Floating in both sections was a chunk of leek. The mild side featured tomato slices and a few flavorings, including these small dried red fruits (sorry, not sure what they are -- let me know if you do). The hot side was a murky deep red, with two large chili peppers floating menacingly on the surface.

The restaurant's menu listed many "add-ins" for our hot-pot, but we went with some basics. First off, thinly sliced mutton and some mild local mushrooms.

Then there was textured dofu and crisp lotus root.

Other add-ins selected were sliced turnip, cilantro, and cellophane noodles.

The xiaojie, or waitress, cranked up our table's burner to high, high heat, and within five minutes, both sides were bubbling furiously. The table had wisely been wrapped up in cellophane to protect from the inevitable sploshes of cooking liquid.

Into the broth went all the fixings. After waiting a minute or two for the meat to cook, we dove in with our chopsticks.

We also ordered this dish, which I sampled but largely ignored. It's soft pillows of gelatinous rice cake, covered in a sweet sauce and decorated with local flowers.

It was too sweet and benign for me -- I was too busy testing my mettle in the "hot side" of the hot pot.

I'm pleased to say that I ate almost exclusively from the spicy side. I assembled quite a stack of red-stained napkins in front of me from wiping the spicy drips off my lips, but I was quite proud of myself. Most delicious was the mutton -- the key is the paper-thin cut, which allows it cook in just a minute or so. So tender!

Another major difference between this hot pot and the version I grew up with -- you don't drink the broth. The cooking liquid is about 50% oil; as time went on during the meal, the water evaporated and we were left only with oil. Apparently, if we had ordered more add-ins, the waitress would have added more water.

>> Jen of Gothamist had a great post last year about Hong Kong-style hot pot