Spicy Skewers

Spicy Skewers

　　Walking through the streets and alleys of Chengdu, you’ll find spicy skewer stalls of all sizes everywhere. Red-painted low square tables, small stools, steaming pots of spicy broth, and bundles of bamboo skewers make up a unique sight in Chengdu.

　　I spent four years in Chongqing, the birthplace of hot pot, yet never saw the bold and hearty locals there come up with anything like spicy skewers. The creativity and ingenuity of Chengdu people when it comes to food are truly remarkable. When hot pot first spread from Chongqing to Chengdu and quickly became all the rage in the city, no one could have imagined that this spicy, numbing, and flavorful dish would be transformed—by skewering meats and vegetables on bamboo sticks—into what we now know as spicy skewers, a craze that has remained popular for years. The exact origins of how spicy skewers made their way to Chengdu are now unclear. I just remember that when I was in fourth grade, JianShe Road near my home was almost entirely lined with spicy skewer stalls, one after another. It seemed like everyone was counting on making a living selling them. Kelp, potatoes, meat slices, cauliflower, lettuce, tripe, sausages, squid, winter melon, yellow croaker, dried mustard greens, seaweed, konjac, daylily, lotus root, water spinach, pork ribs—you name it, meat or vegetable—all for one mao (10 cents) per skewer. Friends and family would gather around small tables, each grabbing a big handful of their favorite skewers to cook in the pot. While waiting for the food to cook, they’d snack on sunflower seeds, drink ice-cold beer, and chat away. Thus, the sight of bare-chested Chengdu men drinking until their faces turned red became an iconic part of the city’s vibe. In truth, the popularity of spicy skewers is inseparable from Chengdu’s culture and practical lifestyle. The basin mentality, which favors modest yet calculated indulgences, makes thrifty yet image-conscious Chengdu residents feel right at home with spicy skewers—you can grab a huge handful of skewers without a second thought, and yet, at just one mao per stick, you won’t find such value anywhere else in the country. People also love the little rituals: calling out “Refill my tea!” or “Add more broth!” or “Scrape the foam!” or “Boss, bring five bottles of beer!” A meal that costs just ten or twenty yuan somehow manages to keep the skinny waitstaff running themselves ragged, giving people who usually face daily frustrations the satisfying feeling of being treated like royalty. And when it comes time to pay, they bark out, “Boss, count the skewers!” Even after the poor server’s fingers are numb from tallying dozens of skewers, the total often comes to just twenty or thirty yuan. That’s exactly the kind of satisfaction they’re after. No wonder spicy skewers have remained a long-lasting favorite.