It’s no secret that food has always been a cornerstone of traditional Chinese culture—as the old saying goes, “food is the first necessity of the people (民以食为天 mín yǐ shí wéi tiān).” This worldview has trickled down into the Chinese language, where food is deeply embedded in everyday expressions: a person’s means of making a living is literally their “rice bowl (饭碗 fànwǎn)” or “tool for eating (吃饭的家伙 chīfàn de jiāhuo),” and to serve sentence is to “eat prison meals (吃牢饭 chī láofàn).” Conversely, if someone’s living the high life, they “eat and drink well (吃香的喝辣的 chī xiāng de hē là de).”
Read more about food and language:
- Talk Like a Chinese Food Vlogger
- Eating Words: Idioms and Phrases for Everyday Sustenance
- 吃: A Versatile Character to Suit Any Palate
But as troubling international news fills the internet and competition in school and the workplace shows little sign of slowing down, it’s no wonder then that people are taking stock of what’s in front of them—namely, food—uniting online for peace of mind, as well as practical pleasure. Most recently, it’s “seasoned foodies,” or 老吃家 (lǎochījiā), who are in the spotlight on Chinese social media as they playfully compete over who eats better—and smarter.
This isn’t about who spends the most on food; it’s about possessing a high level of 吃商 (chīshāng) or “food IQ.” Seasoned foodies can uncover hidden gems in the most ordinary ingredients, uncover unique flavor pairings, and bring both skill and discernment to the table. While those with a low food IQ might order takeout just to get by, a true foodie can effortlessly remix even the most ordinary takeout into a full-on feast. These days, the highest praise young people can give a foodie is simply:
This person’s food IQ is probably higher than mine.
此人吃商应该在我之上。
Trending on social media platforms such as Xiaohongshu (RedNote), seasoned foodies post about their experiments with the curiosity and passion of a lab scientist, dreaming up innovative delicacies. Recent hits include a pastry version of mango pomelo sago (固体杨枝甘露 gùtǐ yángzhī gānlù), candied fruit skewer with milk curd (奶皮子糖葫芦 nǎipízi tánghúlu), and a daring drinking snack of chips and boiled pig’s liver with garlic (干脆薯了蒜了 gāncuì shǔle suànle, a phonetic pun on “might as well die”).
These foodies never complain about their environment; instead, they strive to create a sense of ritual (仪式感 yíshìgǎn) through innovative cooking methods and presentation. No matter how few ingredients they have in their fridge, there’s always a dish at hand, prompting netizens to enthuse:
They’re basically like grandmas at home, able to turn leftover odds and ends from the fridge into a feast worthy of a royal table.
他们就像是家里的奶奶，总能把冰箱里的剩菜变成一桌山珍海味。
Unconventional ingredient combinations and cooking methods have been humorously dubbed 邪修(xiéxiū), or “heretical cultivation,” a term originating in fantasy novels in which protagonists use unorthodox, even immoral means to develop special powers or gain immortality. The resulting dishes are naturally 邪修美食 (xiéxiū měishí).
Even if you’re just having a completely ordinary bowl of pork knuckle rice (猪脚饭 zhūjiǎo fàn), a seasoned foodie will tell you, the order of your bites matters if you want to enjoy the dish to its fullest:
Start with a bite of the fatty part to coat your mouth in richness, then follow it with rice soaked in sauce and a piece of lean meat.
第一口先吃肥的，让口腔充满油脂，再来口浸满汤汁的米饭和瘦肉。
This way, according to the seasoned foodie, you will experience the savory depth of the sauce blending with the meat, along with the subtle sweetness released from the rice as you chew. Many netizens, following this unique method, exclaimed, “香迷糊了! (Xiāng míhu le!),” or “[I’m] overwhelmed by the aroma!” They further quip about the sensation:
After a bite like that, honestly, you’d probably give up your bank password if someone asked.
这一口下去，即使问你银行卡密码你都得招了。
Seasoned foodies believe that you should never be stingy when it comes to eating. Netizens joke that when theories about China’s long-standing food obsession meet modern economic hypotheses about consumption, the latter fall short.
Case in point: An Economist article in February wondered why Chinese people spend so much on food, citing data that showed food accounted for 17.2 percent of Chinese household consumption in 2025, while the equivalent figure for America was less than 8 percent.
Ernst Engel, the 19th-century German statistician, theorized in his Engel’s Law that a larger percentage of household income spent on food would traditionally indicate lower income or economic hardship. Netizens noted that this doesn’t seem to apply in China, asking rhetorically:
What does old Engel know about food?
老恩格尔他吃得明白吗？
They then went on to list the usual temptations:
Has he ever had sweet-and-sour pork ribs? Has he ever tried barbecue and grilled crayfish? Has he ever had a bowl of spicy pepper soup?
他吃过糖醋排骨吗？他吃过烧烤小龙虾吗？他喝过胡辣汤吗?
Embracing the era of the seasoned foodie, young people are quietly but firmly rebelling against the arenas they were once pushed to compete in: cars, houses, and money. Instead of getting caught up in endless comparison over income or status, they are choosing something else—to savor each bite at its best, and to turn eating into a personal ritual and declare:
Among all forms of comparison, only eating is something that truly lets you enjoy life.
唯有比吃这件事，是切切实实让自己享福。
In a world that feels increasingly fast, noisy, and overwhelming, choosing what to eat, how to eat, and how well to eat becomes a small but powerful act of control. It’s also one of the most tangible ways young people care for themselves and create a sense of happiness. As these words of consolation suggest:
Not getting into top universities like Tsinghua or Peking University doesn’t matter. If you can roast a sweet potato until it’s perfectly soft and caramelized, that too is a life worth being proud of.
考不上清华北大没关系，只要能把红薯烤得又甜又糯，也是一种值得骄傲的人生。
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