Yulin's Uncle and His Crispy Canine Delicacy: A Four-Generation Legacy

In the southern China, nestled in Guangxi's historic city Yulin, a culinary custom has been long-standing, etched into local culture tradition with an annual Lychee and Dog Meat Festival, celebrating this enduring practice and its cultural significance.

A Yulin uncle has carved a niche in the savory world of crispy dog meat, gaining local acclaim with a taste steeped in four generations of culinary craftsmanship.

Big Chef in Yulin

Tracing the lineage back to his forebearers—his great-grandfather's era—his family has been synonymous with dog meat. Their signature technique? Frying the butchered canine meticulously in a vat, lavishing it with bubbling oil until it achieves that perfect crispy exterior; a gentle nudge and the skin cracks open, revealing a golden-hued, glistening allure that beckons the senses.

So appetizing is their dog meat that it swayed some animal rights supporters who, after sampling the fare amidst the animal protection disputes back in 2015, found themselves re-evaluating their stance.

In Yulin, the rearing of canines is a household norm.

The uncle's crispy dog meat is but a product of procuring these animals locally, with a demand for over 20 a day. Employing a trio of workers, they dedicate meticulously timed effort, roughly 20 minutes per animal, ensuring the oil cascading over the prepared dog isn't too hot nor too tepid—patience is key.

Pour Oil onto Dog Meat

The end step: to uniformly douse the dog in hot oil until each turns a deep golden hue.

After the initial frying, the meat is allowed to cool down, chopped into bite-sized pieces, and blanched in water to dispel any gamey taste and impurities.

Delicious Dog Meat Flavor

Once patted dry, a stir-fry in oil precedes a braising session in water.

The resultant broth, simmered to perfection, boasts an aromatic, rich flavor profile. The meat itself, with its crispy shell and tender core, is irresistibly delectable and invokes the local saying, "One whiff of dog meat so divine, even immortals cast aside their shrine," and, "With dog meat bubbling thrice, even deities struggle to sit nice."

Indeed, for aficionados of dog meat, abstaining from such a palate-pleasing delight seems an almost Sisyphean endeavor.

Quite possibly, it is as various Chinese food critics have paradoxically observed, "I cherish my dog as kin, yet my appetite for its meat I cannot refuse to indulge." Does this sentiment not walk the line of contradiction?