The Magic Cuisine Capital: Stir-Fried Chili Peppers Are Just the Tip of the Iceberg!

Jiangxi, a low-key province that has always had a faint presence, hovering between the Jiangnan and Central China regions. The local cuisine is even less well-known—for instance, when I type "Gan cuisine," my input method doesn't even auto-suggest it.

Everyone has eaten three-cup chicken, and many assume it's a Cantonese or Taiwanese dish, but it’s actually an authentic Jiangxi specialty! (If you’re just learning this fact, apologize to three-cup chicken immediately!) Meanwhile, as a super rice noodle province where everyone is obsessed with noodles, Jiangxi’s rice noodles are often overshadowed by their Hunan counterparts, much to the frustration of those who truly appreciate their deliciousness...

But note that "keeping a low profile" doesn’t necessarily mean inactivity. On this land, historically abundant and culturally profound, culinary culture has quietly embarked on a remarkable path under this globally overlooked modesty. Many bizarre dishes unseen in other provinces have taken root, flourished, and borne fruit in Jiangxi.

Jiangxi’s "Chili Cuisine":

When Chili Becomes the Main Dish

Jiangxi hasn’t always been this low-key. In fact, before the modern Beijing-Guangzhou Railway opened, Jiangxi—traversed by the Gan River—was the most vital route connecting Guangzhou Port and the Central Plains. Back then, merchants traveled, goods flowed, and prosperity was a given. The chili peppers introduced to China through southern ports inevitably caught Jiangxi people’s attention first during their inland journey.

As a typical mountainous province along the Yangtze River, Jiangxi is extremely humid, especially in winter, when people suffer from damp cold. Chili peppers, which can noticeably warm the body with just one bite, sparked their keen interest. Since the mid-Qing Dynasty, Jiangxi people have cultivated chili peppers on a large scale, and their love for spice remains unbroken to this day.

Jiangxi cuisine’s spiciness is fierce and ruthless. Heavily spicing stir-fried greens is standard, and a simple bowl of mixed rice noodles can bring outsiders to tears—no big deal. Personally, I once shed two streams of tears from a seemingly mild tofu stew in Pingxiang, and though years have passed, I still hold a grudge.

However, Jiangxi people don’t just stop at heavy-handed spice. In fact, because they love chili so much, they’ve developed many dishes where chili is the star. Here, chili isn’t a disposable seasoning but the absolute centerpiece. To outsiders, these "chili dishes" seem surreal, but in Jiangxi, chili gains its true dignity as a fresh vegetable.

Take this common home-style stir-fry: green peppers fried with red peppers. Both are fresh chilies beloved by Jiangxi people, cooked with seeds intact—spicier than dried peppers but more flavorful. The red peppers bring freshness, the green ones heat, all fried in generous oil over high fire, creating distinct layers. Only Jiangxi people can savor the nuanced flavors, endless joy, childhood memories, and motherly care in this double-spice onslaught...

Jiangxi people eat water spinach—but only the stems, not the leaves. A big handful of stems stir-fried with half a plate of chilies is routine. Yet some Jiangxi folks go further, stuffing chili powder into the hollow stems, turning water spinach into a mere backdrop... Similarly, there’s Linchuan vegetable stems, ubiquitous in Jiangxi, where bright red chili powder is lavishly sprinkled on sweet-based stems. Compared to this, the "spice" in Korean kimchi might as well hide in shame...

After a scorching meal, how about dessert? Introducing Jiangxi’s beloved sweet treat: Jingdezhen chili cakes! Dried chilies, pumpkin, and glutinous rice flour are mixed with water, kneaded, and pan-fried. Enjoy them hot for that wok aroma or cold as a snack. Sweet, crispy, and slowly releasing heat—the more you eat, the spicier it gets, and the harder it is to stop. To outsiders, it’s taste bud torture; to Jiangxi people, it’s a leisurely afternoon delight...

Nanchang’s chili cakes share the same spirit but are thicker, denser, and spicier. Nowadays, some Nanchang aunties innovate with flavors—strawberry, pumpkin, or pomelo peel chili cakes—adding a hint of gentleness to the pure heat...

Jingdezhen’s rice flour dumplings, locally called "dumpling cakes," can be thought of as rice-skinned dumplings stuffed with chili cake fillings. Similarly, there’s Qingming cakes for the Tomb-Sweeping Festival—sweet ones are mild, resembling Korean songpyeon, but many are savory, packed with chili-heavy fillings. Across China, only Jiangxi people would stuff so much chili into a dumpling.

Beyond turning chili into pastries or fillings, an 80-year-old Jiangxi grandma named Long Jiao pioneered the art of boiling melon seeds with chili.

In Jiangxi, "boiled" is a deceptive term—Nanchang’s "boiled dishes" are actually like Sichuan’s spicy hot pot. "Long Jiao’s Boiled Melon Seeds" naturally follow this local tradition. Crack the shell with your teeth, release the nutty oil, and then—bam—layers of lingering spice. "Most people can’t handle more than ten," a Jiangxi local confidently told me before biting into another pitch-black spicy nut bomb, chewing contentedly, and swallowing.

Just how creative are Jiangxi people when it comes to cooking?

Yet Jiangxi cuisine’s surreal journey doesn’t stop at spice.

Perhaps excessive chili has fully opened Jiangxi people’s taste buds, giving them an incredibly broad palate. In short: as long as it’s spicy enough, anything goes.

It’s not just Hunan people who make chili-fried pork—Jiangxi’s version is just as delicious.

Strictly speaking, Gan cuisine does not adhere to overly rigid cooking techniques. In Nanchang, the most common eateries are not grand restaurants but humble roadside diners called "two rooms and a living room," specializing in home-style dishes like stir-fried pork with chili and braised chicken feet. Each has its own secret recipe, offering distinct flavors. This decentralized and relaxed dining atmosphere provides restless Jiangxi chefs with boundless creative freedom.

Braised chicken feet, a sweet-then-spicy Jiangxi home-style dish.

Jiangxi's abundant natural resources give chefs ample confidence to experiment with new dishes. For example, Yichun in Jiangxi has a pleasant climate and abundant water, making it ideal for duck farming and thus a major producer of preserved eggs. Jiangxi is undoubtedly a preserved egg-loving province, with a classic preparation being preserved egg and minced pork clay pot soup: the perfect balance of fat from the minced pork and the umami of preserved eggs creates a rich, savory broth that is utterly delicious.

However, Jiangxi people don’t stop at clay pot soup when exploring preserved eggs. In Nanchang, you can find wontons filled with preserved egg—firm preserved egg binds the meat filling, wrapped into wontons and served in a steaming bowl, its aroma wafting through the neighborhood. There’s also deep-fried preserved egg, with a crispy exterior and dry, fragrant interior, offering an unforgettable bite. For preserved egg lovers, these dishes are irresistible, but for more conservative diners, they might seem like the darkest of dark cuisine.

There are many similar examples. For instance, Jiangxi, home to China’s largest freshwater lake, Poyang Lake, naturally has no shortage of fish. But their way of eating fish is quite unique: one dish, called "drunken fish," involves curing and air-drying fish until semi-dry, then fermenting it with rice wine lees in a jar before stir-frying it with copious amounts of chili. The wine-infused, slightly fermented fish, combined with intense saltiness and spiciness, is a local favorite but often baffles outsiders.

Another example: Jiangxi people love Artemisia selengensis, and stir-fried Artemisia with cured pork is considered one of the most authentic Gan dishes. Yet, a Nanchang restaurant once turned Artemisia into pizza. The richness of cheese mixed with the grassy aroma of the herb somehow became a hit. Another well-known Nanchang restaurant once featured "candied Oreos" on its menu—Oreo’s signature flavor blended with traditional Chinese candy-pulling sweetness, creating a darkly intriguing yet oddly tempting dish.

Beyond wild culinary techniques, Jiangxi people also boldly embrace unconventional ingredients, most notably the skins of various fruits and vegetables.

Southern Jiangxi is famous for its navel oranges, and locals never waste the peels. After repeatedly rinsing away the bitterness, they slice the peels into thin strips and stir-fry them with plenty of chili and shredded pork. The savory, spicy dish carries a refreshing citrus note—though I’ve never tried it, I must admit I’m curious.

For Nanchang locals, the range of edible peels is even broader. Their favorite is undoubtedly pomelo peel. When eating pomelo, they first save the peel before enjoying the fruit. Beyond "standard" dishes like stir-fried pomelo peel with pork or spicy pomelo peel, they also marinate the peel in chili sauce and soy sauce for cold salads, making it a perfect pairing with rice or congee. Some old-school Nanchang folks even candy pomelo peel, creating a sweet, delicate treat—the only non-dark entry in pomelo peel cuisine.

Watermelon and winter melon peels are also beloved in Nanchang. Spicy stir-fried watermelon peel combines the fruit’s freshness with intense heat, offering one of the most extreme flavor contrasts. Winter melon peel is even used for soup, said to be more flavorful than the melon itself.

These examples are just a small glimpse into Jiangxi’s wild culinary repertoire. Delving deeper into the daily meals of this fascinating land, you’ll find locals constantly uncovering untapped flavor frontiers, squeezing bold experiments into the gaps of familiar tastes.

Staying in Jiangxi long enough can make one’s palate "unconventional." For instance, a Jiangxi kid might only realize in college that not everyone takes spicy food for granted or that most people simply discard pomelo peels… As they gradually adapt to the "mainstream," the eccentric flavors of home become an unreachable nostalgia—after all, those "magical" dishes are a vivid reflection of the land’s vibrant vitality.