Lizhi Wei

Lìzhī wèi (荔枝味), or “litchi flavor,”  is one of the most popular and inventive of Sichuan’s “complex flavors.” If you live outside of China, you may be unfamiliar with this flavor profile’s name, but you likely know the flavor itself—it is the delicately balanced sweet, sour and savory flavor you find in one of China’s most famous dishes: kung pao chicken (gōngbǎo jīdīng, 宫保鸡丁). Despite its name, lizhi wei does not use litchi fruit. Instead, it relies on black vinegar, sugar and salt to evoke a gentle sweet–sour profile reminiscent of the fruit. 

In Sichuan cuisine’s fuhe wei, or classic “complex flavor” profiles, there are two different flavor profiles that focus on the interplay of sweetness and acidity: lizhi wei and tángcù wèi (糖醋味). The latter is more commonly rendered in English as “sweet-and-sour” and shows up in dishes like sweet-and-sour pork ribs (tángcù páigǔ, 糖醋排骨). The sweet-and-sour taste in lizhi wei is typically more restrained than the tangcu flavor profile and is balanced by a salty note. Some describe lìzhī wèi as presenting a sequence of flavors—sour first, then sweet, followed by a light salty finish—whereas tangcu wei emphasizes a more immediate sweetness.

Lizhi wei is also broken down into two different intensities: “big litchi” (dà lìzhī, 大荔枝) and “small litchi” (xiǎo lìzhī, 小荔枝). The first has a bolder use of vinegar and sugar, while the second is more restrained. These styles are exemplified by two iconic dishes: the small litchi style is found in gongbao chicken, while the big litchi style is most commonly linked to guōbā ròupiàn (锅巴肉片), or pork and vegetables over sizzling crispy rice.

In the Encyclopedia of Sichuan Cuisine (Chuāncài Pēnrèng Shìdiǎn, 川菜烹饪事典), the lizhi flavor is described as “resembling litchi, with a well-balanced sweet-and-sour taste” (味似荔枝, 酸甜适口). The text also emphasizes the importance of saltiness in rounding out the flavor. Many recipes call for slightly less sugar than vinegar, a balance that creates the profile’s characteristic brightness. 

Core ingredients: black vinegar, sugar, soy sauce, salt

Frequent ingredients: Shaoxing wine, msg

Aromatics: Ginger, scallion and garlic can also be included, as well as pickled chilies, which brighten the flavor and add a bit of heat and sourness to the dish

Nuts: modern gongbao dishes usually include roasted peanuts or cashews

Learn more about lizhi wei and how to create it on its new index page, which includes additional recipes featuring this complex flavor. 
 

Big Litchi Wei: Pork Over Sizzling Crispy Rice

You MUST click on the video above to hear the sizzle of guoba roupian!

While you no doubt know and love kung pao chicken (or veg), I'm guessing not many of you are familiar with the dish at the top of this newsletter and in the video above, which is a classic in Sichuan. I asked contributor Xueci Cheng to develop a recipe for guoba roupian because even though I've never seen it in the U.S., it was one of the first dishes I ate and learned to make in Sichuan a couple decades ago. I remember that it was unique and irresistible due to its crispy rice component but that it didn't seem very stereotypically "Sichuan" to me at the time, not being numbing, spicy or even very bold, just mildly sweet and sour. But that was only because I had not yet learned enough about Sichuan cuisine to know that it has many complex flavors—fuhe wei—beyond mala, and litchi flavor is a prime example. 

Here Xueci tells us what she learned about a dish that wowed her when she was young: 

"When I went to restaurants with my family, pork over crispy rice (guōbā ròupiàn; 锅巴肉片) was always a hit. The waiters would first serve a plate of freshly fried rice crackers, then pour the pork, in a thick sauce, over them. As the sauce hit the crackers, you’d hear a satisfying sizzle, adding an auditory and aromatic component to the presentation as the steam spread through the air. Before I tasted the dish, my mouth was already watering....

"It had been years since I last ate this dish, but while researching this flavor combination, I visited one of Chengdu’s oldest restaurants, Pan Xiang Shi (盘飨市), to try it again. Watching the waitress perform the pour and hearing the sizzle again brought back a wave of nostalgia and refreshed my memory of the taste. The restaurant’s version features an impressive dome-shaped cracker (kept in just one piece) topped with pork as well as celtuce, bamboo shoots, wood ear mushrooms and carrot, all cooked in a thick sauce. I grabbed a piece of the cracker as soon as I could so it still had a satisfying crunch. As I continued eating, the crackers gradually soaked up the thick, sweet-and-sour sauce.

"Guoba roupian likely originated in the early 20th century. Legend says that it was served in Chongqing restaurants during the Sino-Japanese War, but the first written records I could find come from cookbooks from the 1960s including Sichuan Recipes (Sìchuān Càipǔ, 四川菜谱) and Chongqing Famous Recipes (Chóngqìng Míngcàipǔ, 重庆名菜谱). The dish is also known as tángxiǎng ròupiàn (堂响肉片), which roughly translates to “pork slices that make a sound in the room.” It was especially popular in Sichuan in the ’80s and ’90s, when you would regularly find variations made using squid, sea cucumber and fish.

"Today, you’ll still find versions made with a variety of topping ingredients, but in my opinion, an ideal plate of guoba roupian should have tender pork slices, crispy crackers and a glossy sauce with a balanced sweet-and-sour flavor. That’s the version that I’ve started recreating back home, in my own kitchen, and the version I’ve shared here."
 

Small Litchi Wei: Gongbao Chicken

This fuhe wei series is giving me a chance to revisit and refresh some of my earliest recipes on our blog. Because I was basing my recipes on a cookbook then-recently published by Sichuan's famed professional cooking school, they are fairly close to the canonical versions. But....because the cookbook's translations were succinct and, shall we say, vague, the recipes left a lot to interpretation. So as I've cooked them over and over in a Western kitchen throughout the years, my versions have improved.

My kung pao chicken—or in modern transliteration, gongbao chicken (gōng bǎo jī dīng, 宫保鸡丁)—features cashews instead of the more typical peanuts because I love the contrast of the rich, buttery nut with the slightly acidic sauce. It’s the luxury version of gongbao.

I learned a tip long ago from cooking with my friend Chef Qing Qing in Chengdu that I think makes all the difference: The first and most important step in the recipe is to start with raw nuts and fry them yourself until golden brown. It transforms the dish, because freshly cooked nuts taste more fresh, more toasty, more nutty—and don’t taste like you’ve tossed your freebie airplane snack into your otherwise lovingly constructed dish.

Though both are in the litchi flavor, the surprise in the gongbao dishes that distinguishes them from the guoba dishes is the scorched chilies and Sichuan peppercorns that give them an edge and a buzz. Gongbao jiding is one of several well-known dishes that are a combination of two Sichuan fuhe wei, in this case litzi wei and hula wei (húlà wèi, 糊辣味), or scorched chili flavor.

Don't eat meat? Give a vegetable the gongbao treatment, as I did lotus root.