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tell this reporter: You’re killing the crispy spring roll!

Last weekend was Mother’s Day, so we went out for a family meal and tried “steamed abalone with passion fruit” at a Cantonese restaurant in Shenzhen, China.

It sounded like a very unusual combination. Passion fruit has not been widely used in China for very long, but in recent years it has become a popular ingredient in fruit teas and drinks. Since this was one of the restaurant’s signature dishes, we decided to give it a try.

When the dish arrived, there were six abalones on the plate, each one served as if it were taking a bath in passion fruit. There was even a tiny cocktail umbrella in the middle.

The abalone meat seemed more tender than it would be if simply steamed or boiled. I think the acidity of the passion fruit helped soften the texture, similar to how pineapple can tenderize the pork in sweet and sour pork. But the abalone’s natural chewiness was still there, so it remained pleasantly firm when you bit into it.

That said, the flavor of the abalone itself was almost completely covered by the passion fruit. I could barely taste the seafood, but the aroma of passion fruit was very strong. It was definitely a creative and novel approach.

For my personal taste, the passion fruit was slightly too sour. I think the dish might work even better with a richer, fuller sauce such as oyster sauce to accompany the abalone.

Still, the whole dish was a Mother’s Day special and cost only 11 RMB, about 1.50 USD.

Last weekend was Mother’s Day, so we went out for a family meal and tried “steamed abalone with passion fruit” at a Cantonese restaurant in Shenzhen.

It sounded like a very unusual combination. Passion fruit has not been widely used in China for very long, but in recent years it has become a popular ingredient in fruit teas and drinks. Since this was one of the restaurant’s signature dishes, we decided to give it a try.

When the dish arrived, there were six abalones on the plate, each one served as if it were taking a bath in passion fruit. There was even a tiny cocktail umbrella in the middle.

The abalone meat seemed more tender than it would be if simply steamed or boiled. I think the acidity of the passion fruit helped soften the texture, similar to how pineapple can tenderize the pork in sweet and sour pork. But the abalone’s natural chewiness was still there, so it remained pleasantly firm when you bit into it.

That said, the flavor of the abalone itself was almost completely covered by the passion fruit. I could barely taste the seafood, but the aroma of passion fruit was very strong. It was definitely a creative and novel approach.

For my personal taste, the passion fruit was slightly too sour. I think the dish might work even better with a richer, fuller sauce such as oyster sauce to accompany the abalone.

Still, the whole dish was a Mother’s Day special and cost only 11 RMB, about 1.50 USD.

Last weekend was Mother’s Day, so we went out for a family meal and tried “steamed abalone with passion fruit” at a Cantonese restaurant in Shenzhen.

The abalone meat seemed more tender than it would be if simply steamed or boiled. I think the acidity of the passion fruit helped soften the texture, similar to how pineapple can tenderize the pork in sweet and sour pork. But the abalone’s natural chewiness was still there, so it remained pleasantly firm when you bit into it.

For my personal taste, the passion fruit was slightly too sour. I think the dish might work even better with a richer, fuller sauce such as oyster sauce to accompany the abalone.

Still, the whole dish was a Mother’s Day special and cost only 11 RMB, about 1.50 USD.

This was a Mother’s Day special at a Cantonese restaurant in Shenzhen, China: six abalones steamed with passion fruit, only 11 RMB / about $1.50 for the medium-sized dish.

Last weekend was Mother’s Day, so we went out for a family meal and tried “steamed abalone with passion fruit” at a Cantonese restaurant in Shenzhen.

It sounded like a very unusual combination. Passion fruit has not been widely used in China for very long, but in recent years it has become a popular ingredient in fruit teas and drinks. Since this was one of the restaurant’s signature dishes, we decided to give it a try.

When the dish arrived, there were six abalones on the plate, each one served as if it were taking a bath in passion fruit. There was even a tiny cocktail umbrella in the middle.

The abalone meat seemed more tender than it would be if simply steamed or boiled. I think the acidity of the passion fruit helped soften the texture, similar to how pineapple can tenderize the pork in sweet and sour pork. But the abalone’s natural chewiness was still there, so it remained pleasantly firm when you bit into it.

That said, the flavor of the abalone itself was almost completely covered by the passion fruit. I could barely taste the seafood, but the aroma of passion fruit was very strong. It was definitely a creative and novel approach.

For my personal taste, the passion fruit was slightly too sour. I think the dish might work even better with a richer, fuller sauce such as oyster sauce to accompany the abalone.

Still, the whole dish was a Mother’s Day special and cost only 11 RMB, about 1.50 USD.

Last weekend was Mother’s Day, so we went out for a family meal and tried “steamed abalone with passion fruit” at a Cantonese restaurant in Shenzhen.

It sounded like a very unusual combination. Passion fruit has not been widely used in China for very long, but in recent years it has become a popular ingredient in fruit teas and drinks. Since this was one of the restaurant’s signature dishes, we decided to give it a try.

When the dish arrived, there were six abalones on the plate, each one served as if it were taking a bath in passion fruit. There was even a tiny cocktail umbrella in the middle.

The abalone meat seemed more tender than it would be if simply steamed or boiled. I think the acidity of the passion fruit helped soften the texture, similar to how pineapple can tenderize the pork in sweet and sour pork. But the abalone’s natural chewiness was still there, so it remained pleasantly firm when you bit into it.

That said, the flavor of the abalone itself was almost completely covered by the passion fruit. I could barely taste the seafood, but the aroma of passion fruit was very strong. It was definitely a creative and novel approach.

For my personal taste, the passion fruit was slightly too sour. I think the dish might work even better with a richer, fuller sauce such as oyster sauce to accompany the abalone.

Still, the whole dish was a Mother’s Day special and cost only 11 RMB, about 1.50 USD.

steamed abalone with passion fruit seems like something that would be fairly easy to make at home. I’ve decided to buy some abalone next time and try making it myself.

these white, petal-shaped pieces are Shunde milk slices that I bought last week in Shunde, Guangdong. They are sometimes called “Chinese cheese.”

Traditionally, people in Shunde raised water buffalo for their milk. But when there was sometimes more buffalo milk than could be consumed or stored, villagers mixed the milk with vinegar and salt to coagulate the milk proteins. They then pressed the curds with molds into relatively brittle round slices, which were packed in jars with brine and sold. Each maker usually has their own patterned mold, leaving a unique imprint on the surface.

In Shunde, people often add these milk slices to plain white congee. But today, I used them instead of cheddar cheese for my breakfast.The flavor is gently salty, with just a faint hint of vinegar.

My question is: since this process doesn’t seem to involve fermentation, should Shunde milk slices be classified as a type of cheese, or are they more accurately described as a preserved milk product?

Guess what these white, petal-shaped pieces are.

They are Shunde milk slices that I bought last week in Shunde, Guangdong. They are sometimes called “Chinese cheese.”

They are made by curdling water buffalo milk with salt and vinegar, then pressing it into thin slices with a mold. Each maker usually has their own patterned mold, leaving a unique imprint on the surface.

In Shunde, people often add these milk slices to plain white congee. But today, I used them instead of cheddar cheese for my breakfast.The flavor is gently salty, with just a faint hint of vinegar. I tucked a slice into a freshly steamed hot mantou, and the heat brought out the rich aroma of buffalo milk. In that moment, it smelled even better than Western cheese.

I took it last May on Xinzhou river bridge. Looking forward to this coming summer.

Forty years later, I returned to the same spot by the Yangtze River.

Because of the Three Gorges Dam, the water level of the Yangtze has risen to nearly 175 meters.

The clock tower in Xishan Park （西山钟楼，built 1930）, which used to look like it was standing high on the mountaintop, now seems to sit right beside the riverbank, almost level with the water.

The name qiaojiao beef 跷脚牛肉 literally means “crossed-leg beef.” One local explanation is that, in the old days, this beef-and-offal soup pot was popular among workers around Leshan’s river docks. The eating space was small and narrow, and the big pot often took up most of the wooden table. So the workers would sit with one leg propped up — qiaojiao 跷脚 — resting the hand that held the rice bowl on that raised leg while eating around the pot. That scene is said to have given qiaojiao beef its name.

Before the main dishes arrived, the server brought me a bowl of clear beef soup with chopped cilantro. It had a noticeable herbal aroma, which is one of the defining features of qiaojiao beef. Every restaurant has its own blend of herbs and spices.

Then came fenzheng niurou 粉蒸牛肉 — beef coated with seasoned rice powder, chili, and Sichuan pepper, then steamed until tender. It was spicy, numbing, and so appetizing that I ordered a second serving later.

The qiaojiao beef pot itself was much lighter than many people might expect from Sichuan food. The broth was clear, with no chili heat at all. The beef was eaten with a dry dipping mix, mostly chili powder, Sichuan pepper, and salt. Under the beef and offal were cabbage, cilantro and celery stems, which added a fresh aroma and made the whole pot feel surprisingly balanced.

The whole meal cost me 90 RMB, roughly 13 USD, and the rice was free.

I was suprised to find several Wax apple (Syzygium samarangense) trees in a park of Shenzhen, Guangdong, China. I thought wax apple is native to Southeast Asia. Alot of visitors were confused too, they were filming and discussing what was it. Fourtunatly i found the park management pined QR code on some trees and I could be sure there are Wax apple (Syzygium samarangense). But why do they plant wax apple in a park?

“The restaurant is well known in Chengdu and other cities, but many people still say the original Yulin location is the best. I noticed that the servers spoke Sichuan dialect with a very clear Leshan 乐山 accent. That made sense, because qiaojiao beef is originally associated with Leshan.

The name qiaojiao beef literally means “crossed-leg beef.” One local explanation is that, in the old days, this beef-and-offal soup pot was popular among workers around Leshan’s river docks. The eating space was small and narrow, and the big pot often took up most of the wooden table. So the workers would sit with one leg propped up — qiaojiao 跷脚 — resting the hand that held the rice bowl on that raised leg while eating around the pot. That scene is said to have given qiaojiao beef its name.”

and the 3rd character is an over simplified Chinese right? It should be 孃？

This was my solo dinner at an old qiaojiao beef pot restaurant — 跷脚牛肉 — on Yulin 玉林街道, one of Chengdu’s famous food streets.

The restaurant is well known in Chengdu and other cities, but many people still say the original Yulin location is the best. I noticed that the servers spoke Sichuan dialect with a very clear Leshan 乐山 accent. That made sense, because qiaojiao beef is originally associated with Leshan.

The name qiaojiao beef literally means “crossed-leg beef.” One local explanation is that, in the old days, this beef-and-offal soup pot was popular among workers around Leshan’s river docks. The eating space was small and narrow, and the big pot often took up most of the wooden table. So the workers would sit with one leg propped up — qiaojiao 跷脚 — resting the hand that held the rice bowl on that raised leg while eating around the pot. That scene is said to have given qiaojiao beef its name.

Before the main dishes arrived, the server brought me a bowl of clear beef soup with chopped cilantro. It had a noticeable herbal aroma, which is one of the defining features of qiaojiao beef. Every restaurant has its own blend of herbs and spices.

Then came fenzheng niurou 粉蒸牛肉 — beef coated with seasoned rice powder, chili, and Sichuan pepper, then steamed until tender. It was spicy, numbing, and so appetizing that I ordered a second serving later.

The qiaojiao beef pot itself was much lighter than many people might expect from Sichuan food. The broth was clear, with no chili heat at all. The beef was eaten with a dry dipping mix, mostly chili powder, Sichuan pepper, and salt. Under the beef and offal were cabbage, cilantro and celery stems, which added a fresh aroma and made the whole pot feel surprisingly balanced.

The whole meal cost me 90 RMB, roughly 13 USD, and the rice was free.

Every time I visit Chengdu, I come back to this place. I sit at a small roadside table and eat alongside local residents, while cars, office workers, and schoolchildren pass by.

After eating qiaojiao beef, it is hard to keep thinking of Sichuan cuisine as only fiery and chili-heavy.

This was my solo dinner at an old qiaojiao beef pot restaurant — 跷脚牛肉 — on Yulin 玉林街道, one of Chengdu’s famous food streets.

The restaurant is well known in Chengdu and other cities, but many people still say the original Yulin location is the best. I noticed that the servers spoke Sichuan dialect with a very clear Leshan 乐山 accent. That made sense, because qiaojiao beef is originally associated with Leshan.

The name qiaojiao beef literally means “crossed-leg beef.” One local explanation is that, in the old days, this beef-and-offal soup pot was popular among workers around Leshan’s river docks. The eating space was small and narrow, and the big pot often took up most of the wooden table. So the workers would sit with one leg propped up — qiaojiao 跷脚 — resting the hand that held the rice bowl on that raised leg while eating around the pot. That scene is said to have given qiaojiao beef its name.

Before the main dishes arrived, the server brought me a bowl of clear beef soup with chopped cilantro. It had a noticeable herbal aroma, which is one of the defining features of qiaojiao beef. Every restaurant has its own blend of herbs and spices.

Then came fenzheng niurou 粉蒸牛肉 — beef coated with seasoned rice powder, chili, and Sichuan pepper, then steamed until tender. It was spicy, numbing, and so appetizing that I ordered a second serving later.

The qiaojiao beef pot itself was much lighter than many people might expect from Sichuan food. The broth was clear, with no chili heat at all. The beef was eaten with a dry dipping mix, mostly chili powder, Sichuan pepper, and salt. Under the beef and offal were cabbage, cilantro and celery stems, which added a fresh aroma and made the whole pot feel surprisingly balanced.

The whole meal cost me 90 RMB, roughly 13 USD, and the rice was free.

Every time I visit Chengdu, I come back to this place. I sit at a small roadside table and eat alongside local residents, while cars, office workers, and schoolchildren pass by.

After eating qiaojiao beef, it is hard to keep thinking of Sichuan cuisine as only fiery and chili-heavy.