In Sha He, a densely populated slice of Chengdu, the narrow streets are lined with teahouses, restaurants, and diners seated around rickety bamboo tables playing mahjong, gossiping, and drinking baijiu. I’m at Dong Zi Kou, a chipped-countertops-but-clean-plates sort of eatery whose name literally translates to “hole in the wall.” There’s a mad dash for the old-school specialties, like spicy mung bean noodles and stir-fried intestines, and the place is packed to the gills at 1:00 pm on a Friday.
“It’s normally even busier,” says Anita Lai, a native of the city and co-founder of Chengdu Food Tours, who is showing me around town. We grab the day’s specials from chefs whipping out fresh platters as fast as customers can seize them, and find a spot for ourselves on stools on the sidewalk with everyone else. Our plates are piled high with Sichuanese classics: gan yao fo chao zi, kidney slices velveted to tenderness and quickly stir fried; and suan ni bai rou, translucent shavings of cold pork belly mixed with chili oil and topped with scallions like a salad—and we wash it all down with baijiu.
Baijiu is a clear grain alcohol known for its high alcohol content, typically coming in at 40% to 60% alcohol by volume. It can be traced back nearly a thousand years to the Ming dynasty, and is made with a dried fermentation starter called qū. Like whiskey, there are as many types of baijiu as there are production techniques, regionalities, and styles. Today, most baijiu is distilled from sorghum, but wheat, rice, corn, and millet can also be used. It’s also one of the most commercially valuable liquors in the world: In 2023, around $167 billion worth of baijiu was sold in China alone. Compare that to whiskey in the United States, where revenue totaled $19 billion in the same year.
Sichuan alone produces half of all the baijiu in China, and the metaphorical buckle of the “baijiu belt” is its capital Chengdu. There are four main categories of baijiu, each one a world of nuance unto itself: Nong Xiang (“strong aroma,” spicy and fruity); Qing Xiang (“light aroma,” sweet and floral); Mi Xiang (“rice aroma,” light and floral); and Jiang Xiang (“sauce aroma,” funky and sharp with the umami of soy sauce).
“Sichuan is more known for strong aroma liquor; it pairs well with our spicy food.” Lai tells me as we eat our lunch. It’s ideal drinking food, Lai says: “We call it ‘fei er bu ni,’ or ‘richly fat without being greasy.’” Indeed, the dishes pair perfectly with the alcohol; the peppercorns and bright chilis are sharp, clarifying shots to the head. I gamely chase each bite with a sip of baijiu.
