A Love Story with Meatball Spicy Soup

Canadian Shaanxi Association

December 24, 2025

My ancestral home isn't in Shaanxi, but I grew up in the Muslim Quarter of Xi'an, spending my childhood wandering the streets and alleys of the city. This ancient capital, the cradle of thirteen dynasties, boasts thousands of years of culinary culture. From the imperial kitchens to the everyday stoves of ordinary people, through millennia of inheritance and refinement, a series of Shaanxi snacks, primarily featuring noodles and a mix of other dishes, have emerged. Renowned throughout Northwest China and famous both domestically and internationally, I love various dishes like mutton stew with bread, sesame paste noodles, roujiamo (Chinese hamburger), buckwheat noodles, and meatball spicy soup. Among them, meatball spicy soup is my absolute favorite.

Meatball hot and sour soup is a classic breakfast in the Guanzhong region of Shaanxi. It's simmered overnight in a rich beef bone broth, characterized by its numbing spiciness, and its flavor is indescribably delicious. After eating it, one feels refreshed, dispelling cold and leaving one feeling completely invigorated. Nowadays, snack shops selling meatball hot and sour soup are ubiquitous in Xi'an. Many shops display signs proclaiming "Authentic" or "Century-Old Heritage." However, the truly century-old meatball hot and sour soup shop is likely only one in the entire city, and it has no sign or physical storefront.

In the Muslim Quarter, adjacent to Dapiyuan, there's a street called "Maijian Street." In my childhood memories, there was an old-fashioned house on this street with a wide eave. Every morning at 6 o'clock, a middle-aged man would arrive, rain or shine, carrying a long shoulder pole. The front bucket was full of meatball soup, while the back bucket held clean bowls and chopsticks. Under the eaves, a group of people would wait. In the resource-scarce 1960s, their provisions were varied: flatbreads, steamed buns, cornbread, vegetable dumplings, sorghum pancakes, and some even carried only roasted sweet potatoes. They would spend 5 cents to buy a bowl of hot meatball soup, squat by the roadside, break their provisions into pieces, soak them in the soup, eat it while it was hot, thoroughly enjoying themselves, and then leave with a satisfied heart to go about their lives.

On rainy days, this group of people would squat neatly under the wide eaves, forming a long, winding line, creating a unique scene on Maijian Street in the early morning.

I attended primary and secondary school in the Hui Muslim Quarter, and I often came to "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street" to enjoy this refreshing experience before heading off to school, completely satisfied.

I often heard regular customers ask the owner the secret to making the meatball hot and sour soup, and he would always laugh it off. Only once did I hear him answer: "The rich beef bone broth, simmered overnight, is very important; hard work pays off."

In those days, the prevailing attitude was "better socialist weeds than capitalist seedlings." In the entire Hui Muslim Quarter, apart from a few state-private joint venture Hui restaurants selling mutton stew and sesame paste noodles, private business was basically prohibited. "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street" was the only stall in the city selling meatball hot and sour soup. The government granted the owner a permit, perhaps because of his hard work and dedication to preserving tradition.

Many years later, a second joint public-private enterprise meatball hot and sour soup shop opened near Xihuamen. The taste... well, I always felt it was missing something.

Later, I went to the countryside. Working tirelessly from dawn till dusk on the farm, coupled with the long distance and inconvenient transportation, I could no longer go to "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street," but my longing for meatball hot and sour soup didn't disappear; instead, it grew stronger.

After the resumption of the college entrance examination in 1977, I went to university in the southern suburbs of Xi'an. Going to "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street" became possible again. Whenever I finished a major exam, I would invite a few friends, pack some sesame cakes, and take the earliest bus into the city before dawn to visit "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street."

There was still no shop, no sign. But the meatball hot and sour soup was still as delicious as ever. Only the owner had aged and hired a few helpers. His carrying pole had been replaced by a tricycle, and later by a motorized tricycle. His customers multiplied several times over; the area under the eaves was overflowing, and people were squatting all along the approximately 50-meter stretch of road.

After the reform and opening, Xi'an's Muslim Quarter gradually prospered, with shops lining the streets and a surge in customer traffic. With the increasing number of meatball hot and sour soup shops and the expanding fan base, meatball hot and sour soup became the signature snack of the Muslim Quarter. Moreover, as its fame grew, meatball hot and sour soup shops gradually expanded beyond the Muslim Quarter, spreading throughout the streets and alleys of Xi'an.

But in my mind, the truly "authentic" meatball hot and sour soup is none other than that from "under the eaves of Maijian Street."

After graduating and staying on at the university, I taught in the forensic medicine department. Busy with work, I no longer went to Maijian Street. On two occasions, I had the opportunity to go to the Public Security Bureau on South Street in Xi'an, and I made sure to get up early and go to Maijian Street first. I arrived too late both times, past 7 pm, and only saw the owner and a few employees cleaning under the eaves.

The opportunity slipped away.

My school sent me to study in the United States. Preparations before departure were rushed, and although I wanted to visit "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street" for a while, various reasons prevented me from doing so.

That was my first long-term separation from my homeland, and the pressure of language and studies was immense. In a foreign land, besides frequently missing my family back home, my strongest longing wasn't for my country, but for the meatball soup from "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street"! It haunted my dreams!

My two years of study finally ended. On my first weekend back in Xi'an with my family, I rushed to Maijian Street before dawn. But the sight before me stunned me: the old-fashioned house with its eaves was gone, replaced by a row of shops, each with a sign for a gift shop. The bustling crowds waiting for their meatball soup at the shop were gone!

I called my Hui friend who lives in the neighborhood and learned that the owner was 70 years old and had closed after a fall and fracture. His children all have their own businesses, and no one has taken over the business.

Disappointed, I strolled through the Muslim Quarter. It was indeed much more vibrant, teeming with people. Meatball soup stalls were everywhere, but the quality varied greatly, and the satisfying feeling was rarely found.

Thus, "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street" meatball soup disappeared from people's sight.

[Image] Every time I come to the Muslim Quarter, I stop by the roadside where "Under the Eaves of Maijian Street" used to be. Those regulars who used to wait by the roadside with their food are now scattered all over the world; but they must remember there was once a Muslim owner here who, in a special era, used a carrying pole to pass down a century-old specialty snack.

Life doesn't stand still, and history doesn't repeat itself. But it can offer us lessons.

Opportunities are fleeting. The future is not guaranteed…

When people say goodbye, they may never see each other again…