Xinjiang

Lā tiáo zi / Bàn miàn

A lump of rested wheat dough is rolled into a rope, coiled, then swung and stretched by hand into long round noodles and boiled. They arrive plain in one bowl with a stir-fried topping in another - lamb or beef with onion, green pepper, tomato and sometimes celery or garlic shoots - and you tip the topping over the noodles and mix hard at the table. In Xinjiang a refill of plain noodles (加面) is usually free, which visitors almost never realise.

Tastes like: Chewy, substantial noodles under a tangy tomato-and-cumin sauce; savoury and warming rather than hot.

Not on the menu but in it: Ask for 加面 and you get a second helping of noodles at no charge - it is standard practice, not a cheek. The topping is often cooked in lamb fat, so even a vegetable version may not be vegetarian.

Shǒu zhuā fàn

Mutton on the bone is fried with sliced onion and a large quantity of yellow and orange carrot, then rice is layered on top and the whole pot is steamed until every grain is separate and stained orange with carrot and fat. Raisins or dried apricots go in in some versions. The name means 'hand-grabbed rice' because it was traditionally eaten with the fingers, and it is served with a bowl of plain yoghurt or a raw onion and vinegar salad to cut the richness.

Tastes like: Rich, sweet from the carrot and faintly fruity, with soft lamb and glossy rice; one of the gentler dishes in the repertoire.

Not on the menu but in it: It is cooked in a lot of mutton fat, which is what makes it glossy, so it is heavier than it looks. The yoghurt served alongside is dairy, and the sweetness comes from carrot and raisin rather than sugar.

Kǎo yáng ròu chuàn

Cubes of lamb threaded onto flat metal skewers - or, in the south of Xinjiang, onto stripped red willow branches that scent the meat - deliberately alternating lean and fat, grilled over charcoal and dusted with cumin, chilli powder, white pepper and salt as they cook. Eaten straight off the skewer, counted and paid for by the stick. The willow-branch version (红柳烤肉) carries far more meat per skewer than the metal kind.

Tastes like: Smoky, cumin-heavy and deeply savoury, with pockets of rendered fat between the lean cubes.

Not on the menu but in it: The alternating cubes of pure fat are intentional and are considered the best part; asking for lean-only is possible but changes the dish. Chilli is applied generously by default - say 不要辣 if you want it plain.

Náng

Leavened wheat dough slapped onto the inside wall of a clay tandoor (馕坑) and baked until blistered. It comes in many forms: the big thin everyday disc stamped in the centre and topped with sesame or black cumin seed, the small thick bagel-shaped girde with a hard crust, onion or oil-enriched versions, and sweet ones. Bought by the piece, torn by hand, eaten with everything or dipped into tea or soup. It keeps for days, which is why it exists.

Tastes like: Crisp-edged, chewy and plainly wheaty, with a toasted sesame top; the thick versions are closer to bread than to a flatbread.

Not on the menu but in it: Sesame and black cumin seed on top are near-universal. Richer versions are laminated with mutton fat or butter rather than vegetable oil, so not every nan is vegetarian.

Kǎo bāo zi

Unleavened dough is rolled thin, folded into a square parcel around diced (not minced) lamb, chopped onion, cumin and pepper, and slapped onto the wall of the tandoor to bake. The result is a crisp, layered pastry full of juice that will run down your wrist if you bite it carelessly. Sold singly from the nan pit; eat it standing, hot.

Tastes like: Flaky and blistered outside, with hot, fatty, cumin-scented lamb and sweet softened onion inside.

Not on the menu but in it: The filling is cubed lamb with a deliberate proportion of fat, plus a great deal of onion - not a minced-meat pasty. The inside is scalding and liquid when fresh.

Dà pán jī

A whole chicken chopped through the bone and braised with potato, green pepper, dried chilli, star anise and beer or stock until the potatoes start to dissolve into the sauce, served in a metal platter the size of a bicycle wheel. When the meat is gone you ask for belt noodles (皮带面) to be added to the remaining sauce, which is the proper ending. A twentieth-century Han-Uyghur hybrid rather than a traditional Uyghur dish, with two rival regional styles, Shawan and Chaiwopu.

Tastes like: Savoury-spicy and slightly numbing, with sweet collapsed potato and a sauce the noodles soak up completely.

Not on the menu but in it: The noodles are a separate order you have to ask for - most restaurants will not offer. The chicken is chopped through the bone, so every piece has splinters. Beer is a common braising liquid.

Náng bāo ròu

Two names cover two related things. Göshnan proper is a large flat pie of dough stuffed with minced lamb and onion and cooked slowly in a covered pan until both sides are browned, then cut into wedges. Nangbaorou is the restaurant version: braised lamb on the bone served on top of a torn-up nan so the bread soaks the sauce. Both are eaten by hand and shared.

Tastes like: Crisp, greasy, onion-sweet pastry with dense lamb filling; the braised version is softer and heavily sauced.

Not on the menu but in it: The pan-fried version is cooked in a substantial amount of fat. Nangbaorou's sauce is usually soy-and-tomato based.

Bó pí bāo zi

Steamed dumplings, called manta in Uyghur, with a wrapper rolled so thin the filling shows through, pleated into a small parcel around diced lamb and onion and steamed. They are often eaten sitting on top of a plate of polo, so the dumpling juice runs into the rice. Variants include pitir manta with the thinnest wrapper, boiled versions, and small tortellini-shaped chöchüre in tomato broth.

Tastes like: Delicate skin giving way to peppery lamb and a mouthful of hot juice; onion-sweet and much lighter than it looks.

Not on the menu but in it: The filling is diced, not minced, lamb plus a lot of onion; the juice inside is rendered fat. Vegetable versions with spinach or cabbage exist but are not the default.

Yáng ròu tāng

Lamb on the bone simmered long and slow with onion, carrot, potato, chickpeas or turnip into a clear, barely seasoned broth, served in a bowl with the vegetables and a hunk of meat still on the bone. Salt, pepper and chopped coriander go in at the table. Nan is torn into it. In parts of Xinjiang the same idea is served in an individual enamel mug as 缸子肉, cooked on top of a stove.

Tastes like: Clean, mild and restorative, tasting of lamb and sweet root vegetables with nothing else competing.

Not on the menu but in it: Deliberately under-seasoned so you adjust it yourself - the salt and pepper on the table are not decoration.

Jiāo má jī

A poached chicken is torn into strips by hand and dressed cold in a broth-based sauce loaded with green Sichuan pepper, chilli, coriander and raw onion, then served with the poaching liquid and usually a tangle of cold noodles or vermicelli to go underneath. Despite the Sichuan-sounding name it is a Xinjiang restaurant staple and appears on almost every menu in Urumqi.

Tastes like: Cold, savoury and sharply numbing from the green pepper, with a fresh coriander-and-onion lift.

Not on the menu but in it: The numbing comes from green Sichuan peppercorn and is much stronger than the chilli - people who order it expecting only 'spicy' get a tingling, slightly anaesthetic mouth instead. Usually contains soy and sometimes sesame oil.

Mǎ rén táng / Qiē gāo

Walnuts, raisins, almonds, sesame and sometimes dates are bound with boiled sugar or honey syrup and pressed into a dense slab, then sliced off a block to order. It is extremely heavy for its size, which is the whole problem: it is sold by weight, and a slice that looks like a small piece of cake can weigh a kilogram and cost far more than a visitor expects.

Tastes like: Intensely sweet and sticky, dominated by walnut, with a firm chewy set.

Not on the menu but in it: Heavily nut-based - walnut and almond above all - so a serious allergy risk sold loose, uncovered, at street stalls with no labelling.

Tǔlǔfān pútáo / Pútáo gān

Turpan sits in a desert basin below sea level with extreme heat and almost no rain, which concentrates sugar in the fruit; grapes have been grown here for over two thousand years. The dominant variety is the seedless white (无核白), harvested from mid-July into early September and dried in the open-walled brick drying houses you see all over the valley to make the pale green raisins sold everywhere. Grape Valley (葡萄沟) is the place to eat them fresh off the vine.

Tastes like: Fresh grapes are startlingly sweet with thin skins; the dried seedless white raisins are honeyed and much softer than supermarket raisins.

Not on the menu but in it: Dried fruit sold loose in bazaars is often lightly sulphured to keep its colour, and some is sugar-coated. Buying raisins by weight carries the same overcharging risk as matang - confirm price per jin before anyone bags it.

Hāmì guā

A netted-skin muskmelon grown in the east of Xinjiang around Hami and Turpan, where a huge gap between day and night temperatures drives the sugar up. It is sold whole in bazaars and by the wedge from carts, usually chilled, and is the standard way to finish a meal of lamb and noodles. Many varieties exist, with flesh from pale green to deep orange.

Tastes like: Very sweet, perfumed and crisp rather than soft - noticeably firmer and sweeter than a European cantaloupe.

Not on the menu but in it: Nothing, though pre-cut melon from unrefrigerated street carts in summer heat is a reasonable stomach risk - buy from a busy stall with ice.

Kǎ wǎ sī

A lightly carbonated, very low-alcohol drink fermented from cereal - usually bread or wheat - and flavoured with honey, fruit or herbs, brought into Xinjiang from Russia and Central Asia and now made locally and sold in bottles and on draught. Served cold with grilled meat, it does the job beer does elsewhere. Xinjiang also produces its own beers and, in Turpan, wine from vineyards documented since the Tang dynasty.

Tastes like: Malty, sour-sweet and faintly bready with a soft fizz; closer to a dark soft drink than to beer.

Not on the menu but in it: Made from fermented bread or cereal, so it contains gluten and a trace of alcohol, typically well under one percent - worth knowing if you avoid alcohol entirely for religious or medical reasons. Commercial versions can be very sweet.