When blood becomes bouillon: the boldness of blood dishes in Asia

Blood is one of the oldest, most intimate ingredients in human cooking—full of protein, iron, ritual meaning and sometimes taboo. Across Asia, from rural markets and ritual kitchens to elevated restaurants, dishes made with blood are not just about “making use of everything” (though that’s part of it), but about texture, richness, colour and a sense of connection to the animal and tradition. These are dishes that often hover on the edge of comfort and disgust—and therein lies much of their power.

Below are some of Asia’s most iconic blood-based dishes: what they are, where they came from, how they’re made and how modern cooks are both preserving and rethinking them.

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Dinuguan (Philippines)

DC-based chef Paolo Dungca created his dinuguan with braised pork jowl, slow-cooked with long peppers and aromatic spices, as well as a slab of foie gras. (Photo: @paolodungca / Instagram)

Perhaps one of the most popular blood dishes in Asia, dinuguan is a pork stew made with pig blood, offal (like heart, liver, intestines, ears, snout), vinegar, garlic and chilli. It is often served over white rice or with rice cakes (particularly puto).

History: Its roots are partly in precolonial utilisation of the whole animal, combined with indigenous and colonial vinegars or souring agents. The Spanish colonial era may have influenced some versions, but as many sources note, the idea of cooking stews with blood and offal long predates colonisation.

Modern twist: In Manila and beyond, variations abound: versions with local souring agents, using less offal or even making “white” variants where the blood is more coagulated and lighter in colour. Dinuguan remains a staple in fiestas, markets and home cooking, and stylistic chefs sometimes serve it as a sauce, foam or in fusion plates, invoking its rich hue and bold profile.

Sundae (Korea)

Award-winning chef and ‘Culinary Class Wars’ star chef Choi Ji-hyung is highlighting sundae in his restaurants Lee Buk Bang and Chaho Bang. (Photo: @leebukbang / Instagram)

Sundae is a kind of blood sausage made by stuffing pig (or cow) intestines with pig’s blood, noodles (often glass noodles or dangmyeon), barley or rice and sometimes vegetables or perilla, then steaming or boiling. It's eaten sliced, in soups or stir-fried.

History: Sundae is documented back to the Goryeo period (918–1392), a time when wild boar and animal blood were part of regional diets. Later Joseon era cookbooks (Gyuhap Chongseo, Siuijeonseo) mention different variants. After the Korean War, due to poverty and meat scarcity, variations included more noodles or fillers instead of meat in the casing, making it more affordable and ubiquitous.

Modern twist: Today, sundae is a beloved street food. But chefs are elevating it: there are omakase-style sundae menus, variants using duck or lamb or reinterpreted with fine dining plating. In Seoul, award-winning eatery Lee Buk Bang offers several “haute sundae” varieties, a perfect demonstration of street-food heritage being reimagined for new palates.

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Saksang (Batak, Indonesia)

Restaurant Lapo Porsea crafted this version with grilled coconut and other spices instead of blood. (Photo: @lapoporsea / Instagram)

Saksang is a spicy, richly seasoned stew from the Batak people of North Sumatra, made from minced pork (or dog meat in some versions) cooked in its own blood, coconut milk and local spices (ginger, galangal, kaffir lime and more).

History: It is traditionally served during marriage ceremonies and important Batak festivals—foods that signal community, abundance and ritual. Blood as an ingredient is both a flavouring agent and a signal: using every part of the animal in a show of respect and fullness, especially in celebratory feasts.

Modern twist: While many Indonesians don’t eat blood dishes regularly, in Batak cuisine, saksang remains essential for cultural identity. Chefs within Indonesian haute dining are bringing regional Batak blood dishes to upscale tables, emphasising local spice blends, cleaner preparation and sometimes plating reinterpretations. There’s also interest in preserving recipes among younger Batak chefs in urban centres.

Chicken and duck blood soup (Shanghai, China)

Shanghai Family Restaurant in London whips up the tastiest broth thanks to duck intestines, duck blood and duck gizzards. (Photo: @shanghaifamilyholborn / Instagram)

Many blood dishes in Asia are usually relegated to street food. For instance, this dish is a Shanghai street-style blood soup using chicken and duck blood. Accentuating that deep flavour (hawkers often include the head and feet in the iron pot) are often sour and spicy notes. The blood is mixed with spices and aromatics, and taken hot.

History: This dish is a more recent vintage compared to others above, but it represents the continuation of blood-based street dishes in urban Chinese food culture. Food historians note its popularity among the hawker tradition in Shanghai during the 20th century. The creator Xu Fuquan is cited in sources as having popularised this soup among street vendors.

Modern twist: It remains a street-vendor staple in Shanghai and among older generations. Some restaurants offer versions with more refined broths or controlled spice or paired with rice and noodles to moderate the strong flavours. It’s occasionally called a “healthy” food by locals for its high iron content, particularly among those who believe in traditional medicine.

Tiet canh (Vietnam)

Award-winning chef Kevin Tien nixed the blood in favour of bluefin tuna tartare, beet ponzu, crushed peanuts, herbs, rice crisp and roasted flame badger beets. (Photo: @chefkevintien / Instagram)

Tiet canh is a chilled blood pudding traditionally made with freshly drawn duck blood (sometimes pig or goose), fish sauce to prevent coagulation and minced cooked offal or meat. Once mixed, the blood is poured into shallow bowls and set to gel naturally before being topped with crushed peanuts and herbs.

History: The dish dates back to northern Vietnam’s feudal villages, where it was both celebratory and masculine. Supposedly, it was a dish reserved for special feasts and gatherings among men. The practice likely evolved from older Southeast Asian traditions of using fresh animal blood as a tonic or offering. By the 19th century, regional cookbooks and travelogues likeAnnamite Gastronomy Notes described tiet canh as a “gentleman’s delicacy”, prized for its silky texture and mineral complexity.

Modern twist: Due to health and hygiene regulations, raw versions are now banned in many Vietnamese cities. Yet it persists in the countryside and diaspora nostalgia. Chefs like Nguyen Manh Hung (Nha Hang Cho Que, Hanoi) have created “safe” versions by gently poaching the blood or substituting beetroot jus emulsified with chicken stock to mimic colour and texture, transforming what was once bravado into culinary craft.

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Betamax (Philippines)

Chef Niño Laus created this complex version of the Betamax for Madrid Fusion Manila. (Photo: @chefninolaus / Instagram)

Betamax is coagulated pig or chicken blood cut into squares and grilled over charcoal, brushed with a sweet soy-based glaze and skewered like street candy. The name comes from its uncanny resemblance to the chunky VHS-style Betamax tapes popular in the 1980s.

History: Its rise coincides with the rapid urbanisation of Metro Manila in the 1970s and ’80s, when slaughterhouse byproducts were repurposed by vendors into cheap snacks. Blood coagulates easily when boiled and pressed, making it portable and grillable—a pragmatic response to scarcity that became an icon of street ingenuity.

In Filipino culinary history, blood cookery dates much earlier: precolonial Austronesian communities already practised pagdurugo (using blood in cooking) in rituals and stews like dinuguan, again perhaps the most famous of blood dishes in Asia. Betamax simply made that tradition handheld.

Modern twist: What was once a symbol of poverty now carries cult prestige. In Manila’s pop-up food events and chef-driven bars (like Toyo Eatery and Poblacion’s Commune), Betamax is occasionally reimagined as a canapé or plated with aioli and calamansi reduction. It’s proof that Filipino street food—humble, smoky and fearless—can stand proudly in the fine-dining arena without losing its soul.

Goy tiay nua nam tok (Thailand and Laos)

The flavour of this goy tiay nua nam tok is taken to new heights thanks to some blood. (Photo: @worldofthaifood / Instagram)

Translating roughly to “beef waterfall noodles”, this dish features thin rice noodles bathed in a dark, intensely savoury broth of beef, offal and a splash of fresh cow’s blood added just before serving. The blood thickens the soup, lending depth and a signature velvety mouthfeel.

History: Nam tok, meaning “waterfall”, references the sound of broth splashing as it’s poured. It’s a rather poetic nod to its lively street origins. The blood component stems from the Isaan and Lao traditions of using animal blood as a natural thickener, reflecting ancient nose-to-tail sensibilities. The dish gained popularity after WWII as “boat noodles”, sold from vendors rowing through Bangkok’s canals, where the addition of blood prevented spoilage in tropical heat.

Modern twist: Today, nam tok is a Bangkok classic found everywhere from street markets to top lists. Chefs like Supaksorn Jongsiri of Sorn have referenced nam tok in tasting menus, using clarified blood consommé for a refined reinterpretation. Meanwhile, younger vendors experiment with wagyu beef or herbal broths. Who knew blood dishes in Asia could inspire so many modern takes?

Tiet lon chao (Vietnam)

A dash of blood gives an edge to regular porridge in Vietnam. (Photo: Media Dung / Pexels)

The rustic rice porridge is cooked with cubes of congealed pig’s blood, pork liver and heart, often finished with scallions, fish sauce and fried shallots. The blood softens into custard-like morsels, enriching the broth with iron and subtle sweetness.

History: Though humble, chao tiet lon carries deep cultural resonance. It’s the dish most often served after funerals or hospital stays, a comfort for mourners and patients alike. Its roots stretch back to Vietnam’s early agrarian societies, where no part of the animal was wasted and porridge symbolised sustenance and renewal. Colonial-era food writers such as Truong Vinh Ky described chao tiet lon as “a meal for both body and soul”, consumed communally as a gesture of compassion during times of loss.

Modern twist: In contemporary Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, the dish is still found in early-morning street stalls and hospital canteens. Chefs from the Vietnamese diaspora, such as Diep Tran (formerly of Good Girl Dinette, Los Angeles), have reintroduced it to Western diners under the banner of “ancestral comfort food”, reclaiming its emotional resonance while emphasising sustainability.

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