The depth and subtlety of chillies, hidden within fermented foods

A Word from Foodthink

Sour chillies are a traditional Chinese fermented delicacy, particularly popular in the south. While each region has its own unique flavour and slightly different supporting ingredients, the method and principles of fermentation remain largely the same: salt is used to create an ideal environment for lactic acid bacteria, which then break down the sugars in the chillies. Indeed, the sourness in these chillies comes from the salt, rather than from vinegar as many assume. In contrast, pickled products in the modern food industry are usually not fermented; they are processed using high-acidity vinegar and typically undergo heat sterilisation to preserve the vegetables by eliminating microorganisms rather than cultivating them.

In reality, lactic acid fermentation is an equally effective and safe way to preserve food. In this edition of *Alchemy of Food*, Foodthink invites you to discover the secrets of sour chillies—a refreshing and appetite-stimulating fermented food. You will find a detailed video and guide at the end of this article. We have also invited author Liu Yi to share her story as a Hunan native who cannot live without spice, and her relationship with her hometown’s chopped chillies.

With the temperature dropping recently, why not try making your own sour chillies to bring some warmth to your gut!

As a Hunan native who has lived in Hangzhou for eight years, whenever I reminisce about my hometown, I first think of its many virtues; then, slowly, the things I once perceived as drawbacks begin to take on a certain poignant charm. Looking back at my homeland from afar, the smallest details bloom in my memory. Let me start with the place itself. I grew up in Hengshan, Hunan—home to Nanyue, one of the Five Great Mountains of China. It is a small county town built along the waters of the Xiang River, and my home was just a fifteen-minute walk from the riverbank.

Before I was born, the bridge across the river had not yet been built, and everyone relied on boats at the quay to travel between the two banks. Now, the bustling ferries are gone, leaving only a simple archway at the crossing called Baima Pavilion. The pillars bear the couplet: “The precious raft arrives from the west on white horses; the great river flows east, cleansing the yellow dragon,” with the inscription “East and West, a single reed.”

Leading from the riverbank into the town streets, there are T-junctions and crossroads arranged from northeast to southwest, known respectively as Sanpailou and Sipailou. As a child, I most often went to the area around Sipailou for breakfast. The choices there were plentiful: there were street vendors selling fried dough cakes and stir-fried noodles, and a dazzling array of shops selling bread, milk, traditional Chinese steamed buns, various rice noodles with toppings, and the Lucheng Hotel, which served morning tea to the public.

Now, let me tell you a bit about the local colour of my home.

In the county town, in the lanes opposite Kaiyun North Road and Baishi Lane, a bustling market day takes place every five days, starting from the fifth of each month; the area teems with folk from the town and countryside engaged in small-scale trade. I used to avoid this street, finding it too noisy and chaotic, often swept along by the jostling crowds.

The county government once attempted to abolish these market days in an effort to clear the congestion and tidy the streets, all in the pursuit of ‘Civilised City’ status. Yet the policy proved difficult to enforce; the locals had long been accustomed to the markets, and everyone relied on them. How drab and tedious it would be if one could no longer find unique home-grown produce, left only with the mass-produced, standardised goods of supermarket shelves.

Farmers from the villages would bring dried delicacies like small fish and shrimp, alongside home-pickled treats: radish peel, *di can zi* tubers, pickled ginger, and sword beans, not to mention a myriad of unexpected ingredients and spices. Buyers and sellers would exchange knowing glances and shout across the stalls, their interactions a mix of laughter and mock-outrage; the vibrant, spirited art of haggling pulsed through the streets.

●Visiting the village market to buy local produce.

I spent my entire student life in Hunan. After living in my hometown for so long, whenever the time came to depart, I found the surroundings drab, the air stifling, and life almost stagnant. Yet, the moment I stepped out the door, I felt a rush of relief, as if a brand-new life were welcoming me with open arms. However, within a month of leaving, thoughts of home would return, and a quiet homesickness would settle in. While this is a common experience for anyone leaving home, for me, it often manifested as a deep melancholy that robbed me of my appetite. Perhaps it was the food; in Hunan, few meals were without chilli. My palate had been so conditioned by the heat that, once deprived of it, nothing tasted right.

Two

There is nothing about my hometown that I do not love, save perhaps for the heat that those accustomed to bland diets dread most. It was only after stepping back from the habit of eating spicy food that I realised the heat of my home was not some crude, forced stimulation, but a natural grace infused into the cuisine—a distinctive flavour profile rarely encountered elsewhere. Following the ‘Start of Autumn’, housewives bustle through the markets, shopping for chillies to prepare a variety of pickled and dried preserves. On the stalls, the chillies—vibrant reds and greens, glossy and bright—look almost succulent; varying in length and shape, each pod is plump and full of life.

There are many varieties of chilli, but not all are suited for pickling. For example, the screw chilli, with its wavy, wrinkled skin and verdant hue, possesses a moderate heat and thick flesh, making it perfect for stir-frying, where it remains crisp and juicy. However, it is the thin-skinned variety—small and slender, as symmetrical as a finger—that is the finest choice for pickling.

● Ginger and garlic are the perfect companions for chopped chillies.

● Liquor is also an essential ingredient for chopped chillies; without it, the resulting ferment is simply sour chillies.

Chopped chillies (*duojiao*) are a classic seasoning of Hunan cuisine, familiar to almost everyone from the province. The basic method involves mixing chopped chillies with salt in a jar, then submerging and sealing them in *baijiu* (Chinese white spirit).

Depending on their preference, different households may add slices of ginger, sword beans, or fermented black beans for extra depth. Although they are a preserved food, chopped chillies lack acidity, possessing instead a distinctive salty, savoury richness. Without the liquor, they become sour chillies.

I still remember the corner of Kaiyun North Road and Qingyun East Road, where a red canvas tarp would be pitched against the night sky. As the winter wind carried a damp chill that seeped through our clothes, my family of three huddled together, heading towards that tent, glowed red by energy-saving bulbs. After a slight nod to the proprietor, who stood outside tossing his wok and wielding his ladle, we lifted the curtain and stepped straight into the comforting warmth of this late-night haven.

The tent wasn’t large, barely enough room to fit six small folding tables. The seating consisted of the most ordinary, stackable red plastic stools. The canvas was thick and windproof, providing much-needed respite for bodies shivering from the damp cold.

From outside came the rhythmic *clang-clang* of the wok—a crisp, powerful sound. Then, the owner’s wife entered, carrying plates of steaming chopped-chilli egg fried rice, delivering them to the three of us with a beaming smile.

● How could a Hunanese egg fried rice possibly be complete without chopped chillies?

Back home, chopped chillies are an indispensable part of a dry egg-fried rice. Their presence doesn’t just enhance the colour and fragrance, but adds a delicate, crisp texture to the otherwise fluffy rice. As more and more people filtered into the house to enjoy hot food and drink, the simple shelter filled with a light, hazy mist of steam, and we all gradually began to warm through.

Three

Whenever it was time to venture far from home, the understated depth and richness of the chillies would find a quiet place in the wanderer’s luggage. My father speaks of his high school days when he left home to study, and a particular meal that always hit the spot. A spoonful of milky-white lard stirred into steaming rice, topped with a layer of bright red chopped chillies; the sheer fragrance was enough to make one’s eyes light up and mouth water. With a chopstick-full from the side of the bowl, the chopped chillies brought a comforting, searing warmth to both body and soul. Cradling the bowl, he and a few friends would share various types of smoked and cured meats brought from their respective homes. One bowl finished, a quick wipe of the sweat from the brow, and then another helping.

A jar of lard, a bottle of chopped chillies, and a pot of cured meat stir-fried in aromatic dried chilli oil—these were the ‘classic trio’ my grandmother packed for my father. This family tradition, much like one’s bloodline, flowed naturally down to my mother and then to me. Whenever I have had to live far away, my mother always prepares a thoughtful assortment of smoked meats and fermented bean curd for me to take from home.

● An assortment of smoked and cured delicacies, featuring cured fish, cured pork, and dried chillies.

Yet, in my naive youth, how many flavours did I simply swallow whole, without truly tasting them? There are so many people, things, and stories in my hometown, yet I feel I know so little of them, despite having grown up there. Take the sights, for example: I have only climbed Zhurong Peak once, and I have never even set foot on Guanxiangzhou, which is practically on my doorstep. How absurd.

By the same token, the fragment of my hometown that I know is but a drop in the ocean.

And yet, I love her truly. How do I love her? I cannot put it into words.

It is simply that my earliest knowledge and impressions were drawn from her; the fleeting glimpses in my memory seem fused with my entire being. In every small event, there is a ‘me’, and in every longing of mine, there is ‘her’. I wish to be an emissary, letting all the beautiful and fascinating history steep within my heart, so that like a wild goose flying through the shifting seasons, I might sing of the elegance of Mount Heng.

To make sour chillies, you will need:

First, wash the chillies, yellow ginger, and garlic, and let them air-dry. The soybeans should be soaked and boiled in advance.

Next, chop the dried chillies, crush the garlic, and slice or mince the yellow ginger.

Once all ingredients are prepared, place them in a clean container. Add 3%–6% salt and a small amount of sugar according to your taste (the salt-to-sugar ratio should be approximately 3:1), then stir well.

Q Why must salt be added to fermented sour chillies?

Salt promotes vegetable fermentation in the following ways:1. Through osmosis, it draws water out of the vegetables, allowing them to be submerged in their own juices.

2. It firms up the ‘pectin’ within the plant cell wall compounds, making the vegetables crunchier. At the same time, it slows down the rate at which pectin is broken down by enzymes, preserving a crisp texture and preventing the vegetables from becoming too mushy.

3. It creates a selective environment that limits the types of bacteria that can grow, using the law of natural selection to give salt-tolerant lactic acid bacteria a competitive advantage. (Excerpted from *The Art of Fermentation* by Sandor Katz)

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Place all the ingredients into a fermentation jar, press them down firmly, and seal. Ferment for about 20 days at a temperature of around 30°C, and your delicious pickled chillies will be ready to enjoy.

Once fermented, it is best to store the pickled chillies in the fridge to slow down the fermentation process and extend their shelf life.

Pickled chillies are a wonderful accompaniment to rice when stir-fried; they also make a great brine for pickling white radish. Why not give it a try?

Foodthink Author

Liu Yi

A naturally curious soul who often dives deep into food, farming, and nature, forever pondering the ‘ten thousand whys’. Whenever something novel or intriguing is discovered, there is an irresistible urge to share it with you immediately! WeChat Official Account: glekiliuii

About the “Fermentation Awakening Festival”

The “Fermentation Awakening Festival” was launched by Foodthink in October 2023, in collaboration with dozens of farmers’ markets, farms, fermented food artisans, restaurants, publishers, and non-profit organisations across the country. Centred on the theme of fermented foods, the festival consists of online and offline events spanning over two months across multiple cities and communities, including screenings of *The Alchemy of Food* video series, fermentation-themed markets, book clubs, movie nights, sharing sessions, workshops, and tasting events. We invite you to follow the Foodthink WeChat Official Account and the accounts of our collaborators across various platforms to get the latest videos, articles, podcasts, and event updates. Find local fermentation activities, meet fellow fermentation enthusiasts, and awaken your life together!

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A Word from Foodthink

Q Why must salt be added to fermented sour chillies?

Published by Foodthink