A plate of cold mung bean jelly noodles topped with cucumber, scallions, and chili oil—served as a refreshing starter before Yang Xiezi.
Creamy sesame paste being poured into a small bowl, commonly used as a rich dipping sauce for Yang Xiezi hotpot.
A bowl of Beijing-style dipping sauce for lamb spine hotpot, mixed with chili, cilantro, sesame, and aromatics.
Wide kuanfen noodles coated in spicy red broth, lifted by chopsticks to show their glossy texture and smooth, chewy surface.
Garlic-smashed cucumber salad with peanuts and chili, a classic Beijing cold appetizer served before lamb spine hotpot.
Lamb spine pieces simmering in a bubbling Yang Xiezi hotpot, with chopsticks picking up a marrow-filled bone.
Tender lamb spine chunks cooked in a spicy red broth, topped with scallions in a traditional Yang Xiezi hotpot.
Fermented tofu sauce being poured over tofu cubes, a classic Beijing-style condiment paired with lamb spine hotpot.
A copper pot filled with clear-simmered lamb spine broth, with visible goji berries and scallions floating on the surface.
Chopsticks lifting a tender piece of lamb spine from a rich, simmering Yang Xiezi hotpot, highlighting the marrow-filled bone and deep red broth.
Lamb Spine Hotpot, or Yang Xiezi, is more than a meal in Beijing—it is a social ritual woven into the city’s winter culture. Eating it the local way enhances the experience, revealing layers of flavor and tradition that visitors often overlook. Understanding how Beijingers enjoy this dish helps you appreciate not just the food, but also the lifestyle behind it.
For locals, the meal begins before the pot even arrives. Beijingers often order a selection of small cold dishes such as garlic cucumber, mung bean jelly, or Beijing-style fermented tofu to awaken the palate. These refreshing starters prepare the taste buds for the richness of the hotpot to come.
When the pot is placed on the table, boiling and fragrant, the first step is always the broth. Beijingers believe the broth is the “soul” of the pot, containing hours of simmered flavor from lamb bones, marrow, spices, and herbs. A small spoonful of the broth helps diners understand the intensity of the pot before digging in. Some restaurants even offer two types of broth—one lighter and one richer—giving diners a chance to compare.
Next comes the core experience: picking meat from the lamb spine. Unlike thin-sliced mutton used in regular hotpot, Lamb Spine Hotpot requires time and patience. Locals use chopsticks to tease out meat from the bone, often rotating the piece to find pockets of tender flesh. Some parts may require a bit of effort, but this is part of the enjoyment. The soft cartilage and delicate marrow are considered treasures, and certain diners even use thin straws to extract the marrow from the center of the bone.
Dipping sauces vary, but many Beijingers favor a simple mix of sesame paste, chopped scallions, and fermented tofu. This combination adds creaminess and complexity to the already rich lamb meat. Others prefer a lighter dip of soy sauce with chili and cilantro, especially when the broth is already powerful.
As the meal continues, vegetables, tofu, and mushrooms are added gradually—not all at once. Locals time each ingredient carefully, knowing that leafy greens cook fast while root vegetables need more time. This staggered approach ensures everything reaches the table at its ideal texture.
The “finale” of the meal is the wide noodles, known as kuanfen. By the time the lamb is nearly finished, the broth has thickened and absorbed even more flavor. Locals cherish this stage the most, calling it “the essence of the pot.” The noodles soak up the concentrated broth, transforming into a deeply flavored, satisfying ending to the meal.
Eating Lamb Spine Hotpot like a local is about more than technique—it reflects the Beijing philosophy of slow enjoyment, winter warmth, and communal connection. Sharing a bubbling pot remains one of the most cherished ways for Beijingers to gather with family and friends.
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