麻婆豆腐
Mápó dòufu
麻婆豆腐 — pockmarked old woman's tofu, for the cook who first sold it.
Silken tofu in a fierce red sauce of fermented bean paste and Sichuan pepper, with just enough pork to season it.
Named from the ingredients as written, including those carried in from sub-recipes. This is not a guarantee — check the labels on what you actually buy, and note that a product’s recipe can change.
Bring a pan of lightly salted water to a bare simmer, slide in the tofu and leave it for 2 minutes, then drain carefully. This firms it just enough to survive the sauce.
Heat the oil in a wok over a high heat and fry the pork, breaking it up, until it is dry and beginning to crisp — about 4 minutes.
Turn the heat down to medium, push the pork aside and add the doubanjiang. Fry it for a full minute until the oil turns red.
Add the black beans, garlic, ginger and spring onion whites and fry for 30 seconds.
Pour in the stock, soy sauce and sugar and bring to a simmer.
Slide the tofu in and shake the wok rather than stirring. Simmer for 4 minutes.
Stir the cornflour slurry and add it in two goes, moving the tofu with the back of a ladle, until the sauce clings rather than pools.
Take the wok off the heat.
Scatter over the ground Sichuan pepper, the spring onion greens and the chilli oil, and serve at once with rice.
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Fiercely savoury and fermented from the doubanjiang and black beans, with a building chilli heat and, distinctly, the tingling numbness of Sichuan pepper scattered on at the end — two separate sensations rather than one intensified spiciness. The pork adds a savoury backbone rather than dominating, and the tofu itself is mild, taking on the sauce almost entirely.
A fermented, faintly funky depth from the doubanjiang and black beans as they hit the hot oil, garlic and ginger underneath, and a sharp, fragrant lift from the Sichuan pepper once it is scattered on at the very end.
Silken, barely-there tofu against a thick, clinging sauce, with small bursts of crisped pork throughout.
A hard sizzle as the pork renders, softening to a gentle simmer once the tofu goes in, and near silence from then on since the pan is shaken rather than stirred.
Savoury, fermented depth arrives first from the doubanjiang, chilli heat builds through the middle of the mouthful, and the tingling numbness of the Sichuan pepper is the last, lingering sensation once the heat has already registered.
Served hot, straight from the wok, and best eaten promptly — the tofu keeps absorbing the sauce and softening the longer it sits.
Plain steamed rice, which is not an optional side here but the thing the whole dish is built to be eaten with.
Easy — the technique that matters most is restraint, not skill.
Cheap — tofu, a small amount of pork and pantry Sichuan pastes.
A wok, and a ladle rather than a spoon or spatula for moving the tofu.
A fast weeknight dinner that comes together almost entirely in one pan.
None; every ingredient is shelf-stable or standard fresh produce available year round.
The oil should visibly turn red once the doubanjiang has fried properly, and the finished sauce should look glossy and thick enough to cling to the tofu rather than sit as a thin, watery pool underneath it.
The tofu should hold its cube shape with only the faintest give under a spoon, and the sauce should coat rather than drown it.
The pork needs to be cooked through and visibly dry and starting to crisp before anything else goes in, which the initial four minutes of high heat is there to ensure.
Flat or one-dimensional sauce: the doubanjiang was not fried long enough for the oil to turn red. No numbing sensation: the Sichuan pepper was cooked in rather than added raw at the end, or was old and had lost its potency. Broken tofu: it was stirred rather than shaken and moved with the back of a ladle.
The sauce base can be made a little ahead, but the tofu should go in and be finished close to serving, since it continues to soften the longer it sits.
Keeps for 2-3 days refrigerated, though the tofu continues to soften slightly and is never quite as intact as freshly made.
Reheat gently over low heat, without stirring hard, so the tofu does not break up further.
Not recommended — tofu's texture changes considerably once frozen and thawed, turning spongier and less silky.
Good over rice the next day, though gentler handling than usual is needed since the tofu is more fragile after a night in the fridge.
Scales reasonably well, though a wider pan is needed to keep the tofu in a shallow enough layer to shake rather than stir.
Doubanjiang has no real substitute — it is fermented, salty, and gives the dish both its colour and much of its savoury depth, and a generic chilli paste in its place makes a differently flavoured dish. Firm tofu can be used in place of silken for a sturdier, less silky result if silken feels too fragile to work with.
Contains soya and cereals containing gluten from the doubanjiang and soy sauce. Vegetarian if the pork is omitted; not naturally vegan given some doubanjiang brands, so check the label if that matters.
Doubanjiang and real Sichuan peppercorns are both worth seeking from a specialist Chinese grocer or online rather than substituting, since neither has a close equivalent.
One of the cheapest substantial dishes in Sichuan cooking, since a small amount of pork seasons a large pan of inexpensive tofu.
A largely plant-based dish with meat used sparingly as seasoning rather than bulk.
A good source of plant protein from the tofu alongside a modest amount of meat, and a spicy, high-flavour dish relative to its actual fat content.
A dish where confidence not to overwork the tofu matters more than any other single skill, and the reward is a sauce with real depth from genuinely fermented ingredients.
Chengdu, Sichuan province, China.
Mápó dòufu (麻婆豆腐).
mah-po doe-foo.
Ma means pockmarked and po means old woman; dofu is tofu — a description of the restaurant's proprietor attached affectionately to the dish she made.
The dish is traditionally credited to a Chengdu restaurant of the 1860s run by a woman known for a pockmarked face, whose cooking became known by that description. As with much restaurant-origin folklore from this period, the account is widely repeated and accepted rather than independently documented at the time it is said to have happened.
One of the defining dishes of Sichuan cuisine and among the clearest examples of málà, the combined numbing-and-hot sensation the region's cooking is known for.
Everyday Sichuan home and restaurant cooking rather than a dish tied to a specific occasion.
Frying the fermented chilli bean paste in oil until it turns red before anything else goes in, handling the tofu as little as possible once it is in the pan, and finishing with raw ground Sichuan pepper rather than cooking it into the sauce.
Versions outside Sichuan, and often outside China altogether, are frequently milder and built with more meat relative to tofu, and commonly omit or reduce the Sichuan pepper that gives the dish its numbing half.
The ratio of pork to tofu and the intensity of the chilli vary considerably between restaurants even within Sichuan, but the fried doubanjiang base and the finishing Sichuan pepper are consistent markers of a genuine version.
This recipe keeps the pork to a seasoning role rather than making it a main component, staying closer to the tofu-forward balance of the traditional dish than to meat-heavy adaptations.
Credited to an unnamed Chengdu restaurant proprietor known only by the pockmarked description that became the dish's name; no further individual attribution exists.