The Most Delicate Carbs and Heartiest Meats Are Hiding in a Jiangnan City?

Where is Wuhu cuisine (_____)?

Where is the tofu, with its dark skin and white flesh, like miniature Hui-style architecture? Where is the soup, with tofu as white as snow and pickled mustard greens as deep as black, resembling the solitary fisherman in "Fishing in Snow"? Where is the pickled vegetable, whose stems yield a "jelly" that amazed Zheng Banqiao and Wang Zengqi? Where are the steamed buns, "with wrappers as thin as silkworm wings and broth gushing like a spring," like a Jiangnan woman in a silk cheongsam, where flavor and beauty are directly proportional? The answer is—Wuhu.

How stunning is Wuhu cuisine? Its heavenly appearance speaks for itself.

Wuhu, as the name suggests, means "water overgrown with weeds." During the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, it was called Jiucheng. Emperor Wu of Han, Liu Che, remarked, "The low-lying land holds water, producing overgrown algae," hence the name Wuhu. The Wuhu County established in the Western Han Dynasty is the predecessor of today's Wuhu City. Don’t let its name fool you—this city hides great prosperity. The Yangtze River’s main stream and two tributaries (the Qingyi River and Qing'an River) converge here like a "spring tree," with lush branches extending in all directions—

During the Eastern Jin Dynasty, Wang Dun built a fortress here to control Nanjing; in the Song Dynasty, Lin Bu crossed the official road westward here; in the Ming Dynasty, Huizhou merchants made it a hub connecting the Jianghuai region to the north and the Wu region to the east; in the Qing Dynasty, Li Hongzhang developed the grain market and opened real estate here; it was one of the earliest treaty ports in modern times; by the 1930s, it had two railways (the Jiangnan Railway and Huainan Railway)...

The developed transportation shaped the city’s eclectic tastes. Known colloquially as "Jiubang cuisine," Wuhu cuisine carries the "noodle culture" of Shanxi aristocrats who migrated south during the Eastern Jin, blends the fire techniques of Huizhou cuisine with the refinement of Huaiyang cuisine, and adds a touch of rustic charm to its innate watery grace, making the "Jiangnan beauty" both enchanting and proud.

Gently knock on the door of this Wuhu household, and a wave of delicacies will greet you.

On the plate, amber broth soaks a steamed fish, with ham and ginger slices arranged in red and yellow on top. Just as you’re about to pick up your chopsticks, the server presents a small spoon, gently "lifting" a layer of scales from the fish’s edge, suggesting a taste. Skeptical, I place it in my mouth—the scales are tender and chewable, bursting with collagen that amazes the palate, overshadowing the fish’s famously thorny yet delicate flesh.

Steamed shad fish, with ham "stealing the show."

This was my first experience eating steamed shad. Shad is one of the "Three Delicacies of the Yangtze" (also called the "Three Delicacies of Wuhu"). Eileen Chang lamented that "shad has too many bones" (adapted from Hui Hong’s *Cold Studio Night Talks* of the Song Dynasty), while the other two delicacies—saury and pufferfish—also have celebrity endorsements. Together with Wuhu’s shrimp, crabs, and waterfowl, they form the "jianghu on the tip of the tongue" of this watery region.

As a child, I loved my mother’s saury dumplings most. On the cutting board, the long, silvery saury, with its distinctive arched belly, resembled the bone-picking knife of the "Tyrant of Zhen Guanxi" from *Water Margin*. Sauries are delicate—enzyme reactions cause them to spoil quickly after being caught, so they must be processed fresh.

Photo / Gusu Bridge Suzhou Noodle Restaurant

Sauries are even more bony than shad. A row of spiny thorns on their bellies looks like the iron caltrops of Shamoke, a barbarian king from *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*. My mother carefully scraped the flesh from the back and belly, mincing even the tiny bones, and mixed it with pork fat for richness. The fish bones were reserved to make the dumpling broth—a secret to amplify the umami.

Most people place a piece of pork skin under the saury, slapping the bones onto it and discarding the skin. But my family loved the skin’s flavor, so we made dumplings with "original broth dissolving original skin." To get skin without bones, my mother peeled it off carefully, laid the bony side on pork skin, and tapped lightly with the back of a knife—the bones stuck to the pork skin. When the dumplings were served, everyone scrambled for the fish skin—a fond childhood memory.

An incomplete guide to Wuhu cuisine—a map that makes you hungry.

Today, to protect the Yangtze’s ecology, "river saury" fishing is banned, so restaurants use non-migratory "sea saury" for dumplings. Su Dongpo once wrote of "watching silver knives emerge from nets" and declared he’d "risk death to eat pufferfish." Now, farmed freshwater pufferfish, cut off from toxin-accumulating waters, are low-toxicity or non-toxic. As long as the three most toxic parts—roe, blood, and eyes—are handled properly, they’re safe to eat.

As a child, my grandmother often braised pufferfish in an iron pot, tossing in greens. The fish glistened like Dongpo pork, tender and sweet. The greens, soaked in pufferfish broth, underwent a magical "chemical reaction," rivaling the water shield in "longing for perch and water shield," and could make you devour a whole bowl of rice.

Pufferfish lips and liver—the "Xishi" on the tip of the tongue.

The world knows Yangcheng Lake hairy crabs, but few know Wuhu has them too. Wuhu locals don’t fuss with "crab tools" like Suzhou people—they boldly chop the crabs and stir-fry them with ginger and scallions. Once, at a Wuhu farmhouse, I had hairy crabs fried with rice cakes—orange shells and snow-white cakes, like little lanterns held up in the snow, evoking poetry.

Ducks know first when the river warms in spring; in Wuhu, ducks are eaten first when the water warms.

Wuhu's Wuwei Salted Duck is also renowned both at home and abroad. The preparation technique of Wuwei Salted Duck falls under smoked duck, but its taste resembles Nanjing's salt-baked duck, being relatively light. This makes one wonder if Wang Dun of the Eastern Jin Dynasty, who built a city here to remotely control Nanjing, also "packaged" the salt-baking technique along with it.

The first time I tried Wuwei Salted Duck was at the time-honored Tongqinglou. The duck's skin was a golden honey color, while the meat was a light pink, almost skin-like, creating a visually natural sense of familiarity. Upon tasting, the faint smokiness and refreshing duck aroma made the "scenery of lakes and mountains" overflow in my mouth.

The process of making Wuwei Salted Duck makes one hungrier the more they watch.

Paired with Wuwei Salted Duck as a "red-and-white duo" is the Red-Skinned Duck. The internet meme "Wuhu, take off!" from two years ago originated from the online celebrity "Wuhu Da Sima." In ancient times, there was Mi Fu's "three bows to boiled crab," and today there's "Wuhu Da Sima" eating Red-Skinned Duck. Red-Skinned Duck is somewhat similar to Nanjing roast duck, though not as crispy as the former, but it excels in tenderness and juiciness.

Red-Skinned Duck exudes hormones on the tip of the tongue.

Photo / Panda Jun Who Loves Coffee

Beyond the "red-and-white duo" of Red-Skinned Duck and Salted Duck, Wuhu's cured duck "parts" are also exceptional. The crispy and chewy duck gizzard, the resilient duck intestines, the delicate and powdery duck liver, the "bony" duck wings, and the collagen-rich duck feet—there's always one that suits your taste.

Noodles daring to challenge the "free shipping zone"

In Wuhu, having noodles for breakfast is commonplace. Fried sauce noodles, beef noodles, and shredded pork noodles—aside from the noodles being alkaline, the toppings aren't much different from those in the north. The Shanxi gentry who migrated south during the Eastern Jin Dynasty left this Jiangnan water town with the gift of "noodles." Wuhu names its noodles plainly: a bowl of clear soup noodles with lard as the base is called "plain noodles" in Wuhu, whereas in Shanghai, it's called Yangchun noodles.

Suzhou's delicate "Three-Shrimp Noodles" require shrimp roe, shrimp meat, and shrimp brains—missing one ruins the harmony. In Wuhu, only shrimp roe is used in the noodles. At Geng Fuxing Restaurant, you’ll have to wait in a long line to try it.

In Wuhu, Yangchun noodles are called "plain noodles."

Photo / Panda Jun Who Loves Coffee

Suzhou-style Three-Shrimp Noodles are almost brothless. When mixing the noodles, each strand is coated with shrimp roe, shrimp meat, and shrimp brains, becoming thicker and more satisfying as you mix. By the end, when no noodles are left, a layer of rich, creamy roe and brain essence remains at the bottom of the bowl, ideally with a few shrimp pieces. Yet, Wuhu's Shrimp Roe Noodles are surprisingly served in broth!

This is Wuhu's "boldness within refinement." First, Wuhu people are generous with shrimp roe and shrimp paste in their noodles. Second, the broth is bone-based, already infusing the noodles with vitality. Whether the shrimp roe sticks to the noodles is secondary—what matters is the "freshness dissolved in the original broth" when slurping the noodles.

Unlike Suzhou-style Three-Shrimp Noodles, Wuhu's Shrimp Roe Noodles are served in broth.

There’s also a type of hollow noodles, similar in texture to Italian penne, but Wuhu people stuff minced meat into the extremely thin noodles, creatively combining carbs and animal protein. Beyond minced meat, some are stuffed with crab roe. If Suzhou is a refined girl, Wuhu is undoubtedly a "pork-loving boy."

Speaking of crab roe, one must mention Wuhu's Crab Roe Soup Dumplings. The translucent wrapper, like a thin silk cheongsam, faintly reveals the liquid inside. The pleats on the dumpling are exquisitely transparent, resembling a carved jade chrysanthemum. Fastidious diners might even count the number of pleats (yes, that’s me).

Wuhu's soup dumplings: open the "skylight" to sip the crab roe.

Photo / Panda Jun Who Loves Coffee

To eat soup dumplings, gently pinch the "skylight" of the dumpling with slightly curled fingers, lift it lightly, and take a small bite on the side (reminiscent of a cheongsam's slit). First, drink the broth inside, then eat the filling. In college, a quirky roommate would line up a box of soup dumplings on the table in winter, "open the skylights" to drink the broth one by one, then swallow the dumplings whole. Watching the "fragrant bundles collapse," he smirked and called it "Beauty Pageant of Flowers."

It can crown seafood or build a "house" on the tip of your tongue.

When it comes to "idols" in the Jiangnan region, Wuhu claims second place, and no one dares claim first. Dishes featuring beans are abundant—famous ones like Wuhu boiled shredded dried tofu and Wuhu fermented tofu, as well as homestyle stinky tofu, hairy tofu, and tofu stewed with potherb mustard...

Wuhu hairy tofu, dressed in a "snowy coat of red bean paste."

Photo / 影 16427546; Image / Tuchong Creative

Wuhu boiled shredded dried tofu is said to predate the Huaiyang version. The relationship between some Wuhu delicacies and Jiangnan cuisine—who influenced whom?—is a question for historians. To me, it leaves an impression of bold extravagance. The bamboo shoot and chicken broth is packed with dried razor clams, shrimp, and small sea hares... so much that they almost steal the show, with the seafood flavor overpowering the bean aroma, like a blonde socialite dripping in "jewels."

Wuhu boiled shredded dried tofu lets seafood steal the spotlight.

Wuhu hairy tofu is like a hybrid of Hunan stinky tofu and Beijing green fermented tofu—soft inside like the latter but crispy outside like the former. This extreme contrast might be off-putting at first bite, but by the second, you won’t be able to stop. Dipped in a secret spicy sauce, the umami escalates, transporting you "beyond the green mountains."

Wuhu stinky tofu might be the most poetic in China—its dark-green skin, tender white flesh, and square shape resemble the black tiles and white walls of Huizhou architecture, a miniature on the tongue. Sliced and plated in layers, paired with warm yellow wine, it evokes the ambiance of "countless towers in the misty rain."

Wuhu stinky tofu: black tiles and white walls on the tongue.

Photo / Tutu’s Mom Shares Goodies

Everything that walks on land or swims in water—steam it all!

Everything that blooms or bears seeds—drink it all!

Wuhu’s cuisine is vast, both refined and bold, like a lively girl-next-door, beautiful yet down-to-earth. One dish I’ve tried is steamed rice with crispy pork—a fusion of sweet and sour pork and steamed pork with rice flour. The fried pork belly, crispy and translucent, is coated in sticky but not gluey rice flour, hitting the tongue’s "sweet spot."

Steamed rice with crispy pork: a carnival of fat and carbs on the tongue.

The crispy pork resembles a "Venus in fur," while the steamed egg with whitebait is like a "moonlit Alice." Tender Chaohu whitebait, about 2–3 cm long, is stirred into egg custard—egg fragrance wrapping around fish, lake freshness infused with mountain wildness. The custard forms pale yellow moonlike rings, the tiny fish like wisps of clouds beside the moon, a sonata of moonlight on the tongue.

They say girls are gentle as water—Wuhu’s "fermented glutinous rice balls" are also called "fermented rice water." Tiny, solid tangyuan, smaller than lotus seeds, float in sweet fermented rice, evoking the lotus-picking maiden from "Ballad of Xizhou": "She bows to play with lotus seeds, clear as water." The upgraded version, red bean fermented rice, is dotted with osmanthus sugar—red and yellow, like "a single apricot-red robe, hair dark as a crow’s wing."

Wuhu is a gourmet’s dream lover, a "dreamlike waterscape" on the tongue. Wuhu cuisine finds its balance under the dual halo of Anhui and Huaiyang cuisines—a "golden ratio" of beauty. Against the backdrop of Jiangnan, Wuhu’s delicacies are like treasures tucked in a water-town maiden’s sleeves, hiding the most rustic charm and the brightest radiance.

Under the halo of two major cuisines, Wuhu dishes find their "golden ratio."

After reading about Wuhu, don’t you crave some local knifefish wontons?

A bowl of tender, tantalizing knifefish wontons on a spring morning is a joy that lasts all day; on a chilly spring night, it’s a warmth that soothes the soul.

The ingot-shaped knife fish dumplings are exquisitely plump. Biting through the chewy and smooth wrapper reveals tender, juicy filling, delivering an explosion of freshness from head to toe with each bite—utterly satisfying~

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Header image | Panda Jun who loves coffee

Cover image | Gusu Bridge Suzhou Noodle Restaurant

This article is original content from [Di Dao Feng Wu]

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