A Simple, Comforting Soup That Combines a Restorative Pork Broth With Tender Pieces of Wax Gourd

Winter melons, contrary to popular belief, do not grow in the winter. In fact, they are a summer gourd and get their name because, like many other gourds, they store well into the winter. Their white waxy coating also gives them a frozen appearance—hence the moniker. There are a variety of ways that you can enjoy this vegetable, but the one I return to regularly is winter melon soup with pork ribs (dōng guā páigǔ tāng, 冬瓜排骨汤).

This soup is a variation of a dish I enjoyed often when I lived in Hong Kong and traveled frequently in Jiangsu and Zhejiang provinces. In those areas, I had winter melon soup in many forms: At times, it arrived enriched with Jinhua ham or dried scallops, which gave the broth an umami-laden depth. On special occasions and in fine-dining restaurants, it was presented in a hollowed-out gourd that had been etched with intricate motifs—a testament to the region’s appreciation for both craftsmanship and culinary finesse.

The beauty of this dish is that it can be both a highbrow and a lowbrow dish, depending on how much effort you want to put into it. Most often, it’s a rustic family soup, ladled straight from the pot. This is the version I’m focusing on with the recipe below. The winter melon cooks until it is soft and translucent, releasing its mild sweetness, while the meat from simmered pork ribs provides structure and depth. The melon absorbs the broth, rather than competing with it, resulting in a soup that is clean and gently savory.

Sourcing and Preparing Winter Melon

Winter melon—also known as ash gourd or wax gourd—is abundant in the summer months. Texturally, the winter melon is a cross between a zucchini and well-cooked Chinese turnip. It’s tender yet vegetal and really soaks up the flavor of the pork broth like a sponge. In Chinese dietary philosophy, winter melons are considered a cooling ingredient, believed to help lower internal heat and soothe inflammation. The melon is sometimes boiled in sweet sugary water and cooled down to make tea. Or, as this recipe details, it is chopped into chunks and simmered with meat to form a soothing and therapeutic broth. 

Because they are absolutely massive, sometimes reaching 2 feet in length, whole melons are a rarity on store shelves. Instead, winter melons are typically sliced into manageable chunks and wrapped in plastic, for convenience. You can find them easily at Asian grocery stores in the summer. To store a slice of melon for winter, you’ll need to peel it and cut it into 1-inch-thick slices. Scrape out the seeds, then cut the slices into 2-inch chunks. To freeze the melon, pack the chunks into zip-top bags, pressing out as much air as possible before sealing. (Removing excess air helps prevent freezer burn.) Freeze the melon for up to three months.

Making Winter Melon Soup—and Getting a Classic Milky Hue

There is a lot of technique involved in making a clean yet deeply flavorful Chinese soup. It’s not just throwing ingredients in a pot, smothering them with water, simmering everything together and calling it a day. In the Chinese-speaking world, soup making is at the very least a two-step process: 

The first step: Parboil the meat. Cover the pork ribs (or other meat) with room-temperature water and slowly bring it to a boil. This process draws out any scum or blood residue that might cloud the broth, which would detract from the clarity of the final soup. If you were to drop raw meat directly into boiling water, the sudden heat would cause the blood in the meat to coagulate too quickly, trapping these impurities inside. 

Second step: After you drain and rinse the meat, transfer it to a fresh pot of boiling water, where the high heat seals in the juices. Then reduce the heat and cook the soup at a low simmer for a couple of hours, to break down the meat and soften its fibers.

When I lived in Hong Kong, I noticed that many high-end restaurants served soups with a milky broth—a hallmark of upscale Cantonese cuisine. The rich, opaque appearance wasn’t just for show; it enhanced the soup’s depth and body, much like the luscious, velvety broth of a well-made tonkotsu ramen.

No actual milk is needed to get this effect. Just take the parboiled meat and stir-fry it thoroughly in a wok before you move on to the simmering step. The stir-frying process browns the meat and extracts emulsified fats, proteins and gelatin, which, when rapidly boiled, disperse into the liquid and create a milky white base. It’s an extra step, but well worth it if you want to create a show-stopping soup. (It also does the job of sealing in the meat’s juices.)

Planning Ahead for Winter Melon Soup

This soup is extremely simple, but making it is a bit time-intensive. I like to get ahead and prepare the pork soup base in advance, then add the winter melon later, just before I serve it. (While winter melon is a hearty gourd that can be stored for months, it becomes delicate once cooked and gets mushy if it’s reheated too many times.)

I make large batches of pork rib soup, freeze it, and then thaw it when I’m ready to use it. When the broth is at a brisk simmer, I’ll add the winter melon. This way, I can make sure that the pieces of melon maintain their texture and delicate flavor.

For more simple, comforting additions to your menu, check out Jess and Allen’s Fujianese Oyster and Tofu Soup (Hai Li Dou Fu Tang 海蛎豆腐汤), Georgia’s Yunnan Grandma’s Potatoes (Laonai Yangyu, 老奶洋芋) and Xueci’s Sichuan Tangy Stir-Fried Cabbage (Culiu Baicai, 醋熘白菜).