When I arrived in Chengdu, everyone told me the same thing: “You must try the hotpot.” So on my second night, I found myself sitting around a bubbling pot of red chili oil, surrounded by new friends I’d met at the hostel.
The waiter brought us skewers of thinly sliced beef, lotus root, mushrooms, and tofu. He gave a warning: “Be careful, it’s spicy!” I laughed. I liked spicy food — how bad could it be?
One bite later, I was sweating, my face bright red, my mouth on fire. The Sichuan peppercorns didn’t just burn — they buzzed, numbing my tongue in a way I had never experienced before. Everyone laughed as I reached desperately for my glass of cold soybean milk.
But as the meal went on, I adjusted. We dipped ingredients into the broth, swapped stories about travel, and tried our best to order more “mild” options — which still came with a kick.
After dinner, we wandered through Wide and Narrow Alley, lights twinkling above us, the spicy heat of the hotpot still lingering in our bellies. I had come to Chengdu for the pandas, but it was this dinner — chaotic, flavorful, and full of laughter — that made me fall in love with the city.
