Everyone arrives in Chengdu planning to eat hotpot, and they should. But if hotpot is all you eat, you miss half of what makes this China's first UNESCO City of Gastronomy. Sichuan food is a whole system of flavors, and Chengdu is where you eat it cheapest and best. Here is how I would spend three days of eating.

Mapo tofu, eaten properly

The dish the world knows as mapo tofu was born in Chengdu, and the version you get in a Chengdu restaurant will rearrange your expectations. The real thing has numbing Sichuan pepper, douban fermented bean paste, a whisper of minced beef, and a texture that is loose and glossy rather than gloopy. The classic place is Chen Mapo Doufu, which has several branches and has been making it since the 1860s. Order it with plain rice and nothing else on the table for the first five minutes, so you can taste it straight.

A plate costs 20 to 30 yuan. It should be too spicy for about three bites, then your palate adjusts and you cannot stop. That numbing buzz on your lips is the Sichuan pepper doing its job.

Chuan chuan and bobo ji

Chuan chuan is hotpot's cheaper, more casual sibling: skewers of everything from lotus root to tripe that you cook yourself in a shared pot, then pay for by counting sticks. A big meal runs 40 to 80 yuan per person. Bobo ji is its cold cousin, skewers sitting in a clay pot of spiced chili oil, ready to eat the moment they arrive. Both are everywhere in Chengdu, and both are better than the tourist restaurants serving "Sichuan food" with a translated menu.

The snack circuit

• Dan dan noodles: a small bowl, noodles floating on a sauce of chili, sesame paste, sprouts and minced pork. Two bowls, not one. Around 10 yuan.
• Long chaoshou: big wontons in chili oil or clear broth. The red oil version is the one to get.
• Guo kui: crisp flatbread stuffed with braised beef or pork. The best ones come from hole-in-the-wall counters in the old neighborhoods.
• Tian shui mian: sweet-water noodles, thick and chewy, dressed with a sauce that is sweet, spicy and sour all at once. Strange at first bite, addictive by the third.
• Rabbit head: yes, really. Braised in spice until the meat falls off in shreds. Locals consider it a delicacy; I will leave the verdict to you.

Jinli street and Kuanzhai Alley serve all of these to crowds, and they are fine for a first sampler. But the stalls a five-minute walk away from those streets charge half as much and taste better. My rule: use the famous streets to identify what you like, then find it in a residential block.

Where the locals actually eat

Cangpingpu and Yulin are the two neighborhoods I would point visitors toward for dinner. Both are dense with small restaurants, skewer shops and noodle counters, and both have metro stops. Yulin also has the rowdy late-night scene: barbecue, cold beer and skewers until 2am.

For lunch, look for the words "mian" (noodles) or "fan" (rice) on a sign, a room full of people in office clothes, and laminated menus taped to the wall. A filling lunch in these places costs 15 to 25 yuan. You will not need to read Chinese: many have picture menus, and pointing while smiling works everywhere in Chengdu.

Dealing with the spice

• Ask for "wei la" (mildly spicy) or "bu la" (not spicy). Kitchens genuinely honor this in most small places.
• Do not drink water to kill the burn. Soy milk, yogurt drinks or a sweet iced tea work far better.
• The numbing sensation from Sichuan pepper is not the same as chili heat. It fades in minutes. Do not panic the first time your lips buzz.
• Carry tissues. Small restaurants hand out one thin napkin and that is the last you will see.

One last thing: save an evening for the teahouse after dinner. Order a cup of jasmine tea for 15 yuan, get a bamboo chair by the street, and let the spice settle while old men play cards around you. In Chengdu, that is as much a part of the meal as anything on the plate.

Originally published on 71Asia Tours blog.