Chongqing Suanlafen (酸辣粉) Sour and Spicy Sweet Potato Noodles

Suanlafen, or sour and spicy soup with sweet potato noodles, always makes me think of Fongchong. We share a belief that spicy and sour, in that order, are the two best tastes, and nothing embodies those tastes better than suanlafen. Not only is it my daughter’s go-to soup in Sichuan restaurants, but one particular memory of her having it in her homeland always makes me smile, reminding me that my spicy girl (lameizi, as they’re known in Sichuan) knows her own mind and will always be her own person.

Fongchong graduated from high school in May, and that in itself is a supremely meaningful accomplishment for someone who came to America only eight years ago, joining a new and foreign family and speaking not a word of English. I’ve written many times of how she finally acclimated to both us and English and then, slowly, eventually—kicking and screaming—to food other than Chinese.

But there are some lines she’s just never going to cross. As this memory exemplifies:

A couple of summers ago, on our annual trip to Chengdu, Fongchong, my nephew Will and I took the fast train to Chongqing for a few days. To my delight, there was one of those modern Asian bakery wonderlands across the street from our Airbnb apartment in the middle of the city. A French-influenced Chinese bakery, it drew Will and me like a magnet on our first morning there: pineapple buns, egg tarts, croissants and cream-cheese pastries; it was heaven with coffee.

But not for Fongchong. She took one look and made a beeline to the window of a restaurant next door, returning with a take-out bowl of suanlafen, a super spicy, super numbing, super sour bowl of sweet potato noodles topped with a fried egg. That was her idea of a heavenly breakfast. Never mind that in June in Chongqing—whose nickname is the Furnace City—it was already nearing the 90s and 90% humidity by 9 a.m. She slurped down this soup with abandon while we gorged on sugary pastries. She innately knew what the Sichuanese do, that spicy food makes you sweat and cools you down.

Plus, she just knows what she likes. Fongchong will probably never eat a pastry for breakfast, and that’s just fine. I’ll probably never convert to spicy soup in the morning hour either. But I do love this over-the-top noodle bomb for lunch or dinner. Especially when it’s made the Chongqing way. Though a version of it can be had from noodle shops in many parts of the country, Chongqing lays claim to suanlafen, and that’s the version we’ve tried to recreate here.

I asked Fongchong to help with this recipe by finding one online on the Chinese Web that looked appealing to her and translating it for me. I compared the one she chose to others I’ve collected and my memories of watching it made in Chongqing and mashed them all up into a recipe that we find just right.

         To make it, you just bring out your Sichuan pantry, line up the noodle bowls, and start an assembly line, putting the sauce ingredients—starting with homemade chili oil (the spicy), Zhenjiang or Baoning vinegar (the sour) and plenty of Sichuan pepper and/or Sichuan pepper oil—directly into the bowl, where they will be topped with noodles, broth, garnishes of crunchy peanuts or soy nuts and cilantro, plus possibly additional greens and the Chongqing pickle zhacai. If you want a protein, you can opt for the fried egg as we normally do. This soup noodle is also easily made vegetarian (use veg broth) or vegan (leave out the egg). If you’re not eating vegetarian, then a teaspoon of freshly made lard in the sauce adds even another layer of velvety goodness and is highly recommended.

        You might also want to leave the ingredients at hand so diners can adjust their own bowls, since everyone is different when it comes to spicy soup. In our home, Craig wants less chili heat, FC wants more salt and MSG, and I add more Sichuan pepper oil.

        I want my lips to buzz like they do in Chongqing, where the love of Sichuan pepper is intense. They particularly favor green Sichuan pepper, in both powder and oil form, and using both is what makes this recipe taste like Chongqing to me.