Chinese century eggs: whats to like about them, if you can get past their look and smell, how to

It’s different. And, indeed, much has been said about this humble egg over the years.

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“They leered up at me from the plate like the eyeballs of some nightmarish monster,” cookbook author Fuchsia Dunlop – herself now a century egg fan – once wrote of her first encounter with pidan.

“Their albumens were a filthy, translucent brown, their yolks an oozy black, ringed with a layer of greenish, mouldy grey. About them hung a faint haze of sulphur and ammonia.”

“I can see why, for some people, [century egg] can be a confusing ingredient. Most ingredients in Chinese cuisine [are], like sea cucumber, fish maw, dried abalone and bird’s nest,” says chef Vicky Cheng, who runs VEA and Wing restaurants in Central, Hong Kong.

This lack of understanding inspired Cheng to put Chinese culinary culture front and centre on the menu at fine-dining restaurant VEA eight years ago. Today, the menu still proudly highlights these items using French techniques.

Abalone, for example, is presented in the form of a pithivier, the bouncy mollusc enveloped in pristine puff pastry.

Wing, which opened in 2021, saw Cheng focus on more traditional Chinese cooking techniques, serving classic dishes and ingredients.

It was here that he developed his own recipe (Cheng says the team worked on “50 to 60 versions”) for a golden century egg, which he matches with fresh oysters or shirako (cod milt), depending on the season, and an aromatic chilli oil.

In contrast to the classic pidan, Wing’s version is crystal clear, with the whites the colour of pale canary diamonds; there is a thin, ashy ring of powdery egg yolk, but the middle is a vibrant, unctuous orange, like rich, creamy crab tomalley.

“When you do century eggs preserved in-house, you can control the timing precisely,” says Cheng. “Whereas when you buy something off the shelf, you don’t know how long it’s been there.”

The key is getting that melting texture of the yolk, because the longer a century egg has been preserved, the harder and more rubbery it becomes.

A typical century egg is a masterclass in preserva­tion techniques and, like many other foods, its origins can be traced back to centuries-old fables. It is said that the delicacy came into being during the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) in China.

One popular story credits the discovery of century eggs to a teahouse owner in Jiangsu province, who would dump used tea leaves into a pile of ash outside, into which ducks would lay their eggs. When the man discovered the eggs, he cracked them open only to find they had turned black and hardened.

In another version, a homeowner in Hunan province discovered a bounty of duck eggs covered in a pool of water with slaked lime that had been used for the construction of his house months earlier.

Somehow, in all of the stories, the protagonists decided to test whether the eggs were edible – a brave move and one for which modern fans of the century egg can be grateful.

Whatever the method, there are several common elements – the eggs (whether duck, goose, chicken or quail) must be covered in a highly alkaline mixture, usually consisting of mud or clay mixed with salt, tea leaves, ash, sodium bicarbonate or quicklime, which come together to form sodium hydroxide.

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In the past, lead oxide was included to prevent the egg from liquefying; these days, the far safer alternative of zinc oxide is preferred.

Thanks to the egg’s porous shell, the process of osmosis allows the sodium hydroxide to break down the protein in the egg and harden the whites (albumen); the clay is essential to seal the egg, and keep harmful bacteria out.

What may surprise food nerds is that the darkening of the egg white is down to the Maillard reaction – the same chemical process that creates browning in foods thanks to the sugars present.

The yolk, on the other hand, gets its greenish tinge from the reaction of iron and sulphur in the egg. The common description of its aroma as akin to hair dye or ammonia can be attributed to the egg proteins breaking down and consequently forming ammonia and hydrogen sulphide.

This is all to say that the century egg is a complex thing, often derided for its appearance and unusual texture and aroma. For some, however, it is something to be admired.

For food stylist Gloria Chung Wing-han and photographer Theodoric Wong, the humble century egg inspired an entire series of images dedicated to showcasing the unexpected beauty of Asian ingredients.

Together, the duo have sourced and shot underappreciated produce such as wind-dried squab, Buddha’s hand and snakeskin fruit.

I came across their image of century egg while scrolling through Instagram, and was immediately struck by its unusual interpretation. A single egg floats on a plain white background, looking almost like the alien spaceship from the 2016 sci-fi film Arrival.

There are three distinct layers – the fuzzy, off-white outer covering made with a mixture of sand and woodchips, then the matt, speckled egg shell. Lastly, the pidan itself is revealed, its inky heart fading into a deeper red at the edges, where the telltale snowflake pattern dapples the egg’s crown.

“It’s like the hell version of Frozen,” jokes Chung.

It’s even more intriguing that Wong did nothing more than shine a basic white light through the back of the egg, with the result surprising them both.

“It’s interesting because if you look at [the egg] by eye, the snowflake pattern is just kind of on the black surface,” says Wong. But shining the light through brought out another layer of complexity.

“You’ve got these veins … almost like blood. It’s really quite beautiful. I guess the word in Chinese would be ‘cai mei’ [tragic yet beautiful].”

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For both photographer and stylist, the best way to enjoy a century egg is the most comforting of all – chopped up in hot, creamy congee. Chung’s maternal grandfather used to run a congee shop in Hong Kong, and she learned a few tricks from the family for how to make the perfect century egg congee.

“You have to add the egg at the very last minute,” she says. “You don’t actually need to cook the pidan. So once the congee is done, you just add the pidan and turn off the heat. That’s how you retain the creaminess of the egg, and its umami.”

She says the reason some people may not enjoy century egg is because it’s been prepared incorrectly or from an egg that was already past its prime.

Another misconception is that the egg must be cooked before being served – in fact, a good-quality century egg, already preserved, is ready to eat as soon as it’s cracked.

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It is a mainstay in congee shops and Chinese restaurants, where dishes such as simple pidan with sliced, pickled young ginger reign supreme. But century egg can also be found in unexpected places.

Back in 2020, Vicky Lau, of two-Michelin-star Tate Dining Room, in Sheung Wan, Hong Kong, highlighted the ingredient with her sophisticated century egg mimosa, where the egg is finely chopped and served with crab and caviar.

And chef Edward Voon, of modern French restaurant Auor, in Wan Chai, Hong Kong, has reinterpreted the pidan as an amuse-bouche for his latest menu; the egg is puréed with XO sauce and sweet soy, before being combined with a garlic-forward, sesame-infused Sichuan green pepper paste in a bite-sized tart.

Century egg is also showing up in Hong Kong bars – it’s on the menu at The Praya, in Shek Tong Tsui, a modern Cantonese restaurant with an impressive cocktail list, where a creation named the Hot Century Egg is presented as a twist on the classic Negroni.

Combining Peddlers gin (selected for its notes of Sichuan peppercorn), onion and pepper vermouth, Campari and preserved egg brine, the cocktail is garnished with a slice of century egg.

Love it or hate it, it’s an ingredient that will surely be around for centuries more.

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