Top 10 Most Popular Chinese Desserts
Let’s get one thing straight： Chinese desserts are nothing like what you’re used to back home. No towering chocolate cakes， no crème brûlée with a dramatic torch finish. Instead， you get red bean paste that somehow taste
Let’s get one thing straight： Chinese desserts are nothing like what you’re used to back home. No towering chocolate cakes， no crème brûlée with a dramatic torch finish. Instead， you get red bean paste that somehow tastes better than it sounds， a candy that’s been around since before your country probably existed， and a deep-fried fruit so famously smelly it’s essentially a dare. Welcome to Chinese dessert culture — it’s sweet， weird， and absolutely worth it.
One more thing before you dive in： in China， “dessert” doesn’t politely wait until the end of the meal. Dishes arrive whenever they’re ready — don’t be alarmed if your sweet soup balls appear before the appetizers， after the fish， or simultaneously with everything else. This is not chaos. This is the system. Sharing is the whole point anyway.
1. Red Bean Bun (豆沙包 dòu shā bāo)
/doe shaa bough/
Here’s a classic first-timer trap： you see something round， squishy， and dark-filled — your brain says chocolate. Your mouth says wait， what? That’s red bean paste， and once you get over the identity crisis， you’ll realize it’s genuinely delicious. It’s the dessert equivalent of judging a book by its cover — and being completely wrong.
Red bean buns (豆沙包) are the sweet version of China’s beloved baozi — a soft， steamed bun stuffed with smooth， mildly sweet red bean paste. Especially popular in northern China， they come in all shapes and sizes. Beyond classic red bean， fillings include taro paste， pine nut paste， or black bean paste — consider it a choose-your-own-adventure filling situation.
Grab them hot from a restaurant or pick up a packet at any supermarket for a snack on the move.
2. Dragon’s Beard Candy (龙须酥 lóng xū sū)
/long sshyoo soo/
Invented during the Han Dynasty (that’s over 2，000 years ago — older than most nations)， Dragon’s Beard Candy is part snack， part live performance art. Skilled artisans pull sugar syrup into hundreds of ultra-fine threads — resembling the beard of a mythical dragon — then wrap them around a sweet nut or sesame filling.
It’s similar to cotton candy， but denser， stickier， and considerably more dramatic to watch being made. One important note： heat is its nemesis. On a hot day， this candy becomes a sticky situation fast. Eat quickly， and maybe don’t wear white.
Look for it at roadside stalls near popular tourist spots — the making process alone is worth stopping for.
3. Egg Tarts (蛋挞 dàn tà)
/dan taa/
Few desserts in China have a passport as interesting as the egg tart. The egg tart’s origin story involves Portuguese colonizers， British bakers， and Cantonese chefs all putting their stamp on a custard shell — the result is something better than any of them could have managed alone. Now sold in convenience stores across the country， the egg tart had quite the glow-up.
At its core， it’s beautifully simple： a buttery， slightly crisp pastry shell cradling a silky， lightly sweetened egg custard. Best eaten warm (the custard should still be just slightly wobbly). You’ll find them in Cantonese restaurants， dedicated hole-in-the-wall shops， and pre-warmed at most 7-Elevens. An ideal snack between sightseeing stops — no fork required.
4. Tanghulu — Candied Fruit on a Stick (糖葫芦 táng hú lu)
/tung hoo loo/
If a toffee apple went to China， fell in love， and had a much crunchier， more photogenic baby — that baby would be Tanghulu. Traditionally made with hawthorn berries (山楂， shān zhā) skewered on a bamboo stick and coated in a crackly， glassy layer of hardened sugar syrup， it’s been a Beijing street food staple for centuries.
Modern versions have expanded the lineup： kiwi， grapes， strawberries， even tomatoes (yes， tomatoes — China does things differently) all get the sugar-shell treatment. The signature sound is that satisfying crack when you bite through the caramelized coating. In Beijing， you genuinely cannot walk past a tourist attraction without bumping into one. Consider it part of the entry fee.
5. Pumpkin Pancake (南瓜饼 nán guā bǐng)
/nan gwaa bing/
Don’t let the word “pancake” give you false hope about portion control. This is a deep-fried disc of pumpkin， sugar， and flour — golden and crisp on the outside， chewy and aggressively sweet within — and it has absolutely no interest in being light. Some versions are rolled in toasted sesame seeds for extra texture and nutty depth， because apparently moderation wasn’t the brief.
A popular winter treat across China， you’ll find them year-round in Sichuan-style restaurants nationwide， as well as most large Chinese restaurants. Fair warning： they’re quite sweet， so if your sugar tolerance is more “light dusting” than “full commitment，” share one rather than tackle it solo.
6. Sweet Egg Bun (奶黄包 nǎi huáng bāo)
/neye hwung baoww/
On paper， “steamed bun filled with egg yolk and sugar” may not sound like the most thrilling pitch. In practice， the 奶黄包 is a Cantonese dim sum legend. The filling — a lightly caramelized， fudgy custard made from salted egg yolk and sugar — hits somewhere between a soft caramel and a cloud you can eat.
The bun itself is pillowy， slightly sweet， and almost luminously white. Break it open and the golden custard spills out in the most satisfying way. These are a staple at Cantonese restaurants and a must-order for anyone who considers themselves a serious dumpling-and-bun explorer.
7. Deep Fried Durian (榴莲酥 liú lián sū)
/lyoh lyen soo/
The durian is the fruit world’s most polarizing character. Banned from hotel rooms in much of Southeast Asia. Capable of clearing an elevator instantly. Described， variously， as “gym socks，” “ripe cheese，” and “the best thing you’ve ever tasted” — sometimes by the same person.
Deep fried durian (榴莲酥) takes this famously odorous fruit， wraps it in a light， flaky pastry shell， and fries it until golden. The high heat mellows the smell significantly (good news for everyone in the room)， while the creamy， rich interior hits sweet and tropical notes that are genuinely excellent. Fresh durian peaks in summer， but 榴莲酥 is available year-round at most Chinese restaurants that carry it — so there’s no excuse not to try.
Practical tip： Handle with care. The smell adheres to skin with impressive tenacity. Use the provided wrapper or chopsticks.
8. Tangyuan — Sweet Soup Balls (汤圆 tāng yuán)
/tung-ywen/
Don’t let the word “soup” put you off — 汤圆 is basically dessert in liquid form， and it’s exactly as comforting as it sounds. Soft， chewy glutinous rice balls — filled with black sesame paste， red bean， or peanut — float in a warm， lightly sweet broth often made with fermented glutinous rice (mijiu 米酒). Depending on the version， the broth carries a faint， pleasant alcoholic warmth： think a gentle rice wine hug with dessert dumplings bobbing inside it.
Tangyuan has roots in southern China and is now beloved nationwide. Its name echoes the Mandarin word for “family reunion” (团圆， tuányuán)， which is why it’s the centrepiece of Lantern Festival tables — celebrated on the 15th day of the first lunar month， the first full moon of the new year. The round shape of the rice balls symbolizes completeness and togetherness. Poetic， delicious， and mildly boozy. A winning combination.
9. Almond Jelly (杏仁冻 xìng rén dòng)
/sshing rnn dong/
The name is a touch misleading — 杏仁冻 is not typically made from almonds， but from apricot kernels (a close botanical relative)， which are soaked， ground with water， and pressed to extract a delicate， milky liquid. A gelling agent is added， and the result is a pale， silky， subtly fragrant jelly with a texture that’s firmer than panna cotta but gentler than most gelatin desserts.
It’s a restrained， elegant dessert： not aggressively sweet， pleasantly cool， and widely available from Beijing to Hong Kong. Often served in cubes with a light syrup， sometimes with fresh or canned fruit. If you’ve been eating intensely seasoned food all day， this is the palate-cleanser you didn’t know you needed.
10. Grass Jelly (烧仙草 shāo xiān cǎo)
/shaoww sshyen tsaoww/
Despite the name， 烧仙草 is not lawn trimmings in a bowl. “Fairy grass” (xiāncǎo 仙草) is actually Mesona chinensis， a member of the mint family， which is boiled， combined with starch， and set into a dark， mildly herbal jelly. The result is something like a savory-leaning， cooling dessert — bittersweet， earthy， and deeply refreshing on a hot day.
Popular across China and throughout Southeast Asia， grass jelly can be eaten on its own， blended into drinks， or topped with condensed milk (the most beginner-friendly version). Chinese restaurants across the country carry it. It tastes like wellness in jelly form — which， depending on how aggressive your last hot pot session was， may be exactly what you need.
Tour China Through Its Desserts
Still thinking about that crackly Tanghulu， or quietly planning your durian confrontation? Good — that means we’ve done our job.
We build custom China tours around exactly these kinds of priorities： tracking down the crispiest Tanghulu cart in Beijing， finding the egg tart shop in Guangzhou that locals actually queue for， or engineering a moment where you try deep-fried durian and have a story to tell for years. If there’s a specific dessert on this list you need to eat in person， tell us — we’ll build your itinerary around it.
