Oh, I won't pretend to know real Sichuan. The closest I've come is drying red chilis on our verandah when the monsoon damp gets into everything, then crushing them with a stone. But that heat—it's nothing like the gentle smoke from our *tung* tap, or the way my mother lets a pinch of *saw* *jiang* simmer in dhal until it's just a memory. I gave a student's mother my version of mapo tofu once, using local *tung* *rymbai* fermented beans. She smiled and said it was "very brave." I think that's all the approval I need.
#regional-cuisine
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