Guizhou’s Version of Lazi Ji Shows Off Its Famously Fragrant Dried Chilies

Before Guizhou cuisine became China’s latest obsession, lazi ji, literally “chili chicken,” meant two things to me: the dry, crispy Chongqing-style version famously found in Sichuan restaurants, or my family’s gentler home rendition scented with fresh green peppers rather than dried chilies. So, when I was introduced to Guizhou chili chicken (Guìzhōu làzǐ jī, 贵州辣子鸡), which is made with chicken stewed in a deep-red chili sauce, instead of tossed with dried chiles, I was intrigued.

My introduction came in fragments: I first had this style of chicken a couple years ago, but it was chopped up and turned into a dipping sauce for dòuhuā miàn (豆花面), a tofu noodle dish served in Guiyang. Intrigued, I sought out the more classical version of the dish—just the chicken on its own, smothered with the aromatic and savory chili sauce—at a Guizhou restaurant in Chengdu. Then, finally, this past December, my family drove to Zunyi, in northern Giuzhou, China’s chili-growing and -trading capital, to taste the real thing. The diner we chose, Sister’s Laziji (姐妹辣子鸡), which was recommended by Chinese social media), was in a downtown produce market and was operating in full swing: Two aunties were breaking down chickens with astonishing speed and ferrying piles of chopped meat to a cart, while a small team of cooks tended a dozen big woks, stirring with meticulous focus. Guests sat at small foldable tables, on plastic stools, savoring chicken served with plain rice. 

Each order was cooked from scratch, which meant a 40-minute wait. The finished dish arrived in a stainless-steel bowl, the chicken bathed in a deep red chili sauce. Fried then braised, the pieces emerged with crisp, caramelized edges and moist, tender centers. We also ordered potatoes and moyu (魔芋, konjac tofu), added to the chicken. The sauce was spicy but not overwhelming, with lots of depth and aroma thanks to a base of ciba chili, a pounded chili paste. For my family, raised on Sichuan’s version of lazi ji, the dish was familiar yet just different enough to be really intriguing and keep us coming back for more, bite after bite, filling our bowls with more and more white rice. 

Within Guizhou, the flavors of lazi ji shift subtly from town to town, with different amounts of ciba lajiao or the additions of sweet fermented rice and/or douchi. The most popular versions come from Guiyang, Yanglang and Qinglong. Lazi ji can be turned into a condiment, too. When the chicken is chopped more finely, it becomes jī làjiāo (鸡辣椒), the condiment-like version I first tasted with tofu noodles. It also reminds me of one of my favorite Laoganma flavors growing up, jiyou lajiao (鸡油辣椒, chili oil with fried chicken bits in it), which is not surprising, given that the world-famous brand also originated in Guizhou. 

The recipe I’ve developed and shared here follows the Guiyang style and is adapted from Guizhou Cuisine Standards (《黔菜标准》), published by the provincial tourism bureau. I’ve made this dish more home-friendly, using less oil than the restaurant version. 

This dish is delicious when it comes off the stove, but it also improves with time. The flavors deepen overnight, making it ideal for eating as leftovers. When I was testing this recipe, I kept a bowl of the braised chicken in the fridge for several days, reheating portions with rice or noodles. Once I had eaten all of the meat, the leftover oil turned into a gorgeous base for noodle soup. 

The Soul of Guizhou Chili Chicken: Ciba Lajiao

The base of this dish, and many other traditional Guizhou dishes, is a chili paste called ciba lajiao, which literally translates as “rice-cake chili,” a name that references its sticky texture. To make this lajiao, you first simmer dried chilies in hot water, then pound or blend them with ginger and garlic until you have a thick, sticky paste. This paste can be used for everything from rich braises to regional chili oils.

Though I only recently tried making sticky chili paste from scratch (for this lazi ji), the flavor is very familiar. Ciba lajiao is also used in Sichuan, especially in the region that’s bordering Guizhou, like in Yibin and Zigong, where it is used in the soup base for mala hot pot and as a dip for dishes like Lizhuang bairou (李庄白肉, a type of sliced boiled pork, similar to Sichuan garlic pork). 

You can buy readymade ciba lajiao in jars in Guizhou’s farmer’s market. However, you can make the chili paste yourself, too: Simply pound or blend the soaked chilies with ginger and garlic, then fry the paste in about ½ cup of oil until fragrant. Season with salt (or other sauces, depending on your flavor preferences), and you’ll have a versatile paste you can use anywhere you’d normally reach for chili oil. 

Choosing the Right Chilies for Guizhou Lazi Ji

Guizhou is China’s largest chili-growing region, responsible for nearly a third of the country’s harvest. Historically, it’s believed to be the first region to use chili as a condiment, after the plant was introduced from the Americas. Guizhou’s mountainous terrain and mild, humid climate create ideal conditions for growing chilies. The province produces a range of varieties, including er jing tiao and tiaozi jiao, both prized for their pronounced aroma and gentle heat. Ever since visiting the province, I’ve sought out Guizhou-grown chilies for my own kitchen, for chili oil, stir-fries and anything that calls for a little bit of heat but mainly fragrance. 

Local cooks have also developed a deep vocabulary for heat. In addition to this sticky chili paste, they use smoky hú làjiāo (糊辣椒; scorched chili flakes) and bright, sour, punchy zāo làjiāo (糟辣椒; fermented chili). 

Traditionally, Guizhou’s ciba lajiao combines a few different kinds of chilies, such as mild, aromatic chilies from Huaxi alongside smaller, spicier xiao mi la from Zunyi. When I started testing this recipe, I began with huaxi lajiao and zi dan tou (“facing heaven”) chilies, but the latter made the sauce overwhelmingly spicy. A gentler balance came from mixing huaxi lajiao and wrinkled chilies; the result was pleasantly spicy, not punishing. If you don’t have these exact chilies, look for other mild, fragrant varieties such as er jing tiao, Guizhou tiaozi jiao and wrinkled chili. (If you crave real fire, toss in only a small handful of zi dan tou or xiao mi la—you want to use these with restraint!)

For more chili-heavy dishes, try Taylor’s Water-Boiled Fish With Tofu (Shuizhuyu, 水煮鱼), Chongqing Chicken With Chilies (Laziji, 辣子鸡) and Chongqing Lobster With Chilies (Lazi Longxia, 辣子龙虾).