Hongya Bobo Chicken

Hongya Bobo Chicken

　　Legend has it that during the Qing Dynasty, He Shaogi, the educational commissioner of Sichuan, stayed at the county government office after visiting Mount Wawu. One of his attendants caught a cold from the wind, lost appetite due to greasy food, and felt listless. Worried, the commissioner asked the county chef to prepare an appetizer that was “spicy without visible peppercorns, and meaty without visible fat.” The chef racked his brains and, in a moment of inspiration, cooked a rooster that had just crowed, served it in an earthen bowl, used torniao pepper to extract oil, and prepared a sauce for cold mixing. After tasting it, the commissioner praised it as “bashu” (delicious). The attendant, enticed by the numbing aroma, suddenly regained a huge appetite, ate three meals in a row, felt refreshed and clear-headed, and exclaimed, “So fresh, fragrant, tender, and refreshing—truly a heavenly dish.” Torniao pepper chicken from Hongya quickly gained fame, and Hongya Bobo Chicken became celebrated across the land.

　　Hongya Bobo Chicken — a signature dish of Hongya, among which Yaomazi Bobo Chicken is the most well-known.

　　Bobo Chicken — Judging by the name, no one would doubt that it’s a delicious dish. In fact, it’s simply chicken served in a bobo (a type of bowl). It’s a famous local snack. The culinary culture in my hometown isn’t very developed. Out in the countryside, just not going hungry is considered good—there’s no room to talk about culture. There aren’t many things I’ve had the chance to taste, and even fewer memorable ones. Dishes that have managed to gain fame beyond the county seat? Those are as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. But Bobo Chicken is quite famous. Any friend who’s tried it in Hongya will be left with this impression. This is the luck of Bobo Chicken. And also the luck of my hometown — fortunately, a plate of chicken hasn’t let the local culinary culture turn out empty-handed. Culture is like a basket—you can put anything into it. But not everything that goes into the basket is good. Bobo Chicken is undoubtedly a good thing: the dish is great, and the name is thoughtfully crafted. It’s just chicken, so why add “bobo”? Isn’t that a bit superfluous? I’ve noticed that many snacks seem to share this naming quirk. For example, Guanguan Rice Noodles or Bamboo Tube Rice. The prefixes “Guanguan” or “Bamboo Tube” merely indicate the unique utensils used in cooking—but they’re really just noodles or rice. No one thinks to remove the prefixes. What we care about is the taste, so we tolerate the oddities in the names. By the same logic, the “bobo” in Bobo Chicken isn’t just a dispensable decoration. Take Bai Zai Chicken, Hong Shao Chicken, or Qing Dun Chicken — without such descriptors, everything would blur together and become utterly dull.

　　1. First and foremost, Bobo Chicken is something you can eat. If it’s not edible, then it can’t really be called a proper dish. For example, sculpted dishes are merely packaging for food. Like high fashion — stunningly beautiful, but far removed from the concept of clothing. They may serve as decorations, but wearing them is questionable. Bobo Chicken is a folk dish loved by everyone. It’s simple to prepare, but the key lies in selecting the right ingredients. The chicken must be a “running chicken.” A local breed of free-range chicken raised in the hills and fields, stealing grains from rice paddies and pecking insects under trees. Its meat is tender and aromatic, incredibly juicy—even the bones are fun to chew on. In contrast, commercially raised chickens cooped up and fed with feed taste like chewing wood, completely lacking any chicken flavor. Another important factor contributing to the aroma of Bobo Chicken is the use of seasonings — specifically, torniao pepper oil. Torniao pepper oil is practically born for cooking Bobo Chicken. The hilly areas of Hongya produce a wild pepper tree resembling vines. It’s said that this fruit tree doesn’t grow elsewhere, though I haven’t verified that—I’d rather believe it wholeheartedly, because it’s from my hometown. In April, the torniao pepper fruits turn from green to purple, crystal-clear and enticing, hanging beautifully on the branches. Pick the fresh fruits, place them in a pottery bowl, and pour hot vegetable oil over them. Cover with fresh taro leaves and banana leaves to trap the aroma. This process is called “sealing the torniao pepper oil.” Note that it’s “sealing,” not “simmering”—even if “sealing” sounds too plain and straightforward. Perhaps it’s the simplicity that makes it irreplaceable. Torniao pepper oil is “spicy without visible peppercorns (spicy refers to peppercorns; hot refers to chili peppers).” It’s emerald green, numbing yet not greasy, with a fragrant aroma that can waft through an entire street. When mixed with chicken, the overwhelming fragrance is followed by a cool, refreshing mountain essence. Had chili oil or pepper oil been used instead, aside from causing internal heat, the color, aroma, and taste would be greatly diminished—not to mention the overpowering bits of pepper that would steal the spotlight, making it unworthy of being called “Bobo Chicken.” If Bobo Chicken enters the stage amid fanfare and outshines all others, then the role of torniao pepper oil as a prop cannot be overlooked. Torniao pepper oil offers a complete sensory experience—it’s neither a flag planted behind the chicken nor a fancy outfit worn by it. Those props are obvious. Bobo Chicken needs intrigue. Like a hidden embroidered ball or some secret weapon, torniao pepper oil is just that. Hidden up a sleeve, it surprises everyone when suddenly revealed, earning cheers from the ladies and children watching the show. So yes, a single torniao pepper tree made Bobo Chicken what it is—and that’s no exaggeration.

　　2. Bobo Chicken is also something you can admire. Cook the meat until it’s done but not overcooked — just cook it about 80% of the way. Then let it cool, slice it, and thread the pieces onto bamboo skewers by category. There are slices of meat, offal, chicken legs, and wings. Dunk them in the torniao pepper oil broth, then lift them to your mouth—juicy and glistening. Doesn’t it somewhat resemble eating candied hawthorn on a stick? Candied hawthorn appeals to both refined and popular tastes, suitable for all ages. Its standout feature is the bright red of the hawthorn, which catches the eye before it even stirs your appetite. After feasting your eyes, your stomach soon follows. The bowls used to serve the chicken are also a visual delight. Blue-and-white porcelain bowls are the best. Rosy meat, greenish broth, and azure bowls create distinct layers that are pleasant to the eye. Black pottery bowls come next. Yes, they’re black, but their subdued, healthy sheen makes them reassuring to eat from. The best option, however, is a natural wood bowl. Crafted by assembling camphor or osmanthus wood planks, bound tightly with bamboo strips, it resembles a foot soaking basin. Breathe in the scents of camphor, osmanthus, and bamboo, while enjoying the colorful, delicious flavors — no one would think of it as a foot basin, even if the mere thought of a footbath is revolting. The most impressive footbowl I’ve ever seen is the “World’s Number One Bowl.” That bowl was probably as big as a room, requiring eight handsome young men just to lift it with effort, and only a much larger winnowing basket could barely cover it. The handsome lads were real, but that exaggerated winnowing basket seemed more symbolic than real. This “footbowl” even made it into the Guinness World Records. It was part of an ecological culture festival held in my hometown, featuring a “Thousand People Eating Thousand Chickens” event. Crowds gathered in layers upon layers, people ate heartily, talked animatedly—the scene was truly grand. My son once queued up until 11 PM just to try the ultimate Bobo Chicken. I told him, “Do you really have to eat from that giant bowl? The taste will be the same if we just buy it on the street.” He insisted, “How could it be the same? That huge bowl, all that chicken, and so many people!” I argued, “It’s all just chicken in torniao pepper oil, served in a bowl—how could it be that different?” Neither of us could convince the other. On this point, my son and I were quite equal. Maybe he was right — his “different” probably referred to the experience of eating it. I might’ve been right too — adults’ understanding is often accurate, though accuracy sometimes lacks imagination. This brings us back to the earlier question: in Bobo Chicken — is the chicken more important, or the bowl? If you were standing amid the “Thousand People Eating Thousand Chickens” event, in that atmosphere, who would still say that the chicken is just a big bowl of meat, or that the bowl is merely a super-sized “footbowl”?