The best Chinese Scallion Pancakes I have ever eaten came off a blackened round griddle in Shanghai, at a stall my food-walk guide had circled on a paper map three days earlier. She was called Lin. She said if we did not stop there she would never speak to me again.
That was in the alleys behind Wuyuan Road, on a Tuesday in October when the air smelled like wet leaves and frying oil in equal parts.
A Food Walk in Shanghai and One Stall That Mattered
Lin was running a small-group market tour that morning through the wet markets and back lanes of Shanghai. Six of us. Solo travellers plus one couple with matching money belts.
We tasted a lot of things. Sesame balls, a chunk of pressed tofu still warm from the vat, black-vinegar noodles eaten out of a paper bowl on a plastic stool. None of it really registered until the last stop.
A woman in her sixties. Hair pulled back. A skillet the size of a bicycle wheel. A stack of pale coiled dough spirals waiting on a wooden board. Her name was Auntie Wei, according to Lin, and she had run that same stall for twenty-two years.
She pressed one of the coils flat with her palm, rolled it thin, and slid it into a shallow pool of oil. It hissed. The steam smelled like green onion gone slightly toasty with something nutty underneath. She flipped it, pressed once, and cut it into wedges with a cleaver that looked older than me. I ate three pieces standing up in the street and burned the roof of my mouth on the second one. Worth it.
The Grease-Stained Napkin and Mrs Zhou
My homestay host that week was a retired music teacher named Mrs Zhou. Two-bedroom flat on the fourth floor of a walk-up near Jiaotong University, upright piano in the hallway, a fig plant that had clearly outgrown its pot.
When I got back that afternoon still smelling of scallions, she laughed at me and told me in careful English that she made cōng yóu bǐng every Sunday for her grandson. Would I like to see how.
She wrote the recipe down on a paper napkin she pulled out of the corner noodle shop’s dispenser. In pencil. Her measurements were in grams. That napkin came home in my backpack with a permanent grease ring in one corner where I set it next to a jar of chilli oil in the taxi to Pudong. I still have it.
She was firm about two things. The water for the dough must be split, boiling to start and cool to finish. And do not skip the oil paste. That is where the flakiness lives.
What Cōng Yóu Bǐng Actually Is
A quick note, because English-language menus muddle this one. Cōng yóu bǐng is not a batter pancake. It is a laminated wheat flatbread, closer to a paratha in method than to anything you would pour from a jug.
The dough itself is just flour, water, and salt. No yeast, no baking powder, no eggs, no milk. The shattering layers come from a warm oil-and-flour paste called yóusū, painted onto the rolled dough before it gets coiled up like a snail.
It is a northern Chinese dish at heart, traced through wheat-flatbread cookery in Shandong and documented in Chinese food writing as far back as the sixth-century Qimin Yaoshu. Shanghai grew its own tradition of it later, which is the one I stumbled into. Also worth saying, it is not jiān bǐng, the thin crepe-wrap breakfast street food it gets confused with constantly. Different animal.
What I Used
- All-purpose flour, plain supermarket stuff, nothing fancy
- Boiling water and cool water, both weighed
- Fine sea salt for the dough and again for the layers
- A neutral oil (I use peanut) plus a bit more flour for the yóusū paste
- A tiny splash of toasted sesame oil in the paste, optional but do it
- One big fat bunch of scallions, green tops only, sliced as thin as I can be bothered
- More peanut oil for the skillet
- A dipping bowl of soy sauce, Chinkiang black vinegar, grated garlic, and a spoon of chilli oil
Making These Chinese Scallion Pancakes in My Own Kitchen
I buy the scallions at the Vietnamese grocery on my walk back from the Sunday farmers’ market. They are always fatter and greener there than at the chain across the road. The Chinkiang vinegar and the toasted sesame oil come from 99 Ranch in Alhambra, which I do a proper run to about once a month.
Pour the boiling water into the flour first, stirring with chopsticks. The bowl steams and the kitchen starts smelling faintly like a fresh loaf. The cool water pulls the shag together. Knead for six or seven minutes until the dough goes from lumpy to smooth and a little tacky. Cover with a damp towel and walk away for half an hour.
The oil paste is the step I refuse to rush. Heat the oil until it just shimmers, kill the flame, whisk in the flour off the heat. It thickens fast and smells like a savoury shortbread if that makes any sense. Let it cool to spreadable.
Roll the rested dough thin. I go until I can almost see the wood grain of the table through it. Brush on the paste, scatter the salt, and rain scallions across the whole sheet. Then the coil. Roll into a rope, stretch it a bit, wind it into a snail, tuck the tail. Rest another fifteen minutes so the gluten relaxes, because rushed dough tears and the paste leaks. I know because the first time I made these my kitchen looked like a crime scene.
Flatten with your palm, roll gently to about eight inches, and slide it into a shimmering pool of oil in the cast iron. That is my one good pan, my mum’s old skillet, still black from her decades of using it. Two or three minutes a side. Press gently. Watch for the puff. That puff is the steam separating the layers and it is the whole point.
Rack, not paper towels. Paper towels trap steam and kill the crust. This is the hill I will die on.
I have made these crispy green onion pancakes at least twenty times since I got back, and I have opinions now. Peanut oil beats vegetable most of the time. Except when I forget and use whatever is already open, which is most Tuesdays. Cold leftovers, eaten standing over the sink at eleven at night, are almost better than fresh.
Auntie Wei’s stall is still there, as far as I know. Mrs Zhou is probably making these for her grandson right now, in that same fourth-floor kitchen with the fig tree. And the napkin is on my fridge, held up with a magnet shaped like a lemon.
Chinese Scallion Pancakes
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- In a large mixing bowl, whisk together 2 cups all-purpose flour and 0.5 teaspoon salt. Pour in the 0.5 cup boiling water while stirring with chopsticks or a wooden spoon until shaggy, then add the 0.33 cup room-temperature water and stir until a rough dough forms.
- Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 6 to 8 minutes, until smooth, soft, and slightly tacky but not sticky. Return it to the bowl, cover with a damp towel, and rest for 30 minutes at room temperature.
- While the dough rests, make the oil roux (yóusū). In a small saucepan, heat 0.25 cup neutral oil over medium heat until it shimmers, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat, whisk in 3 tablespoons flour and the toasted sesame oil until smooth, and let cool to a spreadable paste.
- Divide the rested dough into 4 equal pieces. Working with one piece at a time and keeping the others covered, roll it on a lightly floured surface into a very thin rectangle about 10 by 14 inches — thin enough to almost see through.
- Brush the dough all over with a thin, even layer of the oil roux, leaving a 0.5 inch border. Sprinkle evenly with a scant 0.25 teaspoon salt and a generous handful of sliced scallions.
- Starting from a long edge, roll the dough up tightly into a long rope, pinching the seam to seal. Gently stretch the rope to about 16 inches, then coil it snail-like into a tight spiral and tuck the tail underneath. Repeat with the remaining 3 pieces.
- Cover the spirals with a damp towel and rest for another 15 minutes. This second rest lets the gluten relax so the pancakes roll out without tearing.
- On a lightly floured surface, gently flatten one spiral with your palm, then roll it into a round pancake about 8 inches across and 0.25 inch thick. Take your time so the layers stay intact.
- Heat 2 tablespoons of the frying oil in a 10-inch cast iron skillet over medium heat until it shimmers. Slide in one pancake and fry for 2 to 3 minutes, until the underside is deep golden and blistered.
- Flip carefully with a spatula, add another splash of oil around the edges, and fry for another 2 to 3 minutes, pressing gently to encourage even browning. The pancake should puff slightly as the steam separates the layers.
- Transfer to a rack (not paper towels, which trap steam and soften the crust). Repeat with the remaining pancakes, adding fresh oil for each.
- Cut each pancake into 6 wedges and serve hot, ideally within minutes of frying, with a small bowl of dipping sauce alongside.