Beyond the hotpot
the taste that says you've reached Chongqing

If you order one plate that proves you get Sichuan cooking, order this. "Twice-cooked" means the pork belly is boiled whole first, sliced thin, then stir-fried again with Pixian chilli-bean paste, green garlic shoots (蒜苗) and a little beef tallow until the slices curl up like little lamps with crisp edges and rich, juicy fat. The taste is savoury-fragrant with a balanced, mild heat. This is the home-style flavour every Chongqing kitchen can make, and the plate that shows whether a restaurant can handle its doubanjiang. With hot steamed rice it's so good you'll order more rice.

Soft white tofu in a thick red-orange sauce, dusted with ground huajiao and scallion — this dish is a málà lesson in a single bowl. The silky tofu soaks up a sauce of chilli-bean paste, minced pork and Sichuan peppercorn, giving a tingling numbness chased by hot chilli. "Mapo" means "pockmarked old woman", after the cook said to have invented it. The trick is to eat it piping hot over rice, so the huajiao buzz runs right across your mouth. It looks simple but tells a good restaurant from a lazy one instantly.

A dish whose name means "fish-fragrant" yet contains no fish — that's the magic of yuxiang. Pork tenderloin is cut into strips and stir-fried with wood-ear mushroom, bamboo shoots and pickled chilli, tossed in a sauce of pickled chilli, ginger, garlic, scallion, sugar and vinegar for a sour-sweet-savoury-gently-spicy taste all at once — strikingly balanced. The chilli is a supporting act, not the star. It's a great plate to order alongside the málà ones to rest your tongue, and a safe pick if you're with someone who can't take much heat.

The Sichuan dish that went global as "Kung Pao" — but the real Chongqing version is far spicier and more chilli-fragrant than the Western one. Diced chicken is stir-fried over high heat with dried chilli, huajiao, roasted peanuts and scallion, seasoned with a touch of sugar and vinegar for a sour-sweet-spicy-chilli-fragrant hit all together. The chicken is tender, the peanuts crunchy — an easy crowd-pleaser on any table. The heat varies by restaurant: some load on the chilli for a rough-and-ready version, others keep it rounded.

Don't let the name fool you — "shuizhu" means "water-boiled", which sounds plain, but it's one of the most gloriously spicy dishes around. Thin slices of pork or fish are poached in a broth topped with a thick slick of red chilli oil, dried chilli and a heavy layer of huajiao, over a bed of vegetables like bean sprouts or cabbage. The málà is at full throttle, and the meat stays silky because it's cooked in oil, not water. Shuizhu yu (fish) is the most-ordered version — lift the fish onto rice and let the sauce soak in. Pure joy for chilli lovers, and the heat can be adjusted.

Boiled pork belly sliced almost translucently thin, wrapped around cucumber and dressed in mashed garlic mixed with red chilli oil, soy and a touch of sugar, for a punchy garlic aroma, fragrant heat and silky texture. It's a cold dish you order first to eat while the hot plates cook. The pork is boiled just right so it's never dry, and its richness is balanced by the garlic and chilli oil. Sichuan diners love it as a table-opener, and it helps rest your tongue between the málà plates.

The name literally translates as "husband-and-wife lung slices", after a couple who once sold it — but there's no lung; it's beef and beef offal (tongue, tripe) simmered with spices, sliced thin and dressed in fragrant red chilli oil (红油), toasted sesame, ground peanut and huajiao. The result is spicy, fragrant, tender and moreish, a legendary Sichuan cold dish no table is complete without. If offal doesn't put you off, this is one to try — a range of textures in a single bite, fragrant-spicy without being overwhelming.

A vegetable plate so good people order it twice — green beans (四季豆) dry-fried over high heat until the skins wrinkle and lightly blister (the 干煸 ganbian technique fries them dry until all the moisture goes), then tossed with minced pork, Sichuan preserved vegetable (芽菜), garlic and dried chilli for a savoury-fragrant-mildly-spicy taste. The beans are chewy with a toasty aroma and go brilliantly with rice. It's the vegetable that isn't boring and cuts the richness of the meat plates — ordered on nearly every Sichuan table.

Honestly, this one is half street food, half restaurant dish — and Chongqing is its birthplace. Chewy, slippery sweet-potato noodles sit in a broth made sour with black vinegar and spicy with chilli oil, topped with roasted peanuts, pickled vegetables, scallion and crisp pork crackling. The sour-spicy-fragrant taste is wonderfully palate-opening, and the slippery noodles slurp down hot. You'll find it both in the lanes and in restaurants — a great pick on a damp, cool Chongqing day. Cheap, and filling enough on its own.