An American Food Blogger Wields a Professional Wok in Chengdu

I opened the email and found not a description of scenic spots, but a list of foods. This immediately made a strong impression on me. The email was from Sasha, a food blogger and a well-known private chef in her mid-30s. She wanted to visit Chengdu, the famous city of food.

I took a bite of my delicious breakfast and thought to myself, for this trip, the world of sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, and savory was about to take center stage.

Enjoy Professional Cooking Class

Sasha's kitchen is filled with spice jars from all over the world, and her fingers have the thin calluses of someone who has spent years chopping vegetables. She told me that her trip to Chengdu was about "getting inside Sichuan cuisine." She wanted to understand the logic behind this complex system of flavors, from the knife skills and cooking temperatures to the subtle balance of seasonings. She wanted to see the full process, from a home kitchen to a professional one. The typical tourist cooking class—where you tie on an apron, help the chef for a bit, and then take a picture—was not nearly enough for her.

I knew that to satisfy someone who truly knows their stuff, I had to get "behind the scenes" of the local food industry.

Most of the projects that claimed to be "authentic Sichuan cooking classes" were designed for tourists. The process was fixed and rushed, and they often used simplified recipes. What she needed was a deep, systematic learning process, with a chance to talk with professional chefs.

So, I started a search that lasted for almost two weeks. I looked through training lists from the Sichuan Tourism Association, checked public courses at local culinary schools, and even contacted a few Sichuan chefs from high-end hotels to ask for their recommendations.

I also reached out to a food photographer friend who lives in Chengdu, and through him, I was introduced to a retired Sichuan master chef. Although he no longer taught, he was willing to recommend some small cooking schools that still held onto traditional teaching methods.

In the end, I chose three unique places. One was an old vocational school in the east of the city with a full teaching kitchen and a standard course plan. It was good for breaking down classic dishes like Kung Pao Chicken and Mapo Tofu. The second was a private cooking studio hidden in a small alley, run by a master of non-material cultural heritage. This place focused on the "soul" of home-style cooking, like how to ferment broad bean paste and care for the pickling water. The third was a modern Sichuan kitchen lab that worked with a Michelin-starred restaurant. It focused on new ways to blend traditional and modern ideas, perfect for a chef who wanted more creative plating and flavor layers.

I put together a detailed report on these three options, including course content, teacher backgrounds, hands-on time, and language support. I also added photos from my visits and anonymous feedback from past students. She quickly wrote back, choosing the home-style cooking class at the vocational school, wanting to learn the classic dishes.

The Authentic Cooking Experience

On the first day of her class, she walked into the cooking school. The classroom was large and bright, with shiny stainless-steel counters. The walls had large charts of flavor profiles and knife techniques. Her teacher was a very experienced female head chef in her 50s with a firm, no-nonsense manner and a thick Sichuan accent. The first lesson was on the "seven flavors and eight tastes of Sichuan cuisine." It wasn't just a general talk about "spicy." It got into the different types of Sichuan peppercorns, the exact temperature for making chili oil, and the proper way to mix fermented beans with chili paste. The guide translated for her, and she listened carefully, taking notes like she was back in her own classroom.

The real challenge was the hands-on part. To make Kung Pao Chicken, the heat has to be perfect. You have to put the meat in the pot three seconds after the garlic, or the flavor won't be right. Her teacher stood by her side, not shy about pointing out that her stir-fry technique wasn't strong enough or that her seasoning order was wrong. But she didn't get frustrated. Instead, the more she was challenged, the more determined she became.

Throughout the trip, she sent me many photos from the kitchen: a spatula covered in red chili oil, thin slices of pickled ginger, and a mouth-watering bowl of Kung Pao Chicken right out of the pot. Her blog was updated much more often, and her articles were no longer just "What I Ate in Chengdu." They were deep dives into Sichuan flavors, even comparing American-style Chinese food with authentic local dishes.

Before her trip ended, she invited me to dinner at a classic old restaurant. "My Sichuan food has that authentic taste now," she said with a proud look.

After she returned home, she sent me a long email. She said the trip had completely changed her understanding of Sichuan cuisine and inspired her cooking. I was so happy to have helped a person with a passion find a new path to the deeper part of that passion.