The Chinese city of Chóngqìng (重庆) is a mountain fortress turned wartime capital turned industrial powerhouse turned modern megacity.

It's known for its tough citizens, energy, and fiery culture.

With first settlements dating back to the 11th century BC, Chóngqìng is positioned on the confluence of the Yangtze and Jialing rivers, making it the furthest inland class 1 port in China and giving it a rich history as a river trading city.

But I didn't come for the geography. I came for the cuisine and culture.

What I ended up with was a nunchaku‑wielding chaos merchant instead.

On the origins of the Chinese hot pot

Standing on an external walkway on the 4th floor of a city centre mall complex at 9pm, the temperature gradient as I enter the restaurant is so immense it makes me sneeze.

There are rows of tables filled with families, friends, colleagues, all buzzing around the enormous gold bowl full of fluorescent red liquid at their centre.

Everyone is leaning, chatting, shouting, gesticulating, laughing together in one continuous hum.

The famous Chinese hot pot was conceived in the 1800s by the myriad boat trackers, fishermen, porters, and butchers of Chóngqìng.

The idea was, after a long day of manual labour in the bitter mountain winter, these poor tradesmen desired a quick, warming, and cheap meal they could all huddle around.

Offal was boiled in hot water (or tea), and chillies and spices were used to mask the “smell.”

The chillies and spices were preserved in beef tallow, and I watch now as far too many chillies to be healthy for one person are added to the bowl at our table.

Around the turn of the 20th century, newer varieties of chillies and Sìchuān peppercorns became widely available.

As a result, hot pot was modified to develop the famous málà (麻辣) flavour, which has since transcended hot pot not only to other Chóngqìng cuisine, but also dominates many dishes in the neighbouring province of Sìchuān.

Málà flavour. 麻辣

The hanzi 麻 refers to the tingling, numbing, pins-and-needles sensation imparted by Sìchuān peppercorns.

辣 refers to the more traditional fiery spice imparted by chilli peppers.

Together, the two work synergistically to create a truly unique flavour profile and sensation.

Nowadays, each participant also has a dipping sauce, typically consisting of herbs, spices, nuts, and oils. These temper the heat and acid of the central hot pot with fat and salt.

At my table, we are all issued with a ring-pull can of toasted sesame oil, and I watch as my tablemates add a truly upsetting amount to their bowls.

I hope for everybody's sake that there are no naked flames involved this evening.

We order a vast array of innards, choice meats, fungus, and vegetables, and take it in turns to add to the central pot.

With everyone sat around this shared, bubbling cauldron, cooking and eating together, the hot pot is incredibly sociable, if at times fast-paced.

Sometimes, the eating is playfully competitive, and the food pairs perfectly with the cheap brand of the alcohol that the Chinese call báijiǔ (白酒) that I have in my glass.

Locals sometimes refer to eating the dish as 打火锅, which means “fight hot pot.”

A man wielding nunchaku interrupts my meal

As I stuff myself with ever more food, oil, and hard liquor, I find that my manners and conversation slow, and I start slipping into a warm, contented haze.

Then, a loud CRACK! and a cry by the door snaps me out of my stupor.

A man has entered the restaurant, fiercely brandishing nunchaku—the weapon popularized by Bruce Lee.

He whacks a table with a powerful downwards blow.

Nobody but me flinches, so I mistakenly think this is perhaps some sort of at-seat entertainment, like those sad magicians with the pre-cut string who ask you to write your name on overlapping coins.

However, a table near the entrance has arisen in a tumult, shouting at one another and the nunchaku-wielding intruder

My Mandarin skills are woefully lacking, so I have to read this situation on body language alone.

I've observed that it is common practice for dinner to get a bit physical around bill-paying time in China, but this is something else entirely.

On closer inspection, this Bruce Lee wannabe is visibly drunk and quite unskilled with his weapon of choice.

The high odds of this ending in him hitting himself in the elbow and/or crotch, and him keeling over in pain, makes me smile to myself.

A young man sitting at the table (new boyfriend) engages the invader (old boyfriend) in a shouting match, while a small woman next to him (girlfriend present and past, respectively) attempts to restrain him.

She does this without actually making physical contact, using some sort of force field.

The men make loud threats and lunge towards each other.

But they are both prevented from contact by invisible tethers of cowardice that keep them at least 10 metres apart, despite the shouting.

The girlfriend stands watching with a stern expression, acting (I suspect with some enjoyment) as the centre of attention.

Whenever the confrontation starts to cool, she interjects something outwardly sensible, but effectively antagonistic to one or both of the contesting males, pouring fuel on the encounter.

With no headway being made and the intruder’s Dutch courage visibly shifting to a powerful hangover, a member of staff calmly approaches him and suggests that “perhaps that's enough hot pot for one day, Sir.”

He’s ushered out.

Chóngqìng. China's wartime capital

During the Second World War, when Japan captured the eastern coast of China, the city of Chóngqìng became China's wartime capital.

As a result, the city was bombed heavily, and hot pot was eaten in the underground caves and air raid shelters.

As if this wasn’t enough, the area also witnessed fighting after the Communist Party took power in October 1949, when Mao Zedong proclaimed the founding of the People’s Republic of China in Beijing.

Because of all the fighting, the people of Chóngqìng are known for being incredibly tough, heroic, and capable of enduring severe hardships.

Maybe this goes some way to explaining the exchange I just witnessed and the other customers' indifference to it.

Or perhaps the young man just took the phrase 打火锅 a bit too literally.