The wind's a bit strong, bear with it? Can't wait to visit Taiwanese girl Cuicui's Chongqing hotpot 'Jianzhang'...

[Joy & Love]

Plots within plots, gossip within gossip,

a sudden life-or-death test,

only a good hotpot meal

can bring true delight.

I have a natural fondness for Sichuan. I think it's because I live in Hangzhou, and the White Snake Lady cultivated herself on Qingcheng Mountain.

Sichuan hotpot is famous. Suits and ties and big shorts appear together in roadside eateries, without any dramatic clash between the city's bustling street life and the elite. Who cares when you want a good meal? After the great earthquake, the free-spirited Sichuan people have long understood: love who you want, eat what you want, just live as comfortably as you like! Authentic Chongqing hotpot, of course, needs real ingredients. But hotpot is always evolving, and I see it differently; others care about the amount of ingredients, I care whether you can drink the broth. To make a southerner just swish and not drink the broth is complete hooliganism, I say. In Hangzhou, at the Chongqing hotpot "Jianzhang," I swear by Monk Fahai, the broth is superb!

My fondness for Taiwanese girl Cuicui first came from her baby "Little Pants," a dying Maine Coon cat, which she carefully nursed back to life. Only after getting to know her deeply did I learn that her mother once had a terminal illness, and Cuicui also tenderly cared for her back to full radiance, so much so that she's now often asked to model for streetwear brands.

She says, don't care about the price of the food you eat; the essence of what you experience should be good and harmless.

"My mom was a lung cancer patient for six years. The moment it happened, I decided food is the source of everything. Care about what you eat; food is medicine, and mood too. Food fills three meals a day."

So she used food to save her cat and her mother!

Cuicui says "Jianzhang" hotpot in Hangzhou offers two levels of spiciness: Hangzhou-style mild numbing and spicy, and authentic Chongqing old hotpot. "I don't want to alter the original, but I've introduced modern health concepts—light numbing and light spicy, or less oil. The original flavor and the feeling of drinking with friends is preserved." Diners find the oil-spicy-numbing taste irresistible at first bite, but no one knows that inside the pot, beef tallow, lamb tallow, lard, chicken fat, salad oil; Hebei medium chili, Henan small chili, *, Dahongpao, Dajintiao, Chaotianjiao, Xiaomi chili, Niujiao haijiao, Qixingjiao; Maowen huajiao, Maoxian huajiao, Lanzhou huajiao... all these "martial masters" from three major schools are flexing their muscles, balancing in peak competition, producing a miraculous charm!

I always feared the repeatedly used "old oil" of Chongqing hotpot, but this experience sings "The Moon Represents My Heart." The red oil base uses oil that is single-use, and when you eat, you pour in Taiwanese Laoying tea.

"I hate additives. Returning to the essence, the taste will only improve, like drinking tea—you become more precise and sharp. After eating at big restaurants too long, you want a rest. I don't want to burden people; everyone can relax and chat naturally." Anyway, when I come here, I don't need to think; the strict quality control is left to Cuicui.

I once went to Chongqing and Chengdu specifically to film hotpot. Some say hotpot must be spicy, otherwise it's not authentic. I disagree!

"Those who don't eat spicy can try our shop's homemade fresh mushroom broth and tomato broth. The mushroom broth is made with Yunnan red porcini, black porcini, old hen, and dried mushroom stems simmered for four hours. The tomato broth uses fermented sun-ripened tomatoes, naturally fermented using the Guizhou sour soup method, then blended into a puree. A touch of salt, a uniquely sweet-sour flavor, no additives at all," says Cuicui.

But there's one good thing that can be added as an exception: live Australian lobster!

In fact, Chongqing hotpot only spread to Chengdu a short decade ago. It was originally called spicy hotpot or tripe hotpot, and later swept across Chengdu's tables. Chengdu's relatively refined dining style, in turn, nurtured and elevated Chongqing's hotpot culture. The domestic hotpot craze began in the late Ming and early Qing dynasties on the docks of Chongqing's Jialing River, initially as a boatmen's way of eating. Chongqing hotpot wasn't about eating all kinds of offal at first, just beef tripe, pig aorta, duck intestine, beef blood, and such. Now even kidney slices, peeing beef balls, and horse-faced fish have become popular.

"Jianzhang" has standards for its "tripe," the signature ingredient of Chongqing hotpot. Fresh tripe has a 60% yield rate for sale, sourced from a local Chongqing slaughterhouse, shipped within two hours of morning slaughter.

Cuicui previously studied at a French pastry school. For ingredients, she feels the flavors can be a bit international. Eating a bite of thoughtfully chosen good ingredients can heal the soul too. "The New Zealand tripe is deliberately cut into squares so the internet-famous ladies from the park can eat it easily, unlike fresh tripe that you must bite off in one hearty mouthful. The crispy texture is also specially treated with bio-enzymes."

New Zealand tripe stuffed with tender ginger shreds.

The reason hotpot has thrived to this day is mostly due to "innovation." New Zealand tripe stuffed with tender ginger is one example, filled with young ginger pickled in Sichuan pickle brine, slightly spicy and sour-crisp, making you reluctant to stop. This reminds me that the earliest Chengdu hotpot wasn't spicy, but had chrysanthemums! Don't get me wrong, "chrysanthemum hotpot" was an especially elegant autumn hotpot in old Chengdu, with Empress Dowager Cixi as its earliest spokesperson.

Back then, the broth with fresh chrysanthemums served to Cixi, just like at Jianzhang, was a carefully simmered superior stock, available in clear and white versions. Dipping items included four raw slices (fish, chicken, kidney, gizzard), four fried crisps (fried dough twists, youtiao, fried vermicelli, peanuts), four vegetables (pea shoots, spinach, cabbage, cilantro), eaten right after dipping. In winter, it was replaced with wax plum broth, extremely refined.

What truly made Chongqing hotpot prosper is actually its inclusiveness! We go for hotpot now not just to "fill our bellies" like dockworkers did, but to gather with friends, be healthy, look good, and replenish our vitality...

I like visible good ingredients. "The tea-scented tender beef uses the cucumber strip cut from Chengdu yellow cattle, developed in-house, with the difference being whether to add chili or not. The shrimp paste is from Hokkaido black tiger shrimp, made in-house with added salmon roe and trout roe." Cuicui explained, making my mouth water!

The head chef adds that large slices of kidney are cut fresh at the market. The market is about a five-minute drive from the shop, and the chef has become good friends with the vendors. The shop's yellow cattle tripe, thousand-layer tripe, tender beef, and aorta are all air-freighted from Chongqing every two days, because it's hard to find slaughterhouses locally in Hangzhou.

"Jianzhang" uses Inner Mongolian lamb and Australian M12 wagyu in the hotpot. Knowing Hangzhou people are used to lamb, Cuicui specially selected a lamb cut from Inner Mongolia with a bit of crispy cartilage, for an overall smooth texture. Even vegetables are chosen with care: Chengdu crown daisy stems, Yunnan black termite mushrooms and snow fungus, lotus root from Honghu, Hubei... "Fresh things disappear quickly; the vegetable aroma stays, very fragrant," Cuicui says.

A light, healthful premium pot comparable to Cixi's has to be Cuicui's fish maw and chicken pot. The broth is like Cantonese soup. Cuicui recommends this broth for seafood, Australian lobster, shrimp, fish slices... I think the fragrant, golden broth made from chicken, carrot, pork bones, and pork skin makes anything you dip taste great.

As for why they added the fish maw chicken broth, it's because Cuicui's mother is originally from Guangdong and likes to make soups. "Personally, I could eat spicy hotpot three meals a day, but many people can't handle it. So I suggest friends who like health maintenance try the fish maw chicken." The chicken comes from a Qingyuan farm, and it's also my favorite chicken so far—skin springy, meat tender. "No chicken powder, no MSG, no pumpkin puree to thicken the soup, and no flour added."

Although Chongqing hotpot sells offal, seasoned with chili and numbing spices becomes irresistibly crunchy and fragrant. But because of health concepts and personal preferences, Cuicui herself orders a dual-flavor pot, the spicy side always next to a seafood and clear broth banquet. "I love eating it scalding hot; if I don't eat it for two days, I feel uncomfortable. Growing up in Taiwan, surrounded by sea, I'm used to seafood."

When eating fish maw chicken, Cuicui insists her good friends drink half a bowl of the original chicken soup and fish maw. "The fish maw is soaked in cold water. After tasting, we add a few slices of Norton ham brought back by a Yunnan friend. The cost is high, but it's so fresh and sweet you can't stop drinking."

I tasted a version with the intense freshness of Australian lobster brains, and after drinking, I felt like I had to keep licking my lips like "Little Pants." Thanks to Cuicui, a Chongqing hotpot that originally only sold offal now carries the gentle delicacy of Guangzhou and Taiwan.

Jianzhang UPOT Shop-in-Shop

I love the small sauce shop called "Sauce" inside the "Jianzhang" hotpot restaurant; the sign is handwritten by Cuicui.

When I did the Chongqing episode of "Godlike Table," I said the foundation of Chongqing spiciness is actually in the jar of pickled peppers! The pickle counter at "Sauce" displays jar after jar of Sichuan pickles marinated in the shop's secret brine: cowpeas, chili peppers, young ginger, bay leaves, star anise, Sichuan pepper, cabbage... making your mouth water. The dry dip is also blended in-house: Sichuan pepper, chili, sesame... the calling card of authentic Chongqing hotpot is practically stamped on the table here.

I asked whose master recipe the "Jianzhang" hotpot base is from, and it turns out it's a Chongqing base concocted by designer Lai Xudong's family, so the mystery of the mix can be unraveled in this shop. Lai Xudong has participated in Dragon TV's "Dream Home Makeover" space renovation program for eight consecutive years and is a beloved star designer nationwide. The key is that he's an excellent cook. Because of his love for food, he joined forces with Chongqing restaurant king to create the soul flavors of brands like "Jianzhang" Chongqing old hotpot, "Shen Hai Yan" seafood, "Mi Jing" French cuisine, and "Ba Dao" Chongqing noodles. "Sauce" is also his collection of sauces from all over!

Fermentation and seasoning are things Cuicui has always studied. She recommended a Yunnan fermented bean curd from her Yunnan friends; eaten on its own with soup, it tastes like blue cheese. I said the tender beef, already cooked, can also be dipped in fermented bean curd—eat it however you like.

"The ingredients for the sour plum drink are in glass bottles, visible! Combined with old-fashioned brown sugar, it's brewed daily in the shop, not chemically mixed with water and just a few pieces of tangerine peel." Cuicui opened up the details to show me: the plums are from ancient trees in Eryuan, Yunnan, naturally sun-dried from highland plums ripening in September and October.

The steamed bun shop "Bao Zi Xian" hired master Liu Tongde from Mianyang, a relative of a good friend of Cuicui's, over 70 years old.

Cuicui originally had no love at all for commercial steamed buns. "Why do people like steamed buns? Until I tasted this master's, I woke up. I finally understood what it means to wake up, to awaken from darkness. Strange, the dough isn't particularly elastic, but it's the result of fresh live yeast."

The master was born into poverty, becoming deaf at just 14. After being sent to the countryside during the Cultural Revolution, because his mother was a famous local cook, he was assigned to the kitchen squad as an apprentice.

No one imagined that by middle age, the master would become Mianyang's "King of Steamed Buns." In '06, he won the gold medal for famous snack in Mianyang City; in '07, he received a county-level non-heritage cultural protection honor. The master's bun-making skills have been passed down to Cuicui's shop: stir-frying seasonings, soaking dried bamboo shoots, stir-frying pork belly, then leavening and wrapping buns... Just as he has been honest and steadfast for decades, not a single step can be skipped.

LuLaLea Spicy Braised Foods

I wouldn't have realized there's also super authentic Chongqing "spicy braised" here if I hadn't seen this special braised food shop "LuLaLea." The unique fermentation imparts a complex aroma. The braised gizzard I just had (in Sichuan usually referring to goose, duck, or chicken gizzards) is the best example!

Cuicui says the spicy braise here requires over twenty spices. Even without hotpot, there are spicy braised items specially meant to go with drinks.

Custom Craft Beer

After fermentation, Sichuan spicy braise truly transforms duck tongues, chicken feet, gizzards, duck heads, spiced tofu, and lotus root slices into flavors that transport you back to the soul-stirring tastes of Chongqing's hole-in-the-wall joints.

Xǐwénlèjiàn (Delightful) is the design park where Cuicui's hotpot restaurant is located. It's like a big amusement park, with roller coasters and carousels... enough to fill a whole day. From day to night, from breakfast to dinner.

Every object carries a trace of time, but time has no form or taste; you can't touch or see it. Time lingers on objects, and they've turned time into installations. "Our way of being friends is natural. If today we have a car we're not using, we can just hang it up."

Some of the especially beautiful cushions in the shop were also knitted by her when she was bored, and many more are scattered here and there. She sews strange floral shapes onto cushions, and the same on down jackets; her cushions are all filled with down.

Cuicui also paints herself, and several large paintings in the space are hers. Cuicui enjoys the creative process in the present moment. These coasters and cushions are random, free-spirited creations using parts from toys she no longer wants, or dismantled necklaces and such. She loves the emptiness of mind during creation.

The utensil holders on the table are also part of the building materials: holders for soup spoons, slotted spoons, chopsticks; there are Western-style candle holders, toothpicks, napkins—all very ceremonial.

Every detail is practical and simple, yet extraordinary.

"From its very essence, the Xǐwénlèjiàn building doesn't rely on dazzling design skills; everything returns to the essence of space and people. Galvanized steel pipes folded down give the feeling of a flower house, as if wrapped in vibrant life like in Thailand," Cuicui says.

The "Zhengqi You" storefront has friends who love Ming and Qing dynasty furniture. Cuicui and her friends also do soft furnishing design, so the store is filled with pieces they can't bear to sell, pieces they can't bear to assign to clients. "This shop is different because it has art objects, many parts to appreciate."

"So in this space, they put their favorite things: books and magazines from over 30 years of business, Wallpaper* and various avant-garde design magazines are here."

In the mezzanine of "Zhengqi You," there's a tattoo studio. Two star tattoo artists are in residence: one is Zhang Xu, holder of a national Level One Electrician certificate, the other is Sara, a well-known blogger followed by celebrities.

Cuicui says the barber is legendary—a partner at Le Salon, an Asian top-tier hair studio, Daniel from Singapore, a true star hair stylist for A-listers. He cuts hair without ever washing it first, directly finding each client's natural "grain," so you don't need to style much, and you naturally look beautiful.

I said, you can tell this isn't a barbershop trying to make serious money. "The original intent wasn't commercial. From the start, it was a group of friends who love hotpot, love giving each other gifts, and mail each other good food. Daniel the barber is the same. You wouldn't guess his background is so splendid—he runs a salon in Singapore with over 70 stylists, you'd never tell. He cuts hair dry; like me, two days of not cutting, going out without styling, just like at a construction site, he says 'just cut it.' He observes from behind, understands your habits before moving the scissors."

This mamala is different from all previous ones, with a lab added.

Founder Wan Zheng's philosophy is "slowness." The walls, painstakingly plastered with a rough texture; the climbing plants slowly growing on them; slowly pushing open those windows, watching the sunlight slowly slant past the eaves; the meal itself, all meant to free you from the fast pace life imposes. And mamala lab is precisely the means to create "slowness." Every ingredient enters the "lab" to undergo a fermentation process, rather than simply being turned into a dish. Everything is for a meal that deserves to be savored slowly.

After the meal, I usually have some pre-Qingming West Lake Longjing tea at Qu Liao, sourced from the "Yun" appellation within the core Longjing area of "Shi Long Yun Hu Mei." On a tea plot of less than two mu, a few barrels of homemade enzyme fertilizer sit. Yearly output is just a few dozen jin, shared among friends, keeping a bit for oneself, and that's it for the year. Silver kettle for boiling, low-temperature brewing, accompanied by a small piece of mung bean cake or pea pastry—summer heat instantly melts away.

I also enjoy drinking Yunnan wild black tea on its own. With its soft, delicate honeyed floral aroma and a hint of plum sourness, the tea grows on Baiying Mountain in the Lincang tea area of western Yunnan, a key tea-producing region with an unparalleled natural environment. In autumn, I like to order a pot of charcoal-boiled aged white tea, using an old iron kettle from Miyazaki Kanya, adding a piece of twelve-year Xinhui aged tangerine peel—heat-clearing, fire-reducing, summer-heat-dispelling, and qi-soothing. The seven-year aged white tea, full of jujube fragrance, paired with traditional hand-made jujube paste cake, complements perfectly. And of course, there's cold-brewed Taiwanese organic oolong, incredibly sweet.

I had a cup of American coffee here once; the host reminded me, "I made it at room temperature, afraid you'd burn yourself." I've grown used to hastily scalding coffee, the kind you blow on for an hour, which has become the ultimate "profession."

Cuicui sometimes holds Little Pants, waiting for friends. I finally understand: Xǐwénlèjiàn created this building not to fill the space with commerce, but to fill the space with content—or rather, to fill it with a circle of friends.

"This is how friends should comfortably be together, a natural life scene that grows organically, and it's also part of the business," she says.

For me, after eating my fill, I can wander around to digest; it's really hard to resist coming.

Do you like eating hotpot with friends?

"Living with the things you love,

that's how you achieve detachment."

— "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up"

Food Bless You!

Zhiwei (China) China International Food Expo Official Consultant

Producer of "Godlike Table"