Chinese Hot Pot – A Steamy Affair

It’s Monday night in Lishui, and my boyfriend and I are heading to what has become our staple weekly kick-off dinner – hot pot. The summer humidity is sweltering and we were both sweating a river as we hail a taxi and head towards the busiest street corner in the city. Outside, a harem of motorcycles, cars, pedestrians, animals and rickshaws swarm from all directions – its a mad maze and the smell of wet chicken feathers emanates from the local farmers market nearby.

As we arrive, a dingy red carpet beckons us up a spiral staircase into the restaurant. The faces of the fuwuyuans – waitresses – light up when they see us – their favorite (and the rare few) foreign patrons. “Yuan yang ba?” she asks, confirming that we’d like our usual split pot, a double-sided pot with both spicy and non-spicy broths. My boyfriend loves the gentle, buttery flavor of the non-spicy broth, something akin to a hearty chicken soup, while the fiery red-hot side is reserved for me, the spicy-loving masochist. I’ll pay for this tomorrow.

The double-sided hot pot. Photo credit - WatchCaddy.

Hot pot has been called a lot of different things. Some refer to it as a spicy do-it-yourself stew. Others say it’s like the Chinese version of fondue, but neither is really an apt description. Chinese hot pot is completely unique, incomparable with anything else, and a truly full experience all its own.

With the pot set duly in front of us, we take to the task of deciding what ingredients to put inside. I go first this time, heading for the buffet line where every manner of beautiful vegetables, meats and delightful snacks await my choosing. What will it be this time? Perhaps some qincai, also known as bok choy – a type of Chinese cabbage – maybe some mutton dumplings and enoki mushrooms. A little further down, snails, clams, mutton rolls and a host of different types of tofu call to hungry patrons from white plastic containers. A curious local woman takes a long look at what I’ve picked, probably wondering why I didn’t take the most decadent options like pork brains or dragon shrimp, which she has stockpiled.

A host of options for you to choose from. Photo credit - Megan Eaves.

Bringing my choices back to the table on a warped orange tray, I begin dunking them into the now-boiling broth, where they melt down into the lava-like red oily goodness and disappear. I’ll fish them out later, once they’ve cooked. There are as many ways to enjoy a hot pot as there are fishes in the sea, everybody I knew of had their own preferences. Some prefer to dip the thinly sliced meat lightly in the boiling broth, taking care to ensure they are not overcooked. Some others even go the extra mile, fishing the meat out still slightly reddish and raw. Others like to add prawns but not eat them, only to add an extra flavor into the broth.

The restaurant has started to fill up around us. Large groups have settled at the nearby tables, their used green chairs pushed out halfway as they dig, faces down, into their soaked bowls and leaning in to fish out overripe meatballs and sopping bits of vegetable. Giving in to the heat, men take off their shirts off and hang them over the backs of their chairs. Beer bottles are overturned. Glass breaks. People are laughing, shouting and toasting one another. Steam rises off the pot at each table and the whole affair is very, very loud.

Eating hot pot is truly a communal experience. Photo credit - Megan Eaves.

About halfway through our meal, my mouth is sufficiently numb and we’re just about to call the fuwuyuan over for two more bottles of beer, which is free, when a group of poorly-dressed men approaches our table with huge, sheepish grins across their faces. Like many of the patrons in this restaurant, these men’s meagre salaries are given away by their soiled shoes and tattered cheap trousers, torn and stained from too many days digging concrete.

‘Ganbei,’ declares the ringleader, offering his tiny cup of lukewarm beer as a toast. ‘Ganbei. Cheers,’ we tell them with a smile, making sure to drink up. Hot pot is one of the few places where everyone enjoys themselves, regardless of class or income. Hot pot restaurants make me feel the same way I do in Irish pubs – that everybody here is just out to enjoy the food and have a good time.

And to me, it’s more than just a dinner, but an immersive cultural experience. Sitting in a hot pot restaurant, with steam rising from your table and the shouts of loud, raucous men and people having a great time – making a mess, toasting strangers and approaching tables to say hello – it really reminds me that I live in a truly communal society.

And yes... it's a messy affair. Photo credit - Megan Eaves.

Finally, we are stuffed beyond recognition. I turn the sticky knob and the gas flame extinguishes, leaving behind a glob of overcooked broth goop at the bottom of the pot. We take the last gulps of our warm beers, sitting back as ruddy satisfaction washes over us both. Gathering our things, we venture back into the heat of the evening, feeling full, far away and sentimental – in love with China, its food and its people.