Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province, has an ancient competition with Chongqing, a city to its south-east. Residents of Chongqing accused their Chengdu cousins of being pompous (自大的). The people of Chongqing were hotheads, Chengdu residents shot back. Both cities share a love of spice-laden Sichuan cuisine, which in recent decades has occupied Chinese dinner tables. But they are at war over which has the best Sichuan hotpot—a type of DIY-cooking that involves boiling vegetables and slices of meat with chillies and numbing peppercorns.
A private museum in Chongqing, opened several years ago, makes the case for the Chongqing-style hotpot. It describes how it developed from a method used to make cheap offcuts of meat taste delicious. But Chengdu is playing catch-up. In January the city sold a plot of land on condition that the developer build a hotpot museum on part of it.
The two cities are among many in China with their own styles of hotpot. Hotpot restaurants in China are more profitable than other kinds. Haidilao, a well-known Sichuan-based hotpot chain, raised nearly $1bn when it was listed on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange (股票交易所) in September.
Not all Chinese warm to hotpot. Some older Sichuanese refuse to be connected with it. They complain that it is causing overuse of chilli in other dishes that cover up the original genuine flavours.
But Chengdu's plans for a museum suggest that Sichuan hotpot is not only growing in popularity, but is also becoming symbolic. If it can set the West on fire, officials may hope it will become a delicious new source of Chinese soft power. There will be plenty of glory for both Chengdu and Chongqing to take pride in if that happens.
