Peking duck vs. Cantonese roast duck: what’s the difference?

Both ducks are scalded with boiling water to tighten the skin, air-dried, then roasted until glossy and deep red. That shared logic is why people confuse them. The difference starts with how the duck is opened, how it is seasoned and how it is roasted.

A Peking duck has its innards removed through a small cut under the wing, so the skin stays whole; air is pumped under the skin to separate it from the fat; then comes the scald, the hanging to dry and the sugar syrup. Tasting Table says nothing aromatic goes into a Peking duck’s cavity, to keep its own flavour; the Chinese article we use says Beijing colours the skin with plain syrup, while the Cantonese syrup carries vinegar and wine.

A Cantonese duck is opened at the belly, seasoned, and the cavity is stitched shut. Both MICHELIN and Tasting Table say it is stuffed with star anise, ginger and scallion — MICHELIN adds a dozen or more other spices — so flavour reaches meat and bone from inside. Tasting Table also says Peking duck takes about three days to prepare and Cantonese about eight hours; treat the numbers as rough.

The sources differ here, so a word of care. Our own ducks hang in a brick oven over a fruitwood fire — Quanjude’s signature. MICHELIN says Peking duck is traditionally roasted in a closed oven, though open fruitwood fire is also used, and Cantonese duck usually goes into a closed oven because it suits a restaurant. Chinese Wikipedia says Cantonese duck is hung over a charcoal fire and notes the method may come from Nanjing. We have a separate piece on hung oven vs. closed oven. MICHELIN adds that a Cantonese duck often gets a quick rinse of hot oil just before serving, to crisp the skin further.

This is where they differ most. A Peking duck is a performance: the chef carves it beside you — Quanjude’s traditional standard is 108 slices, each with skin and meat; today a duck usually arrives on two plates of about 50 slices each. The slices go into pancakes with sweet bean sauce, scallion and cucumber, and the first slice of skin is dipped in sugar on its own.

Cantonese roast duck is far more casual. It is chopped through the bone into pieces, served with plum or hoisin-type sauce, or laid over rice with greens. Wikipedia’s entry on Cantonese roast meats notes that the ducks hang in shop windows, easy to take away. MICHELIN also points out the difference in scale: a Peking duck specialist may offer up to 200 duck dishes, while a Cantonese roast shop treats duck as one roast among several.

We are on the Beijing side: the duck is carved at the table and served with pancakes, sweet bean sauce, cucumber and scallion. It is not stuffed with spices and not chopped. If tonight you want bone-in roast duck over rice, a Cantonese roast shop is the right place, and we are happy to say so. One idea does bridge the two — using everything. Our duck soup is simmered from the carved duck’s rack, until milky.

Neither: they answer different evenings. Cantonese roast duck is quick, salty-savoury and made for rice. Peking duck is an occasion — the carving, the pancake, the sugar, and a table of people eating slowly.