Flavor Enhanced by Words: A Collection of Essays by Fei Xiaotong

Author: Fei Xiaotong / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-05-01
Features: As one grows older, they cherish these illusory scenes even more. Why do I need to tear down these self-built castles in the air again? The friend who invited me to visit Fuzimiao seemed to understand my mood and wanted to heal the lingering wounds from our last visit. So they said: "The old scenery has been restored, so why not go see the Ming and Qing-style architecture?" They also added emphatically, "Have you forgotten the snacks from that year in Qinhuai?"
When it comes to Qinhuai snacks, I must add a note. That year at Fuzimiao, we squeezed into the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, as if magnetically drawn by some force, unable to push through. Along both sides of the street, snack stalls were lined up one after another: tofu pudding, fried noodles, grilled meat skewers. At the sight of them, I was instantly reminded of the days in my childhood when I enjoyed all kinds of snacks at the City God Temple in Wujiang, savoring every bite. Several times, I wanted to sit down along the street to indulge, but my friend urged me forward, saying that a table had already been reserved for me at the nearby tea house. After enjoying the snacks, my spirits lifted, and the tedious nostalgia for Fuzimiao and the Qinhuai River vanished. This was undoubtedly due to the tea house owner's skillful cooking, but more importantly, it brought me back from Fuzimiao to the Qinhuai River, allowing me to glimpse a touch of rosy charm.
Qinhuai snacks are like delicate jade. They originated from ordinary households near Wuyi Alley, with no place at the feasts of the Wang and Xie clans, where only mountain was served. Qinhuai snacks are like roses, not peonies. Roses grow anywhere, unafraid of walls or wells, content with whatever environment they find. Their stems stand tall, needing no flowerbeds or jade pots. They bloom and wither in season, whether in spring or summer, and continue to do so until the harsh winter frost stops them. Are Qinhuai snacks not the same? They can be found everywhere on the streets and corners, and sitting by the river with a game of chess or a cup of wine can add to the enjoyment. In those days, in the boat lights and sounds of oars, the delicate small boats selling snacks between the pleasure boats had a certain proletarian charm.
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When I was a child, most of our supplementary food came from earthenware tubs. The tubs were a constant source of "side dishes" for our table—stewed or fried sauces. These were primarily made with soy sauce, mixed with tofu strips and minced meat, stewed in a rice pot or fried in oil. They were delicious whether served hot or cold, perfect for accompanying rice or congee. The sauce was homemade, and making it was one of my family's regular chores in those early days.
After the Qingming Festival, when the rainy season began and the yellow moldy days arrived, the damp and stuffy heat was ideal for the growth of various mold spores. At this time, we had to quickly cook peeled broad beans, mix them with a measured amount of flour, and shape them into small flat cakes, which were then spread in trays used for raising silkworms, covered with a damp cloth. Within a few days, these bean cakes would be covered in white fuzz, gradually turning green and yellow. The room where the cakes were placed would then fill with a pungent moldy smell, which was hard for those unaccustomed to it to adapt to.
Once the cakes were thoroughly moldy, we placed the furry slices in the sun to dry. After drying, we soaked them in brine in tubs, where the cakes dissolved into a pile of sauce. By then, summer had arrived, and the sun beat directly down on the sauce in the tubs. The sauce's color changed from pale yellow to purplish-red. The dog days of summer were the key to making the sauce. The stronger the sunlight, the more thoroughly it dried, the more delicious the sauce became. On rainy days, the tubs had to be covered to prevent rainwater from falling into them. Summer often brought sudden showers, so the person guarding the tubs had to be quick on their feet.
The hardest part was dealing with flies. When the sun shone directly, they didn’t bother the tubs, but as soon as the sun disappeared, they took the opportunity to lay eggs. If not properly prevented, the tubs would become infested with maggots, which was disgusting to look at. My brothers and I found it impossible to guard against flies, so we came up with a solution: we covered the tubs with gauze, calling it a "tent" for the tubs.
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