Nanjing

Yánshuǐ yā

The city's defining dish. A duck is dry-rubbed with hot salt and spices, rested, then gently poached in a seasoned brine and hung to cool, so it is served cold and sliced through the bone. Autumn ducks, made when the osmanthus is flowering, are called 'osmanthus duck' (桂花鸭) and are considered the best. Buy a quarter or half from a cooked-meat counter and eat it as a starter or with rice.

Tastes like: Cool, firm, gently salty meat with a faintly sweet, perfumed finish and soft translucent skin; not greasy at all.

Not on the menu but in it: Nothing surprising - salt, Sichuan pepper, ginger, star anise and rice wine - but note it contains no soy sauce and is deliberately pale, which confuses people expecting a dark roast duck.

Yāxuè fěnsī tāng

Sweet potato glass noodles in a long-simmered old-duck broth, topped with cubes of set duck blood, puffed tofu that soaks up the stock, and usually duck gizzard, liver and intestine, finished with dried shrimp, coriander and chilli oil. The duck blood is cooked and set into a soft, dark, liver-coloured curd - it is not raw and has almost no taste of blood. Stir, then eat with the spoon and chopsticks together.

Tastes like: Light, clean duck broth; the blood curd is soft and faintly metallic-sweet, somewhere between silken tofu and chicken liver.

Not on the menu but in it: Dried shrimp is almost always in the broth or the topping. The 'full set' (全套) brings intestine and liver whether or not the menu says so.

Nánjīng kǎoyā

Nothing like the Beijing version: no pancakes, no carving trolley. The duck is roasted, chopped into bone-in pieces and sold from a counter, then doused in a warm spiced jus (卤汁) of star anise, cassia and ginger that is the whole point of the dish. If you are taking it away, ask for the jus in a separate bag or the skin goes soggy.

Tastes like: Savoury and aromatic rather than sweet, with a brothy, spiced sauce soaking into the meat.

Not on the menu but in it: The jus is built on soy and the roasting drippings and is sometimes thickened; it contains a good deal of sugar in some shops.

Yāyóu shāobǐng

A layered wheat flatbread made with rendered duck fat instead of oil, stuck with sesame seeds and baked against the wall of a drum oven until it puffs and flakes. It comes plain, savoury with spring onion, or sweet with sugar. Eaten in the hand, usually alongside a bowl of duck blood soup.

Tastes like: Shattering, buttery-rich layers with toasted sesame; much more savoury than it looks.

Not on the menu but in it: The fat is duck - this bread is not vegetarian, which catches a lot of people out because it looks like a plain sesame bun.

Niúròu guōtiē

Long crescent dumplings of beef and spring onion, fried in a flat pan until the base is glassy and deep brown while the top stays soft. They are a Hui Muslim speciality of the Qijiawan and Pingshijie quarters, where Nanjing's Hui community has lived for centuries. Bite a corner first and let the steam out - the filling releases a mouthful of scalding beef juice.

Tastes like: Crunchy base, soft top, juicy peppery beef inside.

Not on the menu but in it: These are halal, so no pork - but check the 清真 sign on the shop if that matters to you. The vinegar on the table is dark Zhenjiang vinegar, which is sweeter and more malty than Western vinegar.

Tāngbāo

Thin-skinned steamed buns holding pork and a mouthful of jellied stock that melts into soup as they cook. Nanjing's own version at Jiming is bigger than the Shanghai kind and drunk through a straw, and the city also makes a chrysanthemum-leaf variant (菊叶汤包) with a herbal, slightly bitter green note. Set it on your spoon, nip the side, drink the soup, then eat the rest.

Tastes like: Sweet-savoury pork broth with a tender wrapper; the chrysanthemum-leaf version is grassy and faintly medicinal.

Not on the menu but in it: The soup is set with pork-skin aspic, so it is gelatine-rich; crab-roe versions in autumn add shellfish without always saying so in English.

Pídù miàn

The Nanjing worker's lunch: wheat noodles in a big bowl of pork-bone broth loaded with puffed, deep-fried pork skin that has been rehydrated so it is spongy and soaks up stock, plus pork liver, tomato, greens, wood ear and whatever else you tick on the order sheet. It is a full meal, not a snack, and you build your own bowl from a list of add-ins.

Tastes like: Rich and peppery, with the pork skin turning into savoury sponge; the tomato version is tangy.

Not on the menu but in it: Despite all the vegetables on the menu, the broth is pork-bone and lard-based - not vegetarian under any configuration.

Shīzi tóu

A single enormous pork meatball, hand-chopped rather than minced so the texture stays loose, simmered for hours in clear stock until it barely holds together. In autumn it is made with crab meat and roe (蟹粉狮子头). Eat it with a spoon - it should collapse without a knife.

Tastes like: Extremely soft, juicy and mild, almost custardy; the broth around it is clean rather than rich.

Not on the menu but in it: The meat is about 30 percent fat by design, which is why it is so tender. Crab versions are seasonal and obvious by price.

Měilíng zhōu

A pale, creamy porridge of rice and glutinous rice cooked in soy milk with Chinese yam, often with lily bulb or goji berries, named after Song Meiling, Chiang Kai-shek's wife, who is said to have been fed it in Nanjing. Served in a small bowl as a counterweight to fried and roasted dishes.

Tastes like: Silky, barely sweet and milky, with a soft yam thickness.

Not on the menu but in it: The creaminess comes from soy milk, not dairy - good news for the lactose-intolerant, bad news if you avoid soy. Usually sweetened with rock sugar.

Guìhuā táng yùmiáo

Small taro corms simmered with brown sugar and a little alkali until they turn pink-purple and the syrup thickens to a glossy gel, then scattered with sugared osmanthus blossom. Served warm in autumn and winter, cool in summer, from street stalls and dessert counters.

Tastes like: Sticky-sweet and faintly floral, with the taro soft and powdery inside.

Not on the menu but in it: The thickener is usually lotus-root or sweet potato starch; the pink colour comes from an alkali reaction, not dye.

Chìdòu yuánxiāo

A thick red bean soup, sweetened and thickened with starch, full of tiny unfilled glutinous rice balls and scented with osmanthus. Served warm in a bowl at snack counters around the Confucius Temple; Lianhu is the name locals give for the benchmark version.

Tastes like: Sweet, thick and slightly gluey, with chewy little rice pearls.

Not on the menu but in it: Sometimes finished with a spoon of lard in traditional shops, which makes it richer - worth asking if you are vegetarian.

Méihuā gāo

Batter is poured into a flower-shaped iron mould over charcoal, filled with red bean paste or custard, topped with candied fruit and small rice balls, and baked until the outside is crisp and the inside is molten. It comes out looking like a flower on a stick and is eaten immediately, standing up.

Tastes like: Crisp, sweet shell over a hot soft centre.

Not on the menu but in it: Fillings vary by stall and may include custard (egg and milk) rather than bean paste.

Chòu dòufu

Tofu fermented in a brine of vegetables and sometimes shrimp until it smells overpowering, then deep-fried until the outside crackles and the inside turns to custard, and served in a paper bowl with sweet-and-spicy sauce and pickled vegetables. The Nanjing version is pale-fried rather than the black Changsha kind.

Tastes like: The smell is far stronger than the taste - fried, it is savoury, mild and slightly cheesy inside.

Not on the menu but in it: The fermenting brine traditionally contains dried shrimp or fish, so stinky tofu is not reliably vegetarian even though it is made of soybeans.

Wūfàn tuán

Glutinous rice dyed slate-black by soaking in the juice of Vaccinium bracteatum leaves, pressed around a filling of fried dough stick, pickled vegetable, sugar or floss, and squeezed into a dense ball you eat in the hand. It is a Nanjing breakfast institution and the signature of Fang Po's shop, which sells out well before mid-morning.

Tastes like: Faintly herbal, nutty rice with a crunchy fried-dough core; chewy and very filling.

Not on the menu but in it: The black colour is a plant dye, not squid ink or charcoal. Savoury versions contain pork floss; the fried dough inside is wheat.