One: The Hotpot Night at Giaogiao: An Italian First Understands "Dispelling Dampness"
Florence's winter isn't cold, but damp. Not the damp of rain, but the damp where moisture in the air seeps into your bones, making you feel tired and sluggish all day.
Marco stood in the Giaogiao kitchen, watching me pull a twin-side hotpot out from storage — one side red broth, one side white broth. He had been there since Giaogiao's opening day in 2016, seen me cook countless dishes, but this pot was the first thing to make him truly puzzled.
"What is this thing?"
"Hotpot."
"What is hotpot?"
I thought about it and said, "Hotpot is not a dish. Hotpot is a way of cooking. You sit around a pot, put raw things in, boil them, then pull them out and eat. You eat as long as you cook."
Marco looked at the chilies and Sichuan peppercorns rolling in the red broth and took half a step back. "This looks like punishment, not food."
That night, I organized Giaogiao's first hotpot night. Not just Marco, but several Italian friends, a German student, and two American art students in Florence.
When the red broth was boiling, the whole kitchen smelled of peppercorns. That numbing sensation, not spicy, was a feeling that makes your tongue lose sensation, but makes you desperately want another bite.
Marco's first bite was tripe. Seven ups and eight downs, fifteen seconds. He pulled it out, blew on it, dipped it in the oil bowl, and put it in his mouth.
Three seconds later, his face was red. Not from embarrassment, but a physical reaction. He drank a whole glass of ice water, then looked at me, with light in his eyes.
"This is... poison." he said. "But I want another one."
That night, the German ate three bowls of rice, the American student finished all the sour plum juice, and Marco was the last one sitting in front of the pot, fishing out all the potatoes and wide noodles from the broth.
The next morning, Marco sent a message: "I was sweating yesterday, a lot. But this morning, I feel very light in my body. Does hotpot have some medicinal effect?"
I replied: "You finally asked the key question. Sichuan people eat spicy not for stimulation, but to dispel dampness."
Two: The Sichuan Basin: Why Must People Here Eat Spicy?
Many people think Sichuan people love spicy food because they "like stimulation." Wrong. Sichuan people eat spicy because geography dictates they must.
The Sichuan Basin is surrounded by mountains on all sides, like a giant bowl. The Yangtze River and its tributaries run through the middle, water evaporates, but can't get out. The result: high humidity all year round, cold and gloomy in winter, hot and muggy in summer. Your clothes are always damp, your bedding is always wet, your joints are always sore.
In this environment, the body's "dampness" accumulates more and more. Traditional Chinese medicine says "dampness weighs down the spleen," meaning too much dampness makes your spleen and stomach stop working. You feel tired, lose appetite, and your head feels cloudy.
What to do? Eat spicy.
Chilies and Sichuan peppercorns, one responsible for "heat," one for "numbing." Heat makes you sweat, numbing accelerates blood circulation. Sweating is the body's way of expelling dampness. Sichuan people are not pursuing stimulation; they are using food to fight the environment.
After Marco heard this, he said, "So Sichuan hotpot is medicine disguised as food?"
I said, "No, more accurately, food that happens to be medicine. In China, food and medicine have never been separate."
Three: The Twin-Side Pot: The Art of Compromise, Also the Wisdom of Inclusion
For the hotpot night, we used a twin-side pot — half red broth, half white broth.
Marco asked, "Why two pots? Isn't one enough?"
I said, "The twin-side pot is the most ingenious invention of Sichuan hotpot."
It solves a core problem: in a group, some people can eat spicy, some can't. What to do? Split into two pots, each eats their own, but sit at the same table. This is the Chinese attitude toward "difference" — not eliminating difference, but including difference.
At Giaogiao, we've encountered this countless times. Italian guests don't eat spicy, Chinese guests want spicy. If only a spicy pot, Italian guests would starve; if only a white pot, Chinese guests would be bored. The twin-side pot lets both kinds of people be satisfied.
Marco said, "This is unimaginable in Italy. We have one dish, everyone eats the same. If someone says 'I don't eat this,' then they don't eat."
I said, "This is the logic of the Chinese table. Not pursuing the best taste, but pursuing the greatest consensus."
Another secret of the twin-side pot: the white pot is never truly white. Its broth is simmered from bones, chicken frames, and mushrooms, so fresh it makes people forget the existence of spiciness. Many people who don't eat spicy eventually find that the white pot is actually better than the red pot.
Four: The Oil Bowl: Why Do Sichuan People Use Oil to Counter Spiciness?
First-time hotpot eaters are always confused by the oil bowl.
A small bowl containing sesame oil, minced garlic, cilantro, and scallions. You dip what you just cooked in it, then eat.
Marco asked, "It's already this spicy, why add more oil? Won't it be more oily?"
I said, "The oil bowl is for countering spiciness."
Capsaicin is fat-soluble, not water-soluble. So when you eat spicy and drink water, the spicier it gets. But oil can "wrap" the capsaicin, preventing it from stimulating your oral mucosa. At the same time, sesame oil cools, garlic kills bacteria, and cilantro enhances flavor.
Marco tried it and nodded: "This is science."
I said, "This is experience. Chinese people don't understand chemistry, but Chinese people know that after eating something spicy, drinking some oil makes the stomach feel better."
There's another hidden detail in the oil bowl: no salt is added. The hotpot broth is already salty enough; if the oil bowl is also salty, the overall balance is lost. The oil bowl's function is harmonizing — cooling, countering spiciness, enhancing fragrance, but not stealing the show.
Five: Hotpot's Social Aspect: Not Eating, But "Gathering Around the Fire"
The biggest difference between hotpot and other Chinese dishes is: it has no chef.
In a traditional restaurant, the chef cooks in the back, the server brings it out, and you eat. Hotpot is different — the chef is yourself. You decide when to put meat in, when to pull vegetables out, when to add more broth.
What does this mean? It means the rhythm is controlled by you. Want to eat fast? Go ahead. Want to eat slow? Fine. Want to chat for how long? However long you want, the pot won't rush you.
Marco said, "In Italy, eating is social. But hotpot makes socializing part of eating."
I said, "Yes. Hotpot is the most democratic way of eating in China. No head chef, no order, no rules. The only requirement is: sit at the same table.
That's also why hotpot has become synonymous with gathering in China. Friends, family, colleagues — as long as you sit around one pot, the relationship gets closer. The pot is hot, the people are close.
Six: Why Doesn't Giaogiao Serve Hotpot?
Finally, Marco asked a question he had been wanting to ask: "If hotpot is so good, why doesn't Giaogiao serve hotpot?"
I said, "Because hotpot is an experience, not a dish. Giaogiao is a Chinese restaurant; I sell efficiency of 'order dishes, finish eating, leave.' But hotpot is a ritual of 'sit down, chat, eat slowly.' It needs dedicated space, dedicated service style, dedicated atmosphere. Giaogiao's kitchen is too small, can't fit a hotpot table."
Marco nodded: "So Giaogiao sells food, and hotpot sells experience."
I said, "Yes. But I've been thinking, maybe one day, next to Giaogiao, there will be a 'Coach Liu's Hotpot.' Not a Giaogiao branch, but another story."
Marco smiled: "I'll definitely come then."
[Next Chapter Preview] Chongqing Noodles: The Violent Aesthetics of Dock Culture — Why Do Chongqing People Say "Xiaomian is the Soul of Chongqing People"?
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