimp are iconic dishes of Suzhou cuisine.

But when it comes to food, the first word that comes to most people's minds today is just one—sweet.

Indeed, Squirrel-shaped Mandarin Fish, Eel in Hot Oil, and Braised Pork Belly—these well-known Suzhou dishes all carry a sweet note. Whether complex in technique or distinct in flavor, though not rare delicacies, they remain a culinary hallmark of Suzhou.

Yet reducing Suzhou cuisine to just sweetness would be an oversimplification. Oddly enough, if you visit Suzhou in autumn and order a table of dishes following local traditions, you’ll find barely any sweet flavors.

It’s easy to infer that with modern logistics, aquaculture, and food industry advancements, bold-flavored Suzhou dishes, unrestricted by seasonal limits, have become year-round restaurant staples. In truth, this diverges from Suzhou’s culinary tradition, where seasonal and locally inspired dishes—a philosophy inherited from Huaiyang cuisine—are the true essence.

While spring in Jiangnan is celebrated for its apricot blossoms and singing orioles, autumn may be the best season to savor Suzhou. This time, let’s start with autumn delicacies to uncover the unique treasures of this timeless city.

In Suzhou, Eating Your Way Through Autumn

Confucius said, "Do not eat out of season." Today, the appeal of seasonal produce is widely cherished, but Suzhou’s "Water Eight Delicacies" were the first to fully embody this philosophy through the solar terms.

In Taicang, Suzhou, the harvesting of "Water Eight Delicacies"—like foxnut—is underway.

In early autumn, enjoy the crisp sweetness of wild rice stems; by the equinox, savor the fragrant stickiness of lotus root; at frost’s descent, relish the noble taste of arrowhead. As for foxnut and water shield, no pearl or ginseng could rival their delicacy. A millennium ago, Suzhou’s people discovered these gifts of land and water in Jiangnan’s rivers, weaving a beautiful connection between season and food in just one autumn. Since then, dishes like wild rice stem salad, arrowhead cake, water shield soup, and stir-fried foxnut with lotus root have become part of every Suzhou native’s life, as enduring as the ancient moat that has flowed for over 2,000 years.

Fig. 1: Water shield; Fig. 2: Osmanthus Foxnut.

When discussing seasonal food, aquatic products cannot be overlooked. The most famous is Yangcheng Lake hairy crab. Though eating them at Mid-Autumn has become fashionable, the best time is actually later, and crabs from Yangcheng’s core产区 are rare. Locals avoid Mid-Autumn crabs and don’t fixate on Yangcheng Lake; their top choice is Taihu crab after mid-October.

Beyond hairy crabs, Suzhou offers other autumn delights like pufferfish and eel from Taihu Lake, Suzhou’s "mother lake." Since 2020, as a key Yangtze waterway, Taihu has enforced fishing bans and sustainable practices, balancing ecology and gastronomy. Lakes like Yangcheng now also practice sustainable aquaculture, transforming lake bounty into fine dishes.

For instance, Taihu eel, dubbed "Taihu ginseng," is tender and rich, perfect steamed, braised, fried, or stewed. But the most Suzhou-style is "Yellow-Braised Eel," where it’s simmered in a large pot, then finished in a small one with extras—keeping the skin intact and flesh melt-in-mouth. The first bite bursts with aroma, followed by umami and a hint of sweetness, showcasing Suzhou’s bold yet ingredient-honoring style.

Pufferfish, or "spotted fish," resembles blowfish in taxonomy and taste. Popular since the Qing dynasty, Yuan Mei’s "Recipes from the Sui Garden" notes: "Spotted fish is tenderest. Skin and innards removed, separate liver and meat, stew in chicken broth with three parts wine, two water, one soy sauce. Finish with ginger juice and scallions to cut the fishiness."

The lake’s bounty hides Jiangnan’s finest joys.

Later cooks adapted this method, adding ham and bamboo shoots to the soup. Locals call the liver "lung," hence "Spotted Lung Soup." In the Republic era, Yu Youren mistakenly wrote "Puffer Lung" in a poem after tasting it, inadvertently immortalizing the misnomer.

Yellow-Braised Eel, Steamed White Fish, Taihu White Shrimp.

During the Cold Dew season, the bà fish and lake eel are at their plumpest. Enjoying a bowl of warm bà fish lung soup and a pot of delicate braised eel on the crisp autumn days is pure bliss, always evoking memories of a mother's warmth and tenderness, deeply moving.

The most exquisite scenery, the most brilliant autumn views

Autumn in Suzhou is never complete without osmanthus. Its fragrance captivates the heart, leaving no trace yet defining the soul of the season. From pastries large and small to savory dishes like crab roe tofu, braised pork, or stir-fried yam, a touch of osmanthus elevates them all into autumn exclusives. Among these, osmanthus-flavored gorgon fruit is a Suzhou favorite—combining the fruit's unique texture with the flower's delicate aroma, it perfectly embodies the Chinese ideal of desserts: "not too sweet," making it the pinnacle of Chinese sweets.

Osmanthus, a common ornamental plant in Suzhou's gardens.

Suzhou is not only a paradise for osmanthus cuisine but also home to famed viewing spots. As the saying goes, "Of the two-and-a-half halls of Arhat statues in the world, Suzhou boasts one-and-a-half." Of the three surviving sets of pre-Song dynasty monastic Arhat sculptures nationwide, two are in Suzhou: the "half hall" at Luzhi's Baosheng Temple and the other at Dongshan's Zijin Nunnery (both long designated as national key cultural relics).

In autumn, beyond its priceless Arhat statues, Zijin Nunnery offers another marvel—two golden osmanthus trees outside the Arhat Hall, both over 600 years old yet vibrant. Sitting beneath them, one gazes at blossoms like starlight, akin to Buddha's radiance. With a drink in hand, petals drifting into the cup blend wine, tea, and floral notes—an intoxicating experience in this ancient sanctuary.

Crab roe butter over rice, a feast of indulgence.

When osmanthus carpets Suzhou's grounds, female hairy crabs peak, their roe rich and clotted—firm at first bite, then meltingly tender with lingering aroma. The most luxurious preparation is "tù huáng yóu" (crab roe butter), a Wu dialect term for pure crab roe or paste, perfectly paired with rice or noodles.

As osmanthus season wanes, visit Guangfu Ancient Town, home to Suzhou's largest osmanthus groves and the source of most edible blooms. While Zijin Nunnery's osmanthus stands in solitary elegance, Guangfu's blankets the hills—wind sends petals dancing like fragrant snow, scenting the air for miles.

Fig.1: Osmanthus harvest season; Fig.2: Guangfu's specialty osmanthus wine.

Photo by Jiao Qing; Photo by Xixixi

Falling osmanthus, rising autumn winds, and plump lake ducks mark the season for Suzhou-style braised duck and "mother sauce" boat duck. The former glows amber, balancing sweet and salty with tender meat, while Taihu lake ducks, raised on aquatic fare, add umami. Eaten hot or cold, this 700-year-old dish once graced the Imperial Feast.

Suzhou braised duck, enhanced by osmanthus.

The latter, "mother sauce boat duck," epitomizes Taihu boat cuisine. Cooked solely in Suzhou's unique "mother sauce" (a premium soy) without water, the duck simmers until fork-tender, its broth transforming from dark to sweetly savory—even drinkable. Sadly, with the decline of lake banquets, few restaurants master this dish today; don't miss it if found.

Thus, Suzhou's charm lies beyond food—it's about savoring the land's culture with every sense. To taste autumn here is to engage tongue, nose, eyes, ears, and soul.

Mother sauce boat duck, simmered entirely in specialty soy.

Late autumn paints Jiangnan in its richest hues: ginkgos at Shangfang Mountain and Xiyuan Temple turn gold, mingling with evergreens. Sunlight ignites these colors into a mosaic where no two leaves shimmer alike—subtleties even Renoir couldn't capture. Xiyuan's roaming cats animate this living scroll.

As Su Shi said, "Missing Tiger Hill in Suzhou is regret." In deep autumn, this regret doubles. Past the Twin Gates, ascend via Yongcui Villa—maples, ginkgos, and greens layer into a natural masterpiece where the millennial Cloud Rock Pagoda and Tiger Hill's Sword Pool (with calligraphy by Wang Xizhi and Yan Zhenqing) are mere accents.

Osmanthus wine, a fragrant nectar.

Amidst beauty, don't miss the winter-brewed wine available pre-Winter Solstice—a yearly craving. Also, Dongshan and Xishan, Suzhou's "fruit mountains," offer more than famed white loquats; late-autumn tangerines burst with juice and intense flavor, yet remain affordable as they're overlooked by outsiders.

When late autumn arrives, after buying winter-brewed wine and tangerines, head to the Humble Administrator’s Garden. From the Tianquan Pavilion through the Shuxiang Hall, make your way straight to the Daishuang Pavilion. Sip the winter wine, peel a tangerine, and leisurely admire how the garden’s designers arranged the autumn foliage with such skill, capturing the essence of Suzhou’s deep autumn in this compact space.

This season is perfect for buying a few male crabs. By now, the male hairy crabs have reached peak richness, their texture as smooth as lard. With just a gentle press of the tongue, the creamy fat spreads in your mouth, its aroma rising straight to your nose. To have such exquisite delicacies alongside the stark beauty of late autumn is truly uplifting.

Viewed from above in autumn, the Humble Administrator’s Garden is a riot of colors and layers.

Another Biluochun, another Suzhou.

Biluochun, one of China’s top ten famous teas, needs no introduction. The character “春” (spring) in its name hints at its unique seasonality. “Biluochun should be drunk from the first pre-Qingming harvest, ideally while it’s still fresh,” is a refrain you’ll often hear from tea shop owners in Suzhou. But this advice carries a fleeting regret: strictly speaking, only pre-Qingming Biluochun can bear the name. Tea from the same bushes harvested later is called “炒青” (roasted green). Biluochun’s status as a treasure among teas stems not just from its superior cultivar but also its unique cultivation method—

The Biluochun tea fields by Dongting Lake.

On Dongting East Hill and Dongting West Hill by Taihu Lake, tea bushes grow alongside fruit trees and flowers. Over time, the tea absorbs their fragrances, blending them with its own in an indescribably delightful way. But this rich aroma fades quickly, which is why Biluochun has traditionally been recommended for early consumption. Yet this approach has its flaws: while the new tea is fragrant, it’s often marred by the “fire” taste from recent roasting.

If stored at room temperature to mellow like rock tea, the fire taste may fade after a summer, but so does the aroma, leaving the tea bland. This tension between fire and fragrance has long been Biluochun’s regret. In recent years, some young tea makers have experimented with new methods. Using modern equipment, they refined the roasting process for better fire control, then sealed the freshly roasted tea and froze it until autumn.

This six-month frozen aging removes the fire taste while preserving the aroma, adding a mellow depth. A sip delivers sweetness and moisture—the wind of East Hill, the clouds of West Hill, and the blossoms and fruits of Dongting, all in your mouth.

The roasting of Biluochun fills the air with tea fragrance.

Modern techniques have remedied Biluochun’s regret, but this mechanized shift from spring to autumn tea has drawn skepticism from traditionalists. The tension between culinary tradition and innovation is a perennial, unavoidable debate—one Suzhou’s food culture also faces. With rapid population flows eroding regional boundaries, modern life’s impact, and shifts in geography and industry, Suzhou’s cuisine cannot and will not cling to unchanging “old flavors.”

Autumn Biluochun is a prime example: even while innovating, it honors the principle of “eating in season,” using technology to orchestrate the beautiful interplay between nature and time.

Biluochun—its aroma and Zen-like essence all in a cup.

Such experiments abound in modern Suzhou cuisine. For instance, some chefs use locally sourced pomegranates from East and West Hills to juice and cook the classic “Squirrel Mandarin Fish.” This version retains the dish’s visual flair and crispy-tender texture while offering a tangier alternative to the traditional sweet-and-sour sauce. Using seasonal fruit also aligns with the “eat in season” philosophy.

Bolder chefs go further, borrowing techniques from other cuisines to reimagine Suzhou ingredients. For example, they chill water shield (莼菜) marinated in a spicy-sour sauce into a jelly-like appetizer, served with Jiangnan’s petite river delicacies or even caviar. This might sound far from Suzhou’s culinary roots, but it captures the ingredient’s essence: the water shield’s silky, slightly crisp texture suits cold dishes, while the Sichuan-inspired sauce enhances its mildness. Paired with seafood, it’s a double dose of umami. The jelly form solves the water shield’s small size and acts as a bridge between it and the seafood—much like the traditional “Water Shield and Silver Fish Soup,” but through a different path.

Dishes like these evoke Suzhou’s old city. Even today, you can trace the city’s layout using the Song-dynasty “Pingjiang Map” stele in Suzhou’s Confucian Temple. The walls and waterways remain largely unchanged after a millennium. Yet within, modernization progresses—not for sterile metrics but to preserve the old town’s grace and ease.

Renovated homes and shops still line the canals. Modern ventilation and materials address humidity and durability without erasing the “small bridges, flowing water, and households” charm. On crisp autumn days, buy osmanthus cakes in Shuyuan Alley, grab some fried chicken and soda, and relax at Tiger Hill’s back slope—whether sipping tea with a book or playing mobile games. During autumn rains, take a stool to the Humble Administrator’s Garden’s Tingyu Pavilion and listen to the downpour. Suzhou isn’t a relic; its traditions embrace everyday life.

The Cloud Rock Pagoda at Tiger Hill—a millennium-old temple.

Like its cuisine, Suzhou’s urban renewal sparks debate. Some call it a “neither-here-nor-there” hindrance to the old town becoming a modern downtown. True, modernity is inevitable; we can’t fully preserve pre-modern city life or all culinary traditions. When Suzhou’s old district became China’s first historic preservation zone, it forfeited conventional downtown status.

But it also offered a chance—to reimagine a uniquely Chinese path for ancient cities. This September, Suzhou’s urban population surpassed 5.1251 million, qualifying it as a “megacity.” In 2023’s first-half GDP rankings, Suzhou placed sixth—behind only Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Chongqing—as the sole non-provincial-level city in the top ten. This “strongest prefecture-level city” outshone many provincial capitals, proving that preserving tradition and thriving economically aren’t mutually exclusive.

Overlooking the urban area of Suzhou, the Humble Administrator's Garden and the Suzhou Museum stand side by side, where classical and modern elements blend together perfectly.

That this great attempt took place in Suzhou seems inevitable. When ancient Suzhou residents chose sites for their gardens, they did not follow the traditional principle of "mountainous and wooded areas being the most ideal for gardens" (Ji Cheng, *The Craft of Gardens*, Volume 1, Site Selection: Mountainous and Wooded Land), nor did they select secluded spots by mountains and waters. Instead, they defied the ancient admonition that "urban areas are unsuitable for gardens" (Ji Cheng, *The Craft of Gardens*, Volume 1, Site Selection: Urban Land) and opted for bustling city locations. They recreated the grandeur of mountains and rivers within the confined urban space, realizing the concept of "hiding in plain sight" in a way that challenged tradition. Centuries later, the Suzhou Museum, designed by I.M. Pei, was completed next to the Humble Administrator's Garden. This modern museum, astonishingly yet fittingly, took Suzhou's classical gardens as its blueprint.

This is the most imaginative chapter in the history of Chinese urban construction.

Suzhou, the most unique existence among Chinese cities.

Header photo | Tuchong Creativity

Why not try one of the "Eight Aquatic Delicacies"—Gorgon fruit?

Carefully selected fresh Gorgon fruit, originally produced in Suzhou!

8mm large grains, plump and full, individually packed for easy cooking.

Comes with complimentary osmanthus flowers and rock sugar—transporting you straight to the Jiangnan water towns!