One: Marco's "Betrayal": An Italian Who Actually Fell in Love with Stinky Tofu
In Giaogiao's refrigerator, there's a mysterious plastic box. Inside are black squares emitting a smell that makes people frown. Every time an Italian guest opens the fridge, they quickly close it and politely ask me: "Coach Liu, what is that?"
"Stinky tofu." I answer.
"It smells like something died." they say.
"Yes." I say, "But it tastes very good."
Marco is the only Italian at Giaogiao who eats stinky tofu. Not from the start—he was "forced" by me.
It was 2018, after an art exhibition in Florence, I invited several artist friends to Giaogiao for dinner. Among them was a British girl who had studied Chinese in China for a year and came back desperately missing Chinese food. She said: "I want to eat stinky tofu."
I said Giaogiao doesn't have stinky tofu. She said: "Then I'll bring it myself."
The next day, she really brought a box of stinky tofu bought from Chinatown. We fried it in Giaogiao's back kitchen—the oil was hot, the tofu went in, "sizzle," and that smell instantly filled the entire kitchen.
Marco was chopping vegetables, smelled it, turned around, and looked at me with a betrayed expression.
"Coach Liu," he said, "what are you doing?"
"Frying stinky tofu." I said, "Do you want to try it?"
"Never." he said, "I respect your culture, but I won't eat that."
The British girl ate with great relish, dipping in chili sauce, one piece at a time. Marco watched her, his expression changing from fear to confusion, and finally to curiosity.
"Is it really good?" he asked.
"Try it." I said.
He hesitated for three minutes. Finally, he closed his eyes and took a small bite.
Three seconds later, he opened his eyes and took another bite. Then he said something I've remembered to this day: "It tastes like Gorgonzola, but fried."
From then on, every time Marco came to Giaogiao, he would ask me: "Do you have stinky tofu today?"
Two: Stinky Tofu Is Not Rotten, It's "Transformed"
The biggest misunderstanding about stinky tofu is: this thing has gone bad.
No. Stinky tofu is intentionally fermented. Fresh tofu blocks are put into brine made with vegetables, salt water, and fermented bacteria, soaked for several days to several weeks. During this process, the protein in the tofu is broken down by microorganisms into amino acids—amino acids have a special "umami" flavor, while simultaneously producing a substance called sulfides, which is the source of the "stink."
Marco asked me: "Is this the same as blue cheese?"
I said: "The principle is the same, but the direction is different. Blue cheese is fermented milk protein, stinky tofu is fermented bean protein. But Europeans eat blue cheese slowly, one small piece at a time, with red wine. Chinese people eat stinky tofu fried until crispy outside and tender inside, dipped in chili sauce, in big mouthfuls."
Marco said: "So blue cheese is elegant stink, and stinky tofu is violent stink?"
I said: "Yes. Blue cheese's stink is inviting you to slowly smell it, stinky tofu's stink is directly punching you in the face."
Three: The Philosophy of Changsha Stinky Tofu: Appearance Doesn't Matter, Heart Does
The essence of Changsha stinky tofu is not "stink," it's "crispy outside, tender inside."
Fresh tofu after fermentation becomes spongy and porous inside. When fried, the outer skin quickly caramelizes, forming a crispy shell, while the inside remains tender and juicy. You bite through the crispy shell, and the tofu inside melts on your tongue like cream, mixed with the flavors of brine, chili sauce, garlic juice, and cilantro—the extreme of stink is the extreme of fragrance.
Marco said: "This is like Italian mozzarella cheese? Crispy outside, soft inside?"
I said: "Not exactly. Mozzarella is the cheese's own texture—when you cut mozzarella di bufala, the inside is runny milk. The tenderness of stinky tofu is not runny, it's the fermented tofu's cellular structure becoming porous, like a sponge soaked in broth."
There's a saying on the streets of Changsha: "The stink of stinky tofu is the skin, the fragrance is the bone, the tenderness is the soul."
The skin must be fried black but not burnt—Changsha stinky tofu's outer skin is black because the brine contains dark ingredients like fermented black beans, shiitake mushrooms, and winter bamboo shoots. But it can't be overcooked, otherwise the skin becomes bitter.
The bone must be authentic brine—every stinky tofu stall has its own brine recipe, this is a family treasure. Good brine has layered stink, not a single stink, but fermented, complex, addictive stink.
The soul must be tender tofu—the tofu must be freshly fermented, not too old, not too young. Too old, the inside won't be porous; too young, it falls apart when fried.
Four: The "Black" of Stinky Tofu: Why Do Changsha People Make Tofu Black?
The biggest psychological barrier for outsiders trying Changsha stinky tofu for the first time is its color.
Black tofu blocks, soaking in black oil, fished out and dipped in black chili sauce. It looks like food from hell.
When Marco first ate it, he asked me: "Why does it have to be black?"
I said: "Because the brine contains fermented black beans, shiitake mushrooms, winter bamboo shoots—these are all dark-colored ingredients. After long fermentation, the tofu absorbs the color of the brine, changing from white to black."
He said: "This is like Italian black truffles?"
I said: "Completely different. Black truffles are precious black, stinky tofu is common people's black. Black truffles make you feel 'I'm rich,' stinky tofu makes you feel 'I'm real.'"
Changsha people have a saying: "The black of stinky tofu is grounded black. It's not the color of high-end restaurants, it's the color of the street. Look at the Changsha night markets, those people queuing in front of stinky tofu stalls, some in suits, some in slippers, some driving BMWs, some riding electric bikes. In front of stinky tofu, everyone is equal."
After Marco heard this, he said: "This is like Italian pizza?"
I said: "Same spirit, but completely different taste. Pizza is 'everyone sharing together,' stinky tofu is 'one person enjoying alone.' Pizza's joy is extroverted, stinky tofu's satisfaction is introverted. You smile when you eat pizza, you close your eyes when you eat stinky tofu."
Five: Why Doesn't Giaogiao Serve Stinky Tofu?
Almost every Chinese person who has eaten at Giaogiao asks this question.
I say: "Because Giaogiao's kitchen is too small, can't fit the stinky tofu brine vat."
But the real reason is: stinky tofu is a 'street food,' not a 'restaurant food.'
At Giaogiao, I sell a complete experience of 'sit down, order, eat, leave.' But stinky tofu is a street ritual of 'stand on the roadside, queue, buy, eat while walking, sweating profusely from the spice.' It needs the smell of smoke, the noise of the crowd, the vendor shouting "Spicy or not? Want cilantro?"
Giaogiao's kitchen can't replicate this street atmosphere. If I sold stinky tofu at Giaogiao, it would be served on a white plate, with chopsticks, on a table with a white tablecloth. Would that still be stinky tofu?
Marco said: "So the 'soul' of stinky tofu is not in the tofu, but in the scene of eating it?"
I said: "Yes. Just like Italian pizza tastes best on the streets of Naples, stinky tofu tastes best at Changsha's night markets. Food cannot be separated from its land."
Six: Stinky Tofu vs. Other Fermented Foods: Why Are Chinese People So Tolerant of "Stink"?
Marco asked me a very deep question: "Why are Chinese people so tolerant of 'stinky' food? In Europe, only a few people eat blue cheese, most people find it disgusting. But in China, stinky tofu is a national food."
I thought for a long time, then said: "Because in Chinese taste, there is a understanding of 'transformation.'
We don't think 'stink' is a bad taste. We think 'stink' is a change—fresh things, after time's transformation, become another thing. Wine is the transformation of grain, vinegar is the transformation of wine, stinky tofu is the transformation of tofu. Chinese people appreciate this transformation.
Marco said: "So Chinese taste is evolutionary?"
I said: "Yes. Chinese people don't pursue 'staying the same,' Chinese people pursue 'becoming a better version.' Fresh tofu is good, but fermented tofu has a depth that fresh tofu doesn't have. This depth needs time to understand, needs courage to try."
Marco took another bite of stinky tofu and said: "I think I understand China a little more now."
I said: "You understand China's taste. The real China, you still need more bowls of stinky tofu."
[Next Chapter Preview] Xinjiang Big Plate Chicken: The Taste of the Silk Road—Why Does a Plate of Chicken Have Potatoes, Noodles, and Chilies?
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