Slow living, spicy flavors in Chengdu resonate with Korean travelers

Visitors walk along red wall surrounded by bamboo forest at Wuhou shrine in Chengdu, China, June 30. Korea Times photo by Lee Hae-rin

CHENGDU, China — For a growing number of Koreans, Chengdu is less a dot on a map than a promise: That fans of Sichuan hotpot and mala already obsessed back home can come here to sweat over pepper-slick dishes one day, then rediscover the forgotten pleasure of doing absolutely nothing by simply sitting under a park-side tree.

China’s fourth-largest metropolitan area, home to more than 21 million residents, has long been known domestically as a “land of abundance” — a basin ringed by mountains, blessed with fertile soil and, more recently, branded as a UNESCO City of Gastronomy.

Chengdu has emerged as Koreans’ next favorite Chinese getaway not only because it’s cheaper, but because it offers exactly what many feel is missing in their busy lives: intensely flavorful food and spaces to slow down.

A variety of fresh Sichuan peppercorns, dried chilies and spices are on display at a pepper stall at Yulin Comprehensive Market in Chengdu, China, June 29. Korea Times photo by Lee Hae-rin

On the plate: 24 flavors, penchant for spices

Chengdu has a popular saying about the region’s love of heat: “Sichuan people are afraid food won’t be spicy enough.”

In everyday life, dishes are not just hot; they are engineered to make the body sweat and cool down in Sichuan’s humid subtropical climate, and to deliver the kind of sensory high that other chilies cannot. The functional side of mala — its ability to both stimulate and soothe — is part of why locals consider it comfort food rather than simply a challenge.

On a cloudy morning at the Yulin Comprehensive Market, that demand feels tangible. The sprawling complex, known as Chengdu’s largest food market, wakes up early. Vendors roll up metal shutters and begin stacking pyramids of vegetables and fruit in colors.

Into this scene walked chef Tony Yang, executive chef at Infinite Luck, the Chinese restaurant at the five-starred hotel Waldorf Astoria Chengdu, recognized in the 2026 Michelin Guide. He moved through the aisles like someone returning to a childhood playground, stopping every few meters to nod at a butcher, trade a joke with a spice vendor or pinch a leaf of herb between his fingers.

“I grew up in Chengdu,” he said during a group tour with reporters, watching a woman arrange bundles of bamboo shoots favored by the city’s giant pandas. “My parents came to markets like this every day.”

Fresh vegetables, fuits, meats and local delicacies are on display in the stalls of Yulin Comprehensive Market in Chengdu, China, June 29. Korea Times photo by Lee Hae-rin

Around him, stalls laid out skewered cuts of beef, pork and chicken, and an array of offal that would shock many first-time visitors: rabbit organs, pig tripe, hearts, kidneys and more, all meticulously cleaned and almost entirely odorless thanks to the speed at which they move from farm to stall.

Yang explained that Yulin is also a crossroads for China’s chilies. Whole dried pods hang in red curtains, ground chili powders glow in shallow trays and neatly labeled jars hold varieties of spices. He stopped at a stall piled high with local peppers.

“To know a good chili, you have to hold it in your hand and see the color and smell the aroma,” he said, scooping up a handful. “Sichuan chili has a strong fragrance and doesn’t harm the body. Local peppers can be softly spicy, too. We import some from other countries, but these are the quintessential of Sichuan cuisine.”

The chef described his home as China’s “city of flavor.” “People outside think we only love spicy food,” Yang said, “That’s not true. Many Sichuan dishes have no chili at all. We have 24 flavors – mala is just one of them.”

Sichuan’s traditional cuisine recognizes 24 traditional taste profiles — far beyond simply salty, sour, sweet and spicy. Among them, “ma,” the numbing sensation produced by Sichuan peppercorns, is the most iconic. There is even a taste named “guai wei,” or “strange flavor,” a deliberately layered combination of sweet, sour, savory, nutty and numbing notes that resist any translation.

Braised Neijiang pig feet served with Baoning aged vinegar and chili oil at Infinite Lucky, a Chinese restaurant in the five-starred hotel Waldorf Astoria Chengdu in China / Courtesy of Waldorf Astoria Chengdu

“Sichuan people also love rabbit,” Yang said, pointing to a row of skinned rabbit at a butcher shop. “There is a joke that no rabbit can escape Sichuan.”

Rabbit meat historically functioned as a cheap, accessible source of protein — rabbits breed quickly and can be raised easily in rural and urban areas — and local cooks developed ways to make use of the entire animal. Today, rabbit meat appear fried and tossed into hotpot or, most memorably, its head marinated and served to diners.

Rabbit head in Chengdu, much like chicken feet in Korea, started as a humble street snack before becoming a local delicacy. According to local food enthusiasts, vendors typically clean the heads and then braise or stir-fry them in a thick, numbing-spicy sauce; diners hold the head in both hands, crack it open and carefully work their way through the cheek meat, tongue and brain, prized for their mix of crunchy, creamy and chewy textures.

As a Chengdu native and a master of the region’s traditional taste system, Yang has spent his career moving through historic kitchens and traveling across Sichuan’s mountains, rivers and farmlands in search of the region’s most distinctive ingredients.

At Infinite Luck, he and his team elevate those finds — Jianmen chicken from a mountainous pass, Liangshan pork from the south, Ya’an fish and Pujiang duck — into intricate courses presented tableside, paired with artisan teas and wines, accompanied by stories about their origin.

Locals enjoy pastime at a small park in Chengdu, China, June 29. Korea Times photo by Lee Hae-rin

Park city where time slows down

Beyond its plates, Chengdu’s other draw for Koreans is its parks and slow lifestyle.

In the early 2000s, Chengdu was expanding at breakneck speed, but in 2012, the city drew a line along its fourth ring road surrounding the city center and declared a wide belt of land off-limits to development. In 2017, that buffer was reimagined as the Tianfu Greenway, a continuous park system encircling the city with roughly 1,700 kilometers of paths.

The vision gained national weight in 2018, when Chinese President Xi Jinping visited and formally framed Chengdu as a “park city.”

Investment poured into malls and high-rise developments, and so did global brands. Since 2016, Chengdu has ranked first for 11 consecutive years among China’s “new first-tier cities” in urban attractiveness indices, excluding established cities like Shanghai and Beijing. More than 4,000 brands have chosen Chengdu for their first Chinese store since 2019, including luxury names such as Louis Vuitton, Fendi and Loewe.

Yet, despite that commercial energy, residents say Chengdu still offers a place to breathe.

“Many people from Beijing and other cities come and stay here because of the laid-back vibe,” Jade Yue, a Sichuan-born tour guide said. “Chengdu is a magical city. We say once you come, you never want to leave.”

Locals enjoy an afternoon tea at a tea house in Chengdu, China, June 30. Korea Times photo by Lee Hae-rin

The numbers suggest many have taken that promise literally. In the past decade, Chengdu’s population has roughly doubled, from around 11 million to nearly 21 million. On a typical overcast day — locals say the city sees about 200 cloudy days a year — parks fill with people moving at their own speed.

“Everyone can find their own corner in this public square,” Yue said, gesturing at a scene in which a middle-aged woman in a mini dress played table tennis, retirees huddle under trees over card games and a group in the corner practices dance steps to music, while parents on benches watch their children tumble across the playground. Today, Chengdu counts more than 10,000 such parks, from pocket gardens to vast riverside squares.

Tea houses, often tucked into these green spaces, function as modern village halls. At battered wooden tables, people read, chat, submit to quick shoulder massage or ear-cleaning services, and sip jasmine or green tea alongside sunflower seeds and slices of seasonal fruits.

Flower tea, sunflower seeds, nuts and watermelon are served at a tea house in Chengdu, China, June 30. Korea Times photo by Lee Hae-rin

“People here are optimistic,” said Melissa Cheng, a Chengdu native and commercial director at Waldorf Astoria Chengdu. “Chengdu is a land of abundance. The ground is fertile, it’s peaceful and the mountains around us made it hard to invade, so for a long time, we lived without big wars. We hussle and bustle, like everyone, but also enjoy life — like pandas in a bamboo forest.”