chuan bawang

I had my first Sichuan meal in New York the other day; I’ve only had it when I was in Beijing, ironically. But I love it – the fragrance of the orange-colored chili oil that coats the food results in a slow, languid burn inside your mouth. Sichuan food has an intense and complex richness to it that rises in layers of flavor; from the introduction to some intial taste, whether it be salty, sour, or sweet, the end result is the heat that grows more pronounced with each bite. The flavors cut into each other, blending beautifully, as a tinge of sweetness mitigates rich saltiness; a touch of slow heat smooths out acid tartness. Then there’s texture: clear vermicelli noodles are like silk against firm flaky pieces of sliced fish that match the crunchy salted and pickled mustard greens inside a clear sour broth. A plate piled with thinly sliced pork simply melts in your mouth. The meat’s edges are still generously laced with a strip of fat, and smothered in a dark smoky sauce—salty, tinged with a smattering of sweetness and chili oil drizzled over the top, and finally garnished with chopped cilantro.

Blissed out.