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WhatToEat.Today

Vegetarian Chinese recipes

Tofu, noodles, dumplings and stir-fries without meat or fish. (219 recipes)

Salted duck eggs

Gaoyou in Jiangsu is famous for salted duck eggs with oily, deep orange yolks, and at the Dragon Boat Festival they are hung in little woven nets around children's necks before being eaten with congee or rice. At home they are simple: clean duck eggs left in a strong salt brine for about four weeks, then boiled. Cracked eggs are the risk; use only uncracked, very fresh eggs, keep the jar cool and always cook them before eating. The common mistake is too weak a brine, which lets the eggs spoil; it must taste as salty as the sea and then some. Chef's tip: from week three, boil one test egg each week until the yolk is as firm and rich as you like.

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Kao leng mian (grilled cold noodle sheets)Griddled noodle sheet wrap

On winter nights outside schools and night markets in Harbin, Heilongjiang, vendors slap thin sheets of pressed cold noodle onto a flat griddle, crack an egg over them, flip, paint them with a sweet-and-hot sauce and fold them around raw onion and coriander. It is a snack from the 1990s that spread across the north-east and now turns up at night markets all over China. The sheet should be chewy with crisp, lacy edges, and the egg should cling to it rather than slide off. The usual mistake is putting the egg on a sheet that is still dry and stiff: sprinkle it with water first so it softens and the egg can grip it. Packets of ready-made kao leng mian sheets are sold in Chinese supermarkets, in the chilled or dried noodle aisle. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium, not high; the sauce has sugar in it and burns long before the egg is set.

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Vegetarian malatangSpicy numbing hot pot

Malatang began on the streets of Leshan and Chengdu as a cheap pot where everything was boiled together, and today it is a lunchtime habit for students and office workers across China: you fill a basket from fridges of skewers and vegetables, and the cook boils it in a numbing, chilli-red broth and hands it back in a big bowl. This home version makes a fully vegan broth from chilli bean paste, dried chillies and Sichuan pepper, with no beef tallow. Choose about six things: tofu puffs, frozen tofu, enoki, wood ear, potato slices, lotus root, greens and sweet potato noodles are classic. The common mistake is to cook everything for the same time; put dense things in first and leafy things last so nothing turns to mush. Chef's tip: a spoonful of sesame paste stirred into each bowl at the end softens the heat and is how many Chengdu shops serve it.

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Almond tofu (xingren doufu)

Almond tofu has nothing to do with soybeans: it is a soft, white jelly of sweetened almond milk, cut into cubes like tofu and floated in cold syrup with fruit. It was once a palace dessert in Beijing and is now on dim sum menus in Guangzhou and Hong Kong in summer. The traditional flavour comes from southern apricot kernels (nan xing ren); this home version uses blanched almonds with a few drops of almond extract, and agar, so it is fully vegetarian. The common mistake is using too much agar, which makes it firm and rubbery; it should only just hold its shape and wobble on the spoon. Chef's tip: bring the agar to a full boil for 2 minutes before adding the milk, or it won't set at all.

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Hong you (Sichuan red chilli oil)

In Chengdu kitchens, a jar of hong you sits next to the stove and goes into almost everything cold: wontons in red oil, cucumber salads, cold noodles and the dressing for liang mian. Good chilli oil is a deep ruby colour, fragrant rather than burnt, with a warm, rounded heat and the tingle of Sichuan pepper. It is poured in two stages, hot then warm, so you get both toasted and bright chilli flavours. The mistake most people make is pouring smoking oil onto the flakes, which turns them black and bitter in a second; check the temperature. Chef's tip: mix coarse and fine chilli flakes, the fine for colour and the coarse for crunch and flavour, and let the oil sit overnight before using.

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Hua juan (scallion flower rolls)

Hua juan, 'flower rolls', are what a northern Chinese household makes when plain mantou feel too plain: the same dough is rolled out, spread with spring onion, salt and a little oil, then cut and twisted so the layers open into petals as it steams. Families in Hebei, Beijing and Shandong eat them for breakfast with millet porridge or with a stew for supper. The common mistake is spreading the filling to the very edge and pressing too hard while twisting, which squashes the layers together so you lose the flower. Chef's tip: dust the oiled surface with a little flour before rolling it up; it keeps the layers separate so they peel apart after steaming.

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Bingtang xueli (rock sugar stewed pears)

When the dry winds of a northern winter bring on sore throats, grandmothers in Beijing and Shandong set a bowl of pear and rock sugar in the steamer, and it is now served as a soothing dessert all over China. Whole Asian pears, hollowed and filled with rock sugar, are slowly stewed until translucent and swimming in their own light syrup. The common mistake is choosing a Western pear that collapses; crisp Asian (nashi or Ya) pears hold their shape and give plenty of juice. Chef's tip: slice off the top as a lid and stew it with the pear; serving the pear with its lid back on is how it is presented at the table.

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Guihua nuomi ou (sticky rice lotus root with osmanthus)

Around West Lake in Hangzhou, lotus roots are pulled from the mud in autumn just as the osmanthus trees bloom, and the two meet in this Jiangnan dessert: the hollow channels of the root are packed with soaked glutinous rice, then the whole root is simmered for hours in brown sugar until it turns rosy brown and soft. It is served cold or warm in slices, the rice showing as white dots, with a drizzle of osmanthus syrup. The common mistake is packing the rice in tight; it swells as it cooks and needs room, or the slices crack and the middle stays hard. Chef's tip: let the root cool in its syrup overnight before slicing; it firms up, cuts cleanly and soaks up more colour.

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Laba garlic (jade green vinegar garlic)Green vinegar-pickled garlic

On Laba day, the eighth of the twelfth lunar month, Beijing families peel a jar of garlic, cover it with vinegar and leave it in a cold spot until New Year's Eve, when the cloves have turned a startling jade green. They are eaten with the jiaozi on New Year's Eve, a spoonful of the sharp, garlicky vinegar going into every dipping dish. The cloves lose their raw bite and become crunchy, mellow and sweet-sour. The green colour comes from natural compounds in the garlic reacting with the acid in the cold and is perfectly safe. The usual mistake is keeping the jar somewhere warm, where the garlic stays white; it needs to be below about 10 °C. Chef's tip: use firm, purple-skinned garlic, and leave the jar in the fridge door, which is cold but not too cold.

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Five-spice powder

Across China, from Cantonese roast meat shops to Sichuan home kitchens, five-spice is the blend that seasons red-braised dishes, tea eggs, roast duck and spiced tofu. Shop-bought powder loses its scent quickly; grinding your own takes ten minutes and gives a sweet, warm aroma with a gentle tingle from the Sichuan pepper. It is used by the pinch, not the spoonful. The classic mistake is grinding the spices raw or toasting them until they smoke; warm them just until fragrant. Chef's tip: pick the black seeds out of the Sichuan peppercorns before toasting, since they are gritty and bitter, and sieve the ground blend so it is silky fine.

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Gau choi gau (chive dumplings)

In Guangzhou teahouses these fat, translucent parcels arrive pressed flat and seared on one side, so you see the bright green chives through a skin that is chewy and crisp at once. The dough is wheat starch and tapioca scalded with boiling water, and the filling here is all chives, shiitake and a little firm tofu, which is how many families make it for vegetarian days at New Year. Lukewarm water is the common mistake: the starch only turns into a workable dough if the water is properly boiling. Chef's tip: dry the chives completely after washing, or they weep and make the skins burst.

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Nian gao (brown sugar sticky rice cake)

Across Guangdong a tall nian gao, glossy and almost black from slab brown sugar, is steamed before New Year and offered to the Kitchen God; its name sounds like 'higher every year'. Days later, once it has firmed up, the cake is cut into slices, dipped in beaten egg and fried until the outside is lacy and the inside soft and stretchy. The batter is just glutinous rice flour, brown sugar and water, so a plain steamed slice is vegan; the egg is for frying. Cutting it too soon is the mistake: freshly steamed nian gao is a sticky puddle, so wait at least a day. Chef's tip: oil your knife between slices and it glides through cleanly.

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Sachima (honeyed egg-noodle bars)

Sachima came to Beijing with the Manchus, and old-fashioned bakeries in the north still sell it in big trays: thin strands of egg dough are fried pale gold, tossed in a sticky syrup, pressed into a block and cut into fluffy, sweet squares. Children in China and in Chinese communities abroad grow up with the wrapped supermarket kind, but homemade is lighter and softer. The common mistake is overcooking the syrup; take it too far and the bars set rock hard instead of chewy. It should only reach the thread stage, about 112 °C. Chef's tip: fry the strands only until pale straw-coloured, not brown; they keep cooking for a moment once lifted from the oil.

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Nangua bing (pumpkin sticky rice cakes)

Every family restaurant from Zhejiang to Sichuan has a plate of these little golden pumpkin cakes on the menu, and grandmothers make them at home in autumn when pumpkins pile up at the market: steamed pumpkin is kneaded with glutinous rice flour into a soft orange dough, wrapped round a spoonful of red bean paste, pressed flat and fried until crisp outside and chewy inside. Children love them for dessert or as an afternoon snack. The common mistake is adding all the flour at once; pumpkins vary in moisture, so add it gradually until the dough is soft like earlobes and no longer sticky. Chef's tip: fry them on a medium-low heat with the lid on for the first side, so the centre steams through before the outside darkens.

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Peanut cookies (hua sheng bing)

Lift the lid on a Chinese New Year snack tray in Guangdong, Penang or Singapore and there will be these pale golden domes, so short they crumble the moment they touch your tongue. They are nothing but roasted peanuts ground fine, flour, icing sugar and oil, and this version skips the usual egg wash, so they are vegan. The mistake is over-grinding the peanuts into a paste, which makes the dough greasy and the cookies flat; stop while it is still a fine powder. Chef's tip: let them cool fully on the tray before moving them, because they are fragile until set.

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Mantou (plain steamed buns)

From Shandong to Shaanxi, mantou are what bread is elsewhere: plain, slightly sweet steamed wheat buns bought by the bagful each morning and eaten with porridge, pickles, braised dishes or a fried egg. A good one is snowy white, smooth-skinned and springy, with a fine, close crumb that tears in soft layers. The common mistake is lifting the lid the moment the heat goes off: the sudden cold air makes the skins wrinkle and collapse, so let them stand covered for 5 minutes first. Leftovers are sliced and pan-fried, or split and filled with anything from braised tofu to chilli sauce. Chef's tip: knead much longer than you think, then knead again after the rise; the second knead pushes out the big air bubbles and gives that silky skin.

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Xiaomi zhou (golden millet porridge)

In Shanxi, Hebei and the rest of the north, where rice was once a luxury, a pot of golden foxtail millet porridge is breakfast with steamed buns and pickles, a light supper, and the first food given to new mothers and anyone who is unwell. It needs just millet and water, cooked until a thin, silky layer called mi you, 'rice oil', forms on top. The common mistake is to stir it constantly or add the millet to cold water; start with boiling water and let it simmer gently and it turns creamy without catching. Serve it plain, or with a few red dates or cubes of pumpkin simmered in. Chef's tip: toast the rinsed millet in a dry pan for a minute before boiling for a deeper, nutty flavour.

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Lü dou tang (chilled mung bean soup)

When the heat settles on Guangzhou, Wuhan or Shanghai in July, families keep a jug of mung bean soup in the fridge, and school canteens and workplaces hand it out by the bowl; traditional medicine calls mung beans 'cooling', a reason to drink it on the hottest days. It is just mung beans simmered with rock sugar until some burst and the liquid turns pale green or soft red, eaten chilled. The common mistake is cooking it in an iron or aluminium pan or leaving it uncovered too long, which turns the soup dark brown-red; a stainless steel pot with the lid on keeps it greener. Chef's tip: for a clear green soup, take a few ladles of the liquid after 10 minutes of boiling, before the beans split, and drink that as a lighter tea.

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Yin er tang (snow fungus sweet soup)

Gutian county in Fujian grows most of the world's snow fungus, a frilly white dried fungus that softens into a soft, jelly-like tangle when simmered. Mothers across southern China cook it into a lightly sweet soup with red dates, lotus seeds and goji, served warm in winter and chilled in summer, and it is thought good for the skin and for dry autumn coughs. Done well, the liquid turns thick and glossy on its own. The common mistake is not simmering long enough: under an hour the fungus stays crunchy and the soup thin. Chef's tip: tear the soaked fungus into small pieces and cut away the hard yellow base; the smaller the pieces, the more body the soup gets.

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Vegetarian gooseTofu-skin roll

Shanghai's Buddhist temple kitchens, and the vegetarian restaurant at Jade Buddha Temple in particular, have long served su e as a cold starter: sheets of tofu skin brushed with sweet soy, rolled tight, steamed to set and then fried until the outside turns bronze and blistered like the skin of a roast bird. Sliced on the diagonal, it shows dozens of thin, savoury layers that are tender inside and faintly chewy at the edge. It is eaten at room temperature with other cold plates before a banquet, or tucked into lunch boxes. The usual mistake is soaking the dried tofu skin until it falls apart; you only need to brush it with the warm seasoning so it softens as you roll. Chef's tip: roll each log as tightly as you can and tie it in a cloth before steaming, because loose rolls separate into strips when you slice them.

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Stir-fried two wintersBamboo shoot and shiitake stir-fry

In Hangzhou and Suzhou the cold months bring winter bamboo shoots, dug before they break the soil, and cooks pair them with dried 'winter' mushrooms, the thick-capped shiitake picked in the cold. Temple kitchens in the Jiangnan region make this the centrepiece of a meatless meal: crunchy, sweet bamboo and deeply savoury mushroom in a light, shiny sauce made with the mushroom soaking water. Serve it hot with plain rice. Its one trap is bamboo that tastes bitter or metallic, because it went into the wok straight from the packet; blanch it first. Chef's tip: soak the shiitake overnight in cold water in the fridge rather than in hot water for an hour, and the caps stay plump and the liquid tastes far richer.

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Cu liu baicai (vinegar cabbage)Vinegar-fried cabbage

Through the long winters of Shandong, Hebei and Beijing, napa cabbage was the vegetable stored in every courtyard, and cu liu baicai is how northern homes turn it into a bright, quick dish in ten minutes. The thick white stalks are sliced thin and seared hard in a smoking wok, then splashed with black vinegar so they stay crunchy, juicy and sharp, with a little sweetness and the warmth of dried chilli. It goes with rice, steamed buns or dumplings. The classic mistake is crowding a cool wok, which stews the cabbage in its own water; cook in two batches if your pan is small. Chef's tip: add half the vinegar around the hot edge of the wok so it sizzles and turns fragrant, and the rest at the end for fresh tang.

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Dry-pot cauliflower

Hunan's dry-pot restaurants bring this to the table in a small wok over a burner, still crackling, and it is one of the most ordered dishes in Changsha. Loose-headed cauliflower is used there because its long, thin stems char quickly; ordinary cauliflower works if you cut it into small, flat florets. Restaurants usually fry it with slices of pork belly, but this version is fully vegetarian, with smoky charred edges, plenty of garlic and a deep chilli heat from dried and fresh peppers. Eat it with rice and a cooling soup. The common mistake is boiling the cauliflower first, which makes it soft and stops it charring; dry-fry it instead. Chef's tip: let the florets sit still in the hot wok for a minute at a time so they blacken in spots, because those scorched patches are the whole point.

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Fa gao (prosperity cakes)Steamed rice flour cakes

Fa gao is the little cake on every Cantonese New Year altar in Guangzhou and in Chinatowns from Kuala Lumpur to London: the word 'fa' means both 'rise' and 'prosper', and the deeper the cross-shaped crack on top, the luckier the year. This quick version uses rice flour, a little wheat flour and baking powder, steamed hard so the tops burst open, and it is egg- and dairy-free. The mistake that stops them smiling is a gentle steamer; the water must be at a fierce rolling boil before the cups go in. Chef's tip: fill the cups right to the brim, so the batter has to split as it rises.

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Jau gok (crispy peanut dumplings)

In Hong Kong and Guangdong households, the days before New Year mean a production line at the kitchen table: one person rolls, another fills, a grandparent crimps the rope-like edge, and the finished jau gok go into big tins for visitors. Their purse shape stands for silver ingots, and the filling of roasted peanuts, toasted sesame, coconut and sugar crunches under a flaky, blistered shell. Leaving air pockets inside is the mistake that makes them burst in the oil, so press the filling down before sealing. Chef's tip: fry them at a moderate heat, not high, so the shell cooks through and stays crisp for weeks in an airtight tin.

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Eight treasures rice

On New Year's Eve in Shanghai and the towns of Jiangnan, the reunion dinner ends with a dome of sticky rice turned out onto a plate, its top patterned with red dates, raisins, goji berries, walnuts and lotus seeds, and a heart of sweet red bean paste. A glossy syrup goes over just before it reaches the table. Older recipes use lard; this one uses neutral oil, so it is vegan. The usual mistake is undercooking the rice at the first steaming: if it is still chalky before shaping, it never turns tender. Chef's tip: pack the fruit pattern into the bowl first and press the rice firmly over it, so the design comes out sharp.

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Jiachang doufu (home-style tofu)Home-style braised tofu

Jiachang means 'home-style', and in Chengdu this is the tofu dish every family cook and every small neighbourhood canteen knows by heart: golden fried slices of firm tofu simmered briefly in a red, garlicky sauce of Pixian chilli bean paste with crunchy wood ear and green pepper. Restaurants often add a few slices of pork; this version keeps it fully vegetarian, which is how many Sichuan homes cook it midweek. It is salty, gently hot and made to be eaten with plenty of steamed rice. The usual mistake is moving the tofu around the pan before it has browned, which tears it; leave it alone until it releases. Chef's tip: fry the chilli bean paste slowly in the oil until the oil turns red before adding anything else, as that is where the colour and depth come from.

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Sichuan pao cai (brine pickles)Brine-pickled vegetables

Almost every family in Sichuan keeps a glazed pao cai jar with a water-sealed lid, and some brines have been topped up for decades. Vegetables steep in salted water with Sichuan pepper and fresh chillies until they turn crisp, sour and lightly fizzy; they are eaten as a little dish with rice porridge at breakfast in Chengdu, and chopped into fish, beans and stir-fries for that clean sourness. Many cooks add a splash of baijiu to the jar; this version leaves it out, and the pickle ferments perfectly well without it. The mistake that ruins a jar is a wet or oily spoon: any oil or raw water lets white mould grow, so always use a clean, dry spoon. Chef's tip: dry the cut vegetables in the sun or on a rack for a few hours before packing, as slightly wilted vegetables stay crunchier for longer.

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Tanghulu (candied hawthorn and fruit skewers)

Tanghulu sellers carrying poles bristling with red skewers are a winter sight in Beijing's hutongs and at the Spring Festival temple fairs at Ditan and Changdian. The classic is hawthorn, tart and mealy under a shell of hard sugar; strawberries, mandarin segments and grapes are the modern favourites. Everything depends on the syrup reaching the hard-crack stage, about 150 °C; the common mistake is stopping too early, which gives a sticky coating that never sets. The syrup is far hotter than boiling water and sticks to skin, so keep children well back while you cook and dip, and let them help only with threading the fruit. Chef's tip: the fruit must be bone dry; any water on the skin makes the sugar slide off and bubble.

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Re gan mian (Wuhan hot dry noodles)

In Wuhan, Hubei, the day starts with re gan mian, 'hot dry noodles', eaten standing up or walking to work: springy alkaline noodles, pre-boiled and oiled the night before, are dunked in boiling water for a few seconds and tossed with a thick sesame paste, soy, pickled radish, spring onion and chilli oil. There is no broth; it is rich, nutty, salty and very satisfying. The common mistake is not loosening the sesame paste enough, so it clumps on the noodles instead of coating them; thin it slowly with sesame oil until it falls from the spoon like a ribbon. This version is vegan, made with pickled mustard tuber instead of the dried shrimp some stalls add. Chef's tip: boiling and oiling the noodles ahead and letting them cool spread out is what gives the chewy, slightly dry texture Wuhan people love.

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Kao fu (braised wheat gluten)

Every Shanghainese family puts a bowl of kao fu on the table for Chinese New Year, and the city's temple canteens serve it all year as a cold dish. The spongy wheat-gluten cubes drink up a dark, glossy braise of soy and rock sugar, with crunchy wood ear, meaty shiitake and soft peanuts in every mouthful. It tastes better the next day, eaten cold or just above room temperature with rice or congee. Most people get it wrong by cutting the gluten with a knife; tear it by hand so the rough edges soak up more sauce. Chef's tip: squeeze the boiled gluten hard, like a sponge, before frying, or it spits in the oil and stays bland inside.

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Suan rong xilanhuaGarlic broccoli

Garlic broccoli is on the menu of almost every Chinese home kitchen and family restaurant, from Guangzhou to Shanghai, as the quick green dish at a weekday dinner. The florets are blanched just until bright, then tossed in a hot wok with a big spoon of minced garlic and a splash of water, so they stay crisp, glossy and full of garlic flavour. Serve with tofu, fish or eggs and a modest portion of rice. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 90 kcal and 8 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is adding the garlic to very hot oil before the broccoli, where it burns and turns bitter. Chef's tip: add a few drops of oil to the blanching water; it keeps the broccoli shiny and green.

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Shānyào ní (Chinese yam purée)

Chinese yam (shānyào, the long, hairy-skinned root sold in bundles in markets from Beijing to Guangzhou) is valued in Chinese homes as easy on the tummy, and steamed shānyào ní is one of the classic first purées offered at six months. Once steamed, the crisp, slippery flesh turns floury and pale, and pressed through a sieve it gives a smooth, slightly sweet, potato-like purée. Nothing else is added: no salt, sugar or honey for babies. It is free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: wear gloves or oil your hands before peeling; the raw sap makes skin itch, but cooking destroys it completely.

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Gē da tāng (flour-knot soup with tomato and egg)

Gē da tāng is the soup of northern Chinese homes, from Beijing hutongs to the kitchens of Hebei and Shandong, made on cold evenings or when someone is under the weather. Water is dripped onto flour until it forms little knots, which are rained into a broth of soft tomatoes and finished with egg, so the bowl is part soup, part tiny dumpling. For toddlers from 12 months it is cooked without salt or soy sauce, and the egg is simmered until fully set. It contains wheat (gluten) and egg, and sesame if you add the oil; there is no milk, nuts or soya. Chef's tip: drip the water in a thin trickle while stirring with chopsticks, so you get rice-sized knots, not a paste.

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Jīdàn gēng for babies (steamed egg custard)

Jīdàn gēng, egg steamed with water into a quivering custard, is the dish Chinese grandparents everywhere from Shanghai to Guangzhou make for small children, and it is often the way a baby first meets whole egg at around nine months. The family version is finished with soy sauce, sesame oil and spring onion; this one is plain, so it tastes clean and gently eggy. Steamed slowly, it is smooth as silk and fully set. It contains egg and is free of milk, gluten, nuts, soya, sesame and fish. Chef's tip: cover the bowl with a plate while it steams; dripping condensation is what pockmarks the surface.

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Tianjin guobacaiCrepe strips in spiced gravy

Guobacai is pure Tianjin: at breakfast stalls in the city, thin crêpes of mung bean and millet are cut into strips and drowned in a thick, glossy gravy scented with star anise, then dressed with sesame paste, fermented bean curd sauce, chilli oil and coriander. It is eaten with a spoon alongside a jianbing or a fried dough stick. The common mistake is a watery gravy; it should be thick enough to cling to the strips like a sauce. Chef's tip: dry the crêpes for an hour, or overnight, before cutting; slightly firm strips keep their bite in the hot gravy.

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Jidan guanbingFlatbread filled with egg

Jidan guanbing, "egg-poured pancake", started in Henan and is now on breakfast carts across China: a layered flatbread puffs up like a balloon on the griddle, the cook tears a slit, pours beaten egg inside, then wraps it around lettuce with sweet bean sauce and chilli. The mistake is rolling the dough too thick so it never puffs; roll it thin and seal the oil paste well inside so steam separates the layers. Chef's tip: press the centre gently with a spatula as soon as it starts to rise, which pushes the air into one big pocket ready for the egg.

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Dan hong gaoGriddle egg cakes

On Chengdu's back streets, dan hong gao vendors work a row of tiny copper pans, pouring in a sweet egg batter, adding a spoon of filling and folding each cake in half like a soft taco. Breakfast-goers order a few with brown sugar and sesame, and a few with savoury fillings like pickled mustard greens. The mistake is a lid-less pan: the cakes must be covered so the top steams through while the base turns golden. A small 10–12 cm frying pan works at home. Chef's tip: let the batter rest 10 minutes after adding the raising agent so tiny bubbles form; the cakes come out spongy rather than flat.

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JiaoquanCrisp fried dough rings

Jiaoquan are the thin, shatteringly crisp fried rings that old Beijingers dunk into a bowl of sour douzhi, or tuck inside a sesame shaobing for breakfast. Street cooks use alum to make them puff; this home version uses baking powder and soda, with a long rest so the dough becomes stretchy. The mistake is cutting the rest short: tight dough will not stretch thin and the rings come out chewy. The dough needs about 3 hours in total, most of it hands-off. Chef's tip: keep the oil steady at about 170 °C and turn the rings constantly with chopsticks; they should stay pale gold, not brown, and sound hollow when tapped.

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Lüdou zhouRice and mung bean congee

In Beijing and across the north, a pot of lüdou zhou is what families cook on hot summer mornings: plain rice and mung beans simmered until the beans split and the rice turns creamy, believed to cool the body. It is eaten with salty pickled vegetables, a fried dough stick or a spoon of sugar for children. The mistake is putting the rice and beans in together; mung beans need a head start or you get mushy rice with hard beans. Chef's tip: once it is cooked, leave it to stand off the heat with the lid on for 10 minutes; it thickens into a silky congee without extra stirring.

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Beijing douzhiFermented mung bean drink

Douzhi is the most famous acquired taste in Beijing: a hot, grey-green, sour drink made from the liquid left when mung beans are ground for starch, then fermented. Old Beijingers sip it at breakfast with crisp jiaoquan rings and shredded salted mustard pickles, and visitors either love it or never try it twice. At home you make a small batch by blending mung beans, settling out the starch and fermenting the cloudy water for a day. The mistake is letting it boil hard: it separates into watery and thick layers, so keep it at a gentle bubble. It must smell cleanly sour like yogurt; throw it away if it smells rotten, has mould, or turns pink or slimy. Chef's tip: stir it continuously as it heats and add a splash of the thinner liquid at the end, which keeps the classic smooth, slightly thick texture.

1440 minChineseDrinksVeganGluten free
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Tudou si bing (shredded potato pancakes)

In Shandong, Hebei and the northeast, these thin, lacy potato pancakes are a cheap street breakfast and a favourite filler for children's lunch boxes, crisp at the edges and soft in the middle. The potato is cut into very fine matchsticks, seasoned with spring onion, salt and a little white pepper, and bound with just enough flour to hold. The mistake is rinsing away all the starch and squeezing too hard: the shreds then won't stick together. Rinse once, drain, and squeeze lightly. Chef's tip: press the pancake thin with the back of a spatula as soon as it hits the pan; thin pancakes crisp right through and stay crisp longer in a box.

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Lajiao chao jidan (green chilli and egg)

Hunan home cooks in Changsha make this in ten minutes when there is nothing but eggs and long green chillies in the kitchen, and it is a standard dish at lunchbox shops: the chillies are dry-fried until blistered and smoky, then tossed with big soft curds of egg and a splash of soy. It is hot, so choose mild long chillies or green peppers if you prefer. The mistake is cooking the eggs with the chillies from the start, which makes them tough and grey; scramble them separately and combine at the end. Chef's tip: press the chillies against the hot dry wok with a spatula until they wrinkle and char in spots before any oil goes in. Contains egg and soya.

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Su shi jin (mixed vegetable stir-fry)

Su shi jin means "vegetarian assortment", and it comes from the Buddhist kitchens of eastern China; today it is a staple of office lunchbox shops in Shanghai and Hangzhou. Crunchy wood ear mushrooms, strips of tofu skin, chewy wheat gluten (kao fu or mian jin), carrot, snow peas and bamboo shoot are stir-fried quickly and glossed with a light soy and ginger sauce. The mistake is adding everything at once, so the firm vegetables are raw and the snow peas overcooked; cook in order of hardness. Chef's tip: soak dried wood ear in cold water rather than hot; it plumps up crunchier.

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Dousha bao (red bean buns)

All over China, from Beijing breakfast stalls to Shanghai school bags, dousha bao are the sweet buns people grab in the morning and tuck into a lunch box for later: fluffy white yeasted dough wrapped around smooth red bean paste and steamed until springy. They freeze beautifully, so families make a big batch on Sunday. The mistake is opening the steamer lid as soon as the timer goes; the sudden cold makes the buns wrinkle and collapse. Turn off the heat and wait five minutes before lifting the lid. Chef's tip: chill the bean paste and roll it into balls before wrapping; a firm filling is much easier to seal neatly.

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Liangban sansiCold three-shred salad

Liangban sansi, 'cold-tossed three shreds', is one of the most common cold dishes on Chinese family tables, made in summer and at Lunar New Year as a fresh plate among the richer dishes. Fine strips of carrot, cucumber and kelp (or tofu skin) are blanched where needed and dressed with garlic, rice vinegar, soy and sesame oil, giving a crunchy, bright, gently sour salad. Serve it beside steamed fish or tofu. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 70 kcal and 7 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is cutting the shreds thick and uneven, which makes the salad clumsy and the dressing slides off. A pinch of sugar in the dressing is optional; a sweetener works too. Chef's tip: soak dried kelp strips until soft and blanch them for one minute with a splash of vinegar so they lose their sliminess.

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Qingchao jiaobaiStir-fried water bamboo

Jiaobai (water bamboo, Manchurian wild rice stem) is a summer and early-autumn vegetable of the lakes around Suzhou, Wuxi and Hangzhou, and 'clear-fried' jiaobai is how Jiangnan home cooks show off its sweet, juicy crunch. The pale stems are cut into thin slices or strips and stir-fried briefly with garlic, a splash of soy and a pinch of salt, so they stay crisp and taste faintly like bamboo shoot and corn. Serve with tofu, fish or eggs and a little rice. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 60 kcal and 6 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is overcooking, which makes it soft and loses the crunch; two or three minutes is enough. Asian grocers sell it fresh or vacuum-packed. Chef's tip: choose plump, white stems with no black specks inside, which show an older stem.

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Hong shao dongguaBraised winter melon

Across China, red-braised winter melon is a cheap summer supper dish, cooked when melons the size of a child are sold by the slice at every market from Shanghai to Chengdu. Thick pieces of pale melon are seared, then braised in soy sauce, a touch of sugar and ginger until they turn amber, glossy and almost jelly-soft, soaking up the sauce like a sponge. Eat it with steamed rice and a green vegetable. The usual mistake is cutting the melon too thin, so it dissolves before it colours; keep the pieces about 2 cm thick. Chef's tip: score the flesh in a criss-cross pattern so the sauce soaks in and the pieces look like braised pork belly.

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