Xi'an Hulatang (Spicy Soup)

Xi'an Hulatang

　　If you're a native of Xi'an, there's an over 80% chance your breakfast this morning was Hulatang. It seems that ever since I can remember eating, the term "Hulatang" has been part of my life. I can no longer recall when I first had it. Hulatang is one of the most classic snacks in Shaanxi and can be said to embody the essence of Shaanxi street food. Almost everywhere people live in Xi'an, you’ll find Hulatang. In the early morning, as you walk through the back alleys, you can smell the rich aroma of meat broth wafting from large pots, hear vendors shouting in the distinctive dialect of the Muslim Quarter with their unique Shaanxi accent: "Hulatang, hot flatbread!" and watch as they lift the soup with wooden spoons, creating flowing lines. This is the true charm of Shaanxi culture and the daily life of Xi'an residents.

　　Making Hulatang is a specialty of the Hui people in Xi'an, seemingly a closely guarded secret with little public transmission. Nearly every shop that sells Hulatang displays a halal sign, and often some Hui-run restaurants that serve Pita Bread Soaked in Lamb Soup (Yangrou Paomo) will also sell Hulatang in the mornings. Since the essence of Hulatang lies in its broth, it must be made with high-quality meat stock, and the pure lamb or beef broth from these Pita Bread shops perfectly satisfies the discerning palates of food lovers. The ingredients in Hulatang vary widely—nearly every vendor uses a different mix of vegetables, so much so that among 100 Hulatang stalls, you might find 100 different combinations. As a result, many people overlook the vegetables in Hulatang, but I believe the selection and quality of these vegetables directly impact the overall flavor of the soup.

　　　　When drinking Hulatang, the individual flavors of the vegetables seem to vanish, blending entirely into the rich, thick broth and the beef meatballs. However, the texture of the vegetables often provides diners with added enjoyment. I believe a good Hulatang must include cabbage stems, potatoes, and green beans. Another key component of Hulatang is the flatbread. These days, except at a few traditional old shops in the Muslim Quarter, most places use baked wheat cakes or “tutu” flatbreads, which sometimes makes you sigh for the otherwise excellent Hulatang dragged down by subpar bread. Authentic Hulatang should be served with a semi-leavened large flatbread, cut into wedges and sold by the piece. This kind of bread doesn’t become bloated and soggy like fully leavened bread after soaking in the soup, losing its texture; nor is it as hard as unleavened bread, which refuses to absorb the soup, leaving you feeling as though the soup and the bread are separate entities. Good flatbread, once torn into pieces and scooped from the bowl, should feel like it’s become part of the dish, an inseparable element of the soup. Speaking of Hulatang, one must mention Hao Zailai on Damashi Street—it might have been the first shop in Xi'an dedicated solely to selling Hulatang all day long. I remember as a child coming here for Hulatang at noon, and it was always packed with people. On the small shop’s benches, everyone looked thoroughly content. Hulatang has become a part of life for most Xi'an residents. I often find myself reminiscing about Xi'an’s Hulatang, and now that I’m back in this city, I don’t need to dwell on such things anymore—I have Hulatang for breakfast at least three times a week.