Jiaoquan

Jiaoquan belongs to the ancient family of ring-shaped fried dough that Chinese cooks have made for centuries; Li Shizhen's Ming-dynasty Bencao Gangmu already describes such rings — "twisted into bracelet shapes, crisp as snow, melting in the mouth" — under the old names huanbing and hanju, the same lineage as sanzi. The Beijing form is said to have come out of the Qing imperial kitchen, though that pedigree is oral rather than documented. What is solid is its place at the city's douzhi stalls: the shops famous for the pairing — Jinxin, Huguosi, Nanlaishun — have sold the two together for generations. (The often-quoted Su Dongpo verse about "jade-pale strands fried to tender yellow" actually describes sanzi, not jiaoquan, but Beijing writers borrow it because the two share that ancient root.)

Small amber rings, glossy and translucent at the edges, lighter than they look. The first bite is pure shatter — a brittle crack, then a fine crisp that dissolves to nothing, with a clean toasted-wheat sweetness and no grease on the lip. Dunked in douzhi it softens just at the rim while the rest stays crunchy. A good jiaoquan still snaps a week later; the day its crust turns leathery, it is done.

Crispness comes from a salt-alkali-alum dough and a low, patient fry. Salt, soda and alum (roughly equal parts, about 1.5% of the flour each) are dissolved in warm water; the alkali and alum react to throw off gas and lighten the dough while the alum locks the gluten into a brittle, set structure. The dough is worked and rested two to three hours, until it bubbles and "hums." Strips are cut, slit, and slipped into oil at about 150°C, then opened with chopsticks into the bracelet shape and fried to a deep reddish-brown. The thin form and thorough frying drive out the moisture — that is why it keeps crisp for days. Many modern cooks drop the alum (an aluminium salt) for health, using aluminium-free leavening and a little egg instead.