Unlike salted duck or soup dumplings, noodles are a staple across all of China. Every visitor to Nanjing who tries the local noodles inevitably compares them to the noodles from their hometown. Scroll through Dianping reviews, and you will see the most polarized opinions — glowing five-star praise right next to furious one-star complaints. While taste is subjective, there are some objective reasons behind the divide.
Nanjing’s local noodle scene divides into two distinct camps: Lao Lu Mian (old-broth noodles) and Xiao Zhu Mian (small-boiled noodles, also called Pi Du Mian or pork-skin noodles).
Lao Lu Mian vs. Xiao Zhu Mian: A Quick Comparison
| Dimension | Lao Lu Mian | Xiao Zhu Mian (Pi Du Mian) |
|---|---|---|
| Broth | Dark soy-based old broth, sweet-and-savory, simmered with spices, soy sauce, and rock sugar | Milky white pork bone broth, clean and light, aiming for fresh umami |
| Noodles | Deliberately undercooked (“qiang”), firm and chewy | Slightly softer but still with bite, cooked together with rich toppings |
| Signature toppings | Braised pork belly, spare ribs, smoked fish, eel, beef — usually braised meats | Pi Du (fried pork skin) is the star, plus pork liver, sausage, shredded pork, pork kidney, greens, wood ear mushrooms |
| Cooking method | Large pot of aged broth; noodles are boiled and served with hot broth poured over, topped with braised meat | Small-pot style, one bowl at a time. Two pots in action simultaneously |
| Chili oil | Optional, usually skipped so as not to mask the complex old-broth flavor | Essential. Lard-based chili oil is a house secret in many shops |
| History | Older tradition, evolved from Jiangnan-style Yangchun noodles | Relatively younger, emerged in the 1980s |
Lao Lu Mian: A Bowl of Aged Depth
This noodle is about craft and history.
The soul is the old broth. Do not mistake it for simple soy sauce soup. A proper Lao Lu is simmered for hours with spices and rock sugar, developing a distinctive sweet-and-savory flavor unique to Nanjing. Even when you order the dry-mixed version, the chef will still splash a ladle of this aged broth over the noodles so they never taste dry.
The topping is the star. The braised pork belly is particularly famous. There is an unwritten standard called guo qiao (crossing the bridge) — the slab of glistening, dark-red braised pork must be long enough to span the entire width of the bowl. Other popular toppings include spare ribs, smoked fish, eel, and beef.
Where to eat? For authentic Lao Lu Mian, head to the old southern district (Lao Chengnan) or Nanhu area, where century-old shops still serve the traditional recipes.
Xiao Zhu Mian: A Wok of Lively Chaos
This noodle is about bustle and freedom.
The absolute star — Pi Du. Fried pork skin, when done right, is golden and spongy. It absorbs the broth like a sponge and delivers an explosive pop of soup with every bite — chewy, crispy, and satisfying. On top of this base, you can add pork liver, sausage, shredded pork, tomato, and wood ear mushrooms, building up to “san xian” (three treasures), “liu xian” (six treasures), or even a “quan jia fu” (family feast) combo.
The ritual of small-pot cooking. Every bowl is cooked to order. The chef works two pots simultaneously — one blanching the noodles, the other simmering the broth and toppings — then merges them into one bowl. This means no two bowls are exactly the same. That is the charm of handmade food.
Chili oil is the soulmate. A Xiao Zhu Mian without chili oil is considered soulless in Nanjing. One spoonful of fragrant, lard-based chili oil instantly wakes up the broth. Many shops guard their chili oil recipe as a family secret.
The Noodle Controversy
That is the local perspective. From a visitor’s point of view, the problem is clear.
Neither school cares much about the noodles themselves. Both use standard alkaline noodles, and both serve them deliberately undercooked (“qiang”), meaning the noodles are intentionally al dente with a visible white core. This is exactly what many outsiders complain about — “the noodles are raw!” — and to make matters worse, they are never hand-pulled.
Also, if you do not eat spicy food, Xiao Zhu Mian’s white broth will taste bland without chili oil. Meanwhile, Lao Lu Mian’s sweet-and-savory profile is not for everyone either. This is the root of the polarized reviews.
The Hidden Gem: Liuhe Yao Du Mian
The best Xiao Zhu Mian in Nanjing is not in the city center. It is in Liuhe District.
Liuhe’s pork kidney and tripe noodles (“yao du mian”) are in a league of their own. The broth is rich, layered, and so flavorful that no one adds chili oil. It is a completely different animal from the downtown version that needs chili oil to survive. The pi du (fried pork skin) is golden and spongey, soaking up the broth perfectly; the pork liver and kidney are handled with precision — tender, fresh, and free of any off-flavor.
But there are two catches. First, Liuhe is about an hour away from downtown by metro. Second, the famous old shops serve only breakfast and lunch. By 2 PM, the pots are clean and the doors are shut. You have to go early.
Advice for Visitors
If you are not used to the “qiang” texture, tell the cashier to cook the noodles softer (“xia lan yi dian”). Every shop can do it. It takes ten extra seconds.
If you do not eat spicy food, stick to Lao Lu Mian. The aged broth is rich and savory enough to stand on its own without chili oil.
And if you have the time and appetite to make the trip to Liuhe? Go before noon. You will find a bowl of Xiao Zhu Mian that needs no chili oil at all — the truest form of the genre.