The wall of bottles, decoded
The first time I cooked in a Chinese home kitchen, in Chengdu, I opened the cupboard and found nothing but condiments. Twenty-odd jars, bottles, and plastic tubs, most unlabeled, all in various states of oil and chili. My host’s mother watched me stare, reached past me, and pulled out three things: a bottle of light soy sauce, a jar of doubanjiang, and a small tub of preserved mustard tuber. “With these,” she said, “you can cook.” She was exaggerating only slightly.
Western kitchens stock condiments for finishing. Chinese kitchens stock condiments for building. The sauces and pastes go into the wok before the main ingredient, and they do the work that a whole sauce course does in a French kitchen. Learn a dozen of them and you can read any menu in the country; learn the five in this guide and you can improvise dinner.
This is a practical guide to the Chinese condiments that matter, organized by job rather than alphabetically: the salty core, the sweet and nutty shelf, the sour shelf, the aromatic shelf, and the finishing touches. For the two categories that deserve their own treatment, our guides to soy sauce and Chinese vinegar go deeper.
Quick facts
- Chinese condiments divide into fermented (soy sauce, pastes, pickles) and fresh (ginger, garlic, scallion, chili)
- Light soy sauce seasons; dark soy sauce colors. They are not interchangeable
- Doubanjiang, the broad bean chili paste from Pixian, is the backbone of Sichuan cooking
- Fermented black beans (douchi) and fermented tofu add a salty, funky depth that salt alone cannot
- Most jars keep for months in the fridge after opening; soy sauce keeps in the cupboard
- A basic Chinese pantry for a visitor costs under 200 yuan and fits in a suitcase
The salty core: soy sauce, pastes, and pickles
Soy sauce (酱油) is the first thing to get right, because everything downstream depends on it. Two bottles cover nearly all of Chinese cooking. 生抽 (light soy sauce) is the seasoning sauce: thinner, saltier, brewed for salt and umami. 老抽 (dark soy sauce) is the coloring sauce: thicker, often with molasses added, used in braises where you want the mahogany finish on red-braised pork. If a recipe just says soy sauce, it means light. Buying a single bottle of “soy sauce” in a western supermarket gives you something between the two, which is why home-cooked Chinese food abroad tastes muddled. The grade marker to look for is the amino acid nitrogen number on the label; 0.8 grams per 100 milliliters or higher indicates a properly brewed, higher-umami sauce, and the best brewed sauces run above 1.2. Our soy sauce guide covers the labels and grades in detail.
Doubanjiang (豆瓣酱) is the fermented broad bean and chili paste that defines Sichuan food. The original comes from Pixian, now a district of Chengdu, where broad beans and chilies ferment in open earthenware jars for months to years. It is salty, deep, and brick-red, and it is the first thing into the oil in mapo tofu, twice-cooked pork, and fish with chili. A jar of real Pixian paste costs 25 to 60 yuan and lasts a home cook months. There is no substitute; ketchup-based “Sichuan sauce” from an international aisle is a different product entirely.
Douchi (豆豉), fermented black beans, are the salty-funky third leg. They come salted and dried, usually in a plastic pouch, and get rinsed and added to steamed fish, stir-fried spare ribs, and the black bean sauces of Cantonese cooking. A small pouch costs 10 to 20 yuan and lasts forever. Fermented tofu (腐乳), cubes of tofu aged in brine and rice wine, is the same logic in a jar: a single cube flavors a whole bowl of sauce, usually for greens or for a pork belly braise. Red fermented tofu (南乳) does double duty as a coloring agent, and the Cantonese use the brine itself as a marinade for roast goose and steamed pork.
Then the pickles, which function as both condiment and vegetable. Zha cai (榨菜), the pickled mustard tuber from Sichuan, is chopped and fried with pork for noodles or eaten straight from the packet as a salty side. Sichuan paocai (泡菜), the pickled vegetables of the pickle jar, appear on every table as a palate-cleanser between dishes, and the jar of peppers and ginger from that brine goes into the wok as a sour-salt seasoning. The whole family of Chinese pickles runs from the crisp Sichuan paocai to the dried preserved mustard greens of the south, and they are the fastest way to make a simple bowl of noodles taste regional.
The sweet and nutty shelf
Sweet bean sauce (甜面酱) is the Beijing answer to ketchup: a thick, brown, wheat-based paste used in the capital’s two greatest snacks. It is the sauce under Peking duck pancakes and the base of zhajiang, the fried soybean-and-meat sauce on Beijing noodles. It is sweeter and milder than doubanjiang, and a little jar costs 10 to 25 yuan.
Sesame paste (芝麻酱) is ground toasted sesame seeds, thick as peanut butter and twice as nutty. It is the base of the hot pot dipping sauce, the sauce on cold noodles, and the thickener in malatang broth. Buy it in jars; the oil separates, and you stir it back before using. Yellow bean paste (黄豆酱) is the salty-sweet northern cousin, used in braises and on scallion pancakes. Hoisin sauce (海鲜酱), despite the seafood name, contains none; it is a sweet-savory barbecue paste that gives Cantonese char siu its red glaze, and a bottle runs 15 to 30 yuan.
The sour shelf
Chinese vinegar is not one thing, and the wrong vinegar ruins dumplings. The two that matter: Zhenjiang black vinegar (镇江香醋), the dark, slightly sweet rice-based vinegar from the Yangtze delta, which is the standard table vinegar for dumplings in the north and east; and Shanxi aged vinegar (山西老陈醋), stronger, more aggressive, brewed from sorghum and aged in clay, which the north drinks straight as a tonic. For dumplings, the mild Zhenjiang style is the safe choice. Red vinegar (红醋), made with red yeast rice, is the Lingnan version, used with seafood. Our vinegar guide covers the regional split.
Beyond vinegar, sourness in Chinese cooking comes from pickles and ferments: the pickled chili (泡椒) that gives yu-xiang eggplant its tang, the chopped chili (剁椒) that tops Hunan fish heads, and the sour mustard greens that anchor the soups of the southwest. These are condiments, not side dishes, and a jar of each turns a simple kitchen into a regional one.
The aromatic shelf
The numbing-spice shelf is where Sichuan cooking lives, and it starts with Sichuan peppercorn (花椒), the dried husk of the prickly ash, which does not burn so much as tingle; it makes your lips hum. Two varieties matter: red hua jiao, brighter and more floral, and green qing hua jiao, sharper and more citrus. It goes in whole, toasted and ground, or infused into oil. A pouch of good Hanyuan peppercorn, the famous county source, costs 30 to 80 yuan and seasons a year of cooking. Our Sichuan peppercorn guide covers the grades and the tingling sensation itself.
The warm-spice shelf is smaller in daily cooking but essential in braises and stews: star anise, cassia bark, bay leaf, fennel seed, and the less-familiar caoguo (black cardamom) and baizhi (Dahurian angelica root), which give master stocks (卤水) their depth. These get bundled into a spice pouch and simmered, not stir-fried, and the full list with buying advice is in our Chinese spice guide. Fresh aromatics round out the shelf: ginger, garlic, scallion, and in the south, coriander root. The fresh side needs no shopping guide; every market sells it.
The finishing touches
Oyster sauce (蚝油) is the Cantonese thickener and glossifier, a thick, sweet-savory extract used in steamed fish, in broccoli stir-fries, and as a table dip. A bottle of the classic Li Jinji brand costs 10 to 20 yuan, and a tablespoon at the end of cooking is the difference between a flat vegetable and a restaurant one. Sesame oil (香油) is for aroma only, added off the heat, never cooked. Chili oil (辣椒油) is the all-purpose condiment: dried chilies infused in hot oil, ladled over noodles and cold dishes, and the base of the numbing-and-hot oil in Sichuan cooking. Our chili oil guide covers how to make it properly.
Two more that confuse visitors. Cooking wine (料酒), usually Shaoxing rice wine, goes in early to kill fishy notes and add depth; it is a cooking ingredient, not a drink, and our cooking wine guide explains the grades. And MSG (味精), the powdered umami that the industry often sells as chicken essence (鸡精), is the default seasoning in restaurant woks and increasingly in home ones. The panic around it is largely a western misunderstanding; plain mushrooms and fermented pastes carry plenty of umami without it.
What a working pantry looks like
| Condiment | Job in the kitchen | Typical price | Keeps |
|---|---|---|---|
| Light soy sauce (生抽) | Seasoning and salt; the default sauce | 10 to 25 yuan per bottle | 12 months in the cupboard |
| Dark soy sauce (老抽) | Color in braises and red-cooked dishes | 12 to 30 yuan per bottle | 12 months in the cupboard |
| Pixian doubanjiang (郫县豆瓣) | Fermented chili depth; base of Sichuan stir-fries | 25 to 60 yuan per jar | 6 to 12 months in the fridge |
| Fermented black beans (豆豉) | Salty funk in steamed fish and steamed ribs | 10 to 20 yuan per pouch | 1 year, sealed |
| Fermented tofu (腐乳) | Braises and sauces for greens; brine as marinade | 8 to 20 yuan per jar | 6 months in the fridge |
| Zha cai pickled tuber (榨菜) | Salty chopped pickle for noodles and congee | 3 to 10 yuan per packet | Sealed for a year |
| Sweet bean sauce (甜面酱) | Peking duck and Beijing noodle sauces | 10 to 25 yuan per jar | 6 months in the fridge |
| Sesame paste (芝麻酱) | Hot pot dips, cold noodles, malatang | 15 to 35 yuan per jar | 6 months in the cupboard |
| Zhenjiang black vinegar (镇江香醋) | Table vinegar for dumplings; sour finish | 10 to 25 yuan per bottle | 1 year in the cupboard |
| Oyster sauce (蚝油) | Gloss and sweetness in Cantonese dishes | 10 to 20 yuan per bottle | 3 months in the fridge after opening |
| Chili oil (辣椒油) | Noodles, cold dishes, dipping | 15 to 40 yuan per jar, or make it | Months in the fridge |
| Sichuan peppercorn (花椒) | The numbing note; whole in oil, ground in rubs | 30 to 80 yuan per pouch | 1 year, sealed and dark |
That is a complete Chinese pantry for under 200 yuan, and every item on the list is sold in any Chinese supermarket. The international aisle of a western supermarket stocks perhaps three of them at twice the price.
How the condiments enter the dish
Buying the right things is half the work. The order is the other half, and it is simpler than most cookbooks admit. In a stir-fry, the wok gets hot, oil goes in, and then the aromatics: ginger and garlic, or scallion white, until they smell. Then the chili and the doubanjiang if the dish calls for them, fried until the oil turns red. Then the protein, then the sauces, light soy and wine, splashed down the hot side of the wok so it sizzles. Dark soy goes in for color, usually near the end with a little sugar. Oyster sauce and sesame oil come off the heat, at the table, or thirty seconds before serving.
In a cold dish, the logic reverses: everything is dressed at the end, vinegar and soy and chili oil and sesame paste poured over the assembled ingredients, and the diner tosses it themselves. In a braise, the pastes fry first, the liquid goes in second, and the dish cooks down until the sauce clings. If you understand those three patterns, the shelf of jars stops being intimidating and starts being a toolkit.
Frequently asked questions
What five condiments should I buy first?
Light soy sauce, dark soy sauce, doubanjiang, Zhenjiang black vinegar, and sesame oil. Those five cover the majority of home cooking in China, and you can add the rest as the cuisines pull you in.
Is dark soy sauce just concentrated light soy sauce?
No. Dark soy is brewed longer and often has molasses or caramel added; it is thicker, sweeter, and used for color. Light soy is for salt and umami. Substituting one for the other changes the dish’s color and its balance.
Can I cook Chinese food without MSG?
Yes, easily, especially at home. Restaurants use it because it is cheap and reliable, but soy sauce, mushrooms, and fermented pastes carry plenty of umami on their own. If you are sensitive, ask for 不要放味精 when ordering.
How do I store these after opening?
Soy sauce and vinegar live in the cupboard. Pastes, bean sauces, and chili oil go in the fridge once opened, and always use a clean spoon to scoop them. If a paste develops mold, scrape it off; the salt content usually means the jar is still fine.
Is doubanjiang the same as gochujang?
No. Doubanjiang is Chinese, broad-bean based, and more salty and fermented than the sweeter Korean chili paste. They occupy similar roles in their own cuisines but taste quite different.
What is the difference between chili oil and chili crisp?
Chili oil is the infused oil itself, poured as a seasoning. Chili crisp is the oil with the crunchy chili flakes, sesame, and sometimes soybeans left in, eaten as a topping. Both have their place; oil for cooking, crisp for finishing.
Which of these can I bring home through customs?
Sealed, commercially packaged sauces and pastes are almost always fine; the restrictions hit meat, dairy, and fresh produce, not fermented soy. Doubanjiang jars and chili oil sometimes get flagged at agriculture checks, so pack them in checked luggage and declare if asked.
If you want to shop these shelves with someone who knows the labels, the cooking-class and market-tour options in Chengdu and Shanghai are the best introduction, and the contact page can connect you with a route built around the market runs.
Written by the ChinaTravelFood editorial team.
