Piping Hot Stir-Fried Liangfen Is So Good, You Might Even Prefer It to the Cold Version

“You still got room for more?” my aunt whispers as we duck out of her coworker’s brother’s son’s wedding banquet, step onto a sweltering street in Chengdu and get into a cab. We drive toward Yulin, a popular residential neighborhood where restaurants spill onto busy streets and merchants leisurely cycle by, rhyming slogans looping through loudspeakers attached to their bucket-filled carts. Passersby interrupt their post-dinner strolls to peer into these buckets and choose from a rainbow of jellies, each of which gets a flavorful savory or sweet topping: mung bean jelly and sweet potato starch jelly are served with garlicky chili oil, while grass jelly, ice jelly and rice jelly are served with sweet syrups made from red sugar or fermented sticky rice. 

My aunt and I join the long line that has formed at one cart, and I go straight for the liángfěn (凉粉), or “cold (starch) jelly,” which is cut into long semi-opaque slippery noodles and served resting in a glimmering pool of chili oil. It’s definitely worth the wait. 

Liangfen is served all over China, and Sichuan alone is home to two famous variations: 伤心凉粉 Heartbreak Jelly Noodles, which earned its name from its tears-inducing spice, and Chuānběi liángfěn (川北凉粉, northern Sichuan-style liangfen from Nanchong), its gentler cousin known for its xiānglà 香辣 (chili pepper) fragrance. Both versions were ever-present in my childhood. My Sichuanese mother cooked most dinners when I was growing up in the suburbs of Minneapolis, so my parents rarely took us out to eat, and when they did, it was always to the sole Sichuanese restaurant downtown. Whenever we went, they’d tell me that Chuanbei liangfen is a litmus test for the quality of a Sichuanese restaurant: a delicate, bouncy mouthfeel indicates that the liangfen is fresh and, therefore, that the food is made with a lot of care.

Early on, I learned to be quite discerning with liangfen. At first, I relied on closely watching my parents’ reactions after their first bite—a slow nod of approval or a look that said, this liangfen is definitely leftover from yesterday. When I was older and traveled to Chengdu, I reminded myself to savor the flavor and texture of the real thing (ah, so that’s what it’s supposed to taste like!). Every summer, my aunt, an avid foodie who has spent her whole life exploring the food scene in Chengdu, made sure to take me to all her favorite spots she had discovered in the past year. My obsession with liangfen, and with Sichuanese cooking in general, started with these adventures. Every bite brought me closer to understanding the cuisine my parents revere, the cultural traditions they carry with them, and the homeland they yearn for.  

The last time I had liangfen in Sichuan was this past spring, in Yulin, with my aunt. Since coming back to NYC, I’ve made a batch of the starchy jelly at least once a month as either an appetizer for my 10-course Sichuanese supperclub, the Baodega, or just for myself. In typical restaurant fashion, I overzealously make 30 portions each time, leaving me with heaps of extra jelly that quickly hardens in texture when kept in the fridge. 

The solution for my lack of self-restraint is stir-fried liangfen (chǎo liángfěn, 炒凉粉). While cold, fresh liangfen is cut into long and silky noodles, chao liangfen is usually cut into cubes and served piping hot, with a mix of savory spices and garlicky aromatics. Though fairly uncommon in restaurants in the states (compared to its chilled counterpart), chao liangfen holds its own as a noteworthy dish. The hot version is even the preferred preparation of the jelly in its birthplace in Henan province. 

Admittedly, I was initially drawn to this dish because it helped me utilize leftovers (there’s nothing more satisfying than a fridge cleanup). But these days, I’ve come to prefer it over the cold version. During the stir-fry, the garlicky sauce soaks into the jelly, and the starch allows for the sauce to coat the glistening cubes perfectly. Once the weather gets chilly, in fall and winter, I skip the jelly salad altogether and head straight to the wok. 

The History of Liangfen

This unassuming dish has a history that spans multiple centuries, all the way back to the Northern Song Dynasty (11th-12th century) in the historical capital of Bianliang (present day Kaifeng in Henan province). Song Dynasty Kaifeng was an exciting place to be. With new technological advances improving rice cultivation that led to a booming economy (the GDP of China was three times that of Europe at the time!), the city had a growing middle class. As a result, delicious culinary creations were no longer reserved for imperial banquets. Around 1100 CE, Kaifeng saw the emergence of some of the first restaurants in the world. As the economy grew, more and more people had disposable income and were able to spend their leisure time at these eateries, and these restaurants competed in making the best versions of Henan specialties. 

Liangfen was among the dishes mentioned in 东京梦华录 (Dōngjīng Mèng Huá Lù, Dreams of Splendor of the Eastern Capital), a memoir written by Meng Yuanlao, a Kaifeng refugee who escaped to Lin’an (modern day Hangzhou) after the former capital was conquered by the Jin Dynasty. In his memoir, Meng mourned the loss of his hometown by meticulously documenting the bustling city life, festivals, customs and culture of Kaifeng. At one point, he specifically mentions 细索凉粉 (xì suǒ liángfěn), which translates to “looking high and low for liangfen.” 

In the subsequent centuries, cold liangfen became popular all throughout China. And though the evolution of the hot version, chao liangfen, is not well documented, it, too, has become common—most famously in Sichuan, Gansu, Qinghai and Shaanxi provinces, where this dish acts as a canvas for each region’s unique flavors. To fully address the variations of chao liangfen would be to survey the cuisines and culinary traditions of the majority of China. 

There are countless variations of this dish, thanks to the interchangeability of multiple variables:

• Choice of jelly starch: savory jellies can be made with mung bean, split pea, or sweet potato starch.
• Sauce base: liangfen can be stir fried with lightly fried pixian doubanjiang, huang doujiang soybean paste, chili powder, and/or fresh chili peppers.
• Spices: spices like cumin and ground Sichuan pepper can be added for depth of flavor and regional flair. 
• Additional textural elements: some variations of liangfen add ground meat, fried mántou (馒头, steamed bun cubes), or mìanjīn (面筋, wheat gluten/unflavored seitan) for additional chew or crispiness.

Henan province is most famous for its chao liangfen. Street vendors there famously fry the jellies in flat cast iron pans, scraping the crispy scorched bits onto the top of each sizzling serving. You can find Henan’s chao liangfen stir-fried with huangdou jiang (soybean paste), deep-fried mantou (steamed wheat buns), ground meat or wheat gluten. 

I grew up in a Sichuanese household, so the recipe below is a version you might see in Chengdu. This is a spicier version made with mung bean starch that includes a sauce made with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, ginger, Sichuan pepper and dried chili. It also usually includes tender cooked garlic shoots for added texture and a pop of color. But all the options are worth exploring if you get the chance!

Steps for Stir-Frying Liangfen

Despite its popularity as a street food snack, chao liangfen—often called rè líangfěn (热凉粉, “hot” cold jelly) in Sichuan—is remarkably simple to make at home. The process can be broken down into just a few steps:

• First, you make the liangfen by cooking mung bean starch with water, whisking well to prevent lumps. The mixture will thicken quickly and turn slightly translucent. This mixture is then cooled overnight, until firm, then cut into cubes. 
• This is similar to the recipe you’d use to make a cold liangfen dish like Taylor’s Heartbreak Jelly Noodles, but here you use a higher proportion of starch because chao liangfen requires a slightly firmer jelly to maintain its shape and integrity. As previously mentioned, I often make chao liangfen out of leftover cold liangfen. As a result, I prefer to make my Heartbreak Jelly Noodles a bit firmer than Taylor’s noodles, specifically so I can stir-fry the leftovers later and they won’t fall apart and turn to mush. (I recommend cooking the liangfen within 2–3 days of making it.)
• To cook the liangfen, you start by frying some aromatics, ground chili and Sichuan pepper, then add the liangfen cubes along with light soy sauce, Sichuan black vinegar, sugar and salt and cook everything until the jelly is slightly transparent. The aromatics, chili and other ingredients form a sauce that seeps into and around the jelly cubes.
• The dish is served with rice and other dishes (or if you can’t wait, enjoyed straight from the wok, still hot on your stove range).

For more toothsome, jelly-like dishes from Sichuan, check out Taylor’s cold liangfen Heartbreak Jelly Noodles (Shangxin Liangfen, 伤心凉粉) or dishes made with sweet potato noodles, like her Chongqing Suanlafen (酸辣粉).