In the labyrinth of Shanghai’s lanes and alleyways, few smells are as intoxicating as the aroma of shengjian mantou – pan-fried pork buns – fresh off the griddle. For over a century, this humble snack has been the city’s breakfast of champions, its late-night craving, and its culinary soul. It’s a food that bridges generations, classes, and tastes, all in one sizzling bite.
What’s in a Name?
Let’s clear up one thing first: in Shanghai, mantou doesn’t just mean plain steamed buns. Locals call nearly all bready dumplings mantou, whether they are steamed or pan-fried. So when you order shengjian mantou, you’re getting a pan-fried pork bun – golden on the bottom, fluffy on top, and bursting with savoury flavour. Shengjian as we know it today took shape in 1920s Shanghai, though its roots may stretch back to the Song dynasty in Kaifeng, over 800 years ago. By the 1930s, specialized shengjian shops had sprung up across the city.
The Two Schools: A Delicious Divide
Ask any Shanghai local about shengjian, and you’ll likely hear about the great divide: the “Hun Shui” (muddy water) school vs. the “Qing Shui” (clear water) school.
The muddy water school is all about juice. These buns are made with half-leavened dough and a filling that includes pork skin gelatin (pidong). When the buns hit the hot pan, the gelatin melts into a rich, savoury broth. Bite into one (carefully!), and you’ll get a hot, flavourful burst of soup. The buns are sealed opening-side down to keep all that liquid locked inside.
The pioneer of this style was Luochunge (萝春阁), widely considered the “godfather” of Shanghai shengjian. Founded in the 1920s as a tea house on Zhejiang Road, Luochunge began selling shengjian to accompany its tea service. The pairing was a hit, and the buns quickly became the tea house’s signature. Legend has it that the business was acquired by Huang Chujiu, a prominent Shanghai tycoon and pioneer of China’s modern pharmaceutical industry, who recognized a good thing when he saw it. The buns were so beloved that even the celebrated writer Eileen Chang (Zhang Ailing) – Shanghai’s literary darling – was known to be a devoted fan.
The clear water school, by contrast, is all about texture. These buns use fully leavened dough and skip the pork skin gelatin entirely. The result? A thicker, chewier bun with little to no broth, but a satisfying, meaty filling that’s been beaten until it’s springy and firm. The buns are sealed opening-side up, and the bottom is fried to a deep, crispy golden brown. Without the distraction of hot soup, you can really savour the fragrance of the dough and the richness of the meat. This is the style that many old-school Shanghainese consider the “authentic” taste of their childhood.
Da Huchun (大壶春) is the undisputed champion of this style. Founded in 1932 by Tang Miaoquan – said to be a nephew of the Luochunge founder – Da Huchun started on the corner of Sichuan Road and Hankou Road. It was a deliberate departure from its predecessor: instead of imitating Luochunge’s juicy buns, Tang set out to create something different. His buns were drier, chewier, and packed with savoury punch – a style that has endured for over 90 years. In 2016, Da Huchun began receiving Michelin Bib Gourmand recommendations, and it has been recognized with numerous industry awards.
Today, the clear water school is sometimes called the “Benbang” (local Shanghai) style, while the muddy water school is referred to as the “Yangbang” (Yangzhou-influenced) style – reflecting the diverse culinary influences that have shaped Shanghai’s food scene.
The Making of a Masterpiece
Shengjian is a deceptively simple dish. A master shengjian maker starts with the dough – either fully or half-leavened, depending on the style – and wraps it around a seasoned pork filling. The buns are arranged in a large, flat cast-iron pan, drizzled with oil, and fried until the bottoms turn golden and crisp. Then comes the sizzle: water is poured in, and the pan is covered. The steam finishes cooking the buns, leaving them fluffy on top and crunchy on the bottom. Just before serving, the buns are sprinkled with black sesame seeds and chopped spring onions.
More Than Just Food: A Cultural Ritual
Shengjian is not just about eating – it’s about the performance. The shengjian master – calm, unhurried, and utterly in command – stands by the pan, turning it, adding water, sprinkling chopped scallions, and flipping the lid with a practised ease. The buns sizzle and dance in the hot oil, their white tops bobbing amid the steam, as if smiling at the hungry crowd. This is the moment when the silent queue of customers suddenly comes alive, their anticipation building with each pop and crackle.
You can almost hear the saliva being swallowed as the aroma wafts through the air. The most agonizing moment? When the person just ahead of you orders a whole jin (about half a kilogram) – meaning you’ll have to wait for the next batch. The master, with a knowing look, slowly takes a drag of his cigarette, a faint smile crossing his face as if he has seen it all before. He calmly prepares the next pan, as if offering life another chance. The customers, resigned, sink back into patient silence, their hopes renewed as they await the next sizzling round.
A Taste of History
Shengjian carries the weight of Shanghai’s history. It was born in the teahouses and laohuzhao (public boiling-water shops) that dotted the city’s lanes, where workers would grab a quick bite before a long day. It’s a food that knows no class: tycoons and rickshaw pullers, writers and factory workers – all have stood in line for the same sizzling buns. Even the Empress Dowager Cixi is said to have enjoyed a version of shengjian during her visits to the Jiangnan region – though the modern Shanghai style would come later.
Where to Find Them Today
If you’re in Shanghai and want to taste history, here are a few places to start:
- Luochunge (萝春阁): After disappearing for 21 years, the “godfather” of Shanghai shengjian made a triumphant return in January 2026 at 425 Zhejiang Middle Road – just steps from its original location. At 9 yuan per liang (four buns) , the price remains as humble as ever. On opening day, the buns sold out within 90 minutes.
- Da Huchun (大壶春): The flagship store is at 136 Sichuan Middle Road, Huangpu District. It’s the place to go for the classic “clear water” style. Michelin-recommended and beloved by locals, it’s a must-visit for any shengjian pilgrim.
- Dong Taixiang (东泰祥): For a taste of the half-leavened, broth-filled style, head to this municipal intangible cultural heritage brand. Its Chongqing North Road location is a local favourite. At 13 yuan per liang for the signature buns, it’s a worthy rival to the older establishments. Other than that, it has stores at Shanxi South Road, Xikang Road.
- Xiao Yang Shengjian (小杨生煎): This modern chain, now recognized as a time-honoured brand, has brought shengjian to the masses with its juicy, soup-filled buns. It’s a great option if you’re looking for consistency and convenience.
In Shanghai, every neighbourhood has its own shengjian shop, and every local has their favourite. The debate over which is best – Luochunge or Da Huchun, muddy water or clear water – is as endless as it is passionate.
Beyond the Bun: The Flavours Evolve
Today, shengjian has evolved far beyond its pork-and-scallion origins. You’ll find versions stuffed with shrimp, crab roe, and even unconventional fillings like crayfish and Sichuan peppercorn fish. Vegetarian options with shepherd’s purse and mushrooms are also gaining popularity.
But for all the modern innovations, the heart of shengjian remains unchanged: that sizzling pan, that golden crust, that first, perfect bite.
So next time you’re in Shanghai, join the queue, order a basket of these golden-bottomed buns, and taste a century of history in every crisp, savoury mouthful. Just remember – bite carefully. That hot broth has a mind of its own.
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