Chapter 9: Buddha Jumps Over the Wall

Hao Baoli once again looked at Zhuang Chen with newfound respect; it was the first time someone had truly grasped the essence of this soup. Hearing the praise, he laughed heartily.

"Thinking back to the days when I first entered Diaoyutai, I was assigned to the cafeteria, cooking for the staff at the state guesthouse. In four and a half months, I started learning the most traditional dishes: fried soybean paste in a large pot, braised lion’s head meatballs, mapo tofu, shredded pork with garlic sauce…"

The old man took a sip of tea, reminiscing, "What impressed me most was the fried soybean paste. Back then, it was cooked in a huge iron pot over a coal-fired stove. Watching the master chef wield his iron spatula, flipping the mixture with practiced hands, my own hands itched to try."

"The master would explain the technique as he fried: timing, heat control, evenness of the paste—everything. It looked easy, but it was much harder in practice."

"A big pot of paste, with diced meat, oil, and water—easily over a hundred pounds in weight—had to be stirred constantly, or it would burn at the bottom if you weren't careful."

"In the sweltering heat of midsummer, with no air conditioning, standing by the stove, flipping the heavy spatula non-stop, and keeping the fire just right—not too high, not too low."

"This stirring would last more than two hours, and if you lost focus, the hot oil and paste would splash onto your hands, raising blisters."

The housekeeper nearby watched as Old Hao began to reminisce with Zhuang Chen, secretly astonished. Not everyone was privileged to hear the old man recount his stories, let alone guests—even disciples rarely had such luck!

Zhuang Chen felt a sense of intimacy, remembering how his own master liked to share such tales. He stood to refill the old man's tea, listening intently.

"Only then could I start learning cold dishes from both Chinese and Western cuisines. The first lesson: carving radish flowers. You choose a 'beautiful-heart' radish and listen to the master explain the knife technique. The minimum requirement is to carve dozens of petals from a single radish."

The old man nodded with satisfaction, pleased to have met a congenial younger generation, and continued, "If you ruin a single petal, it doesn’t count as a success. I spent three or four months buying baskets of radishes with my own salary, carving and pondering as I went."

"Pulling dragon’s beard noodles is a basic skill for any chef, and also a performance art for foreign guests. To establish yourself at the state guesthouse, you must pass this hurdle."

"Every day, at least three or four hours, wrestling with two kilograms of dough, hands and arms swollen. After more than two months, I finally managed to pull noodles that resembled dragon’s beard."

"The master required the noodles to be fine enough to thread several strands through the eye of a needle. The experts can pull noodles several kilometers long."

He finished and pointed to the black fish roe soup, saying with confidence, "Like the song of an opera singer, the quality of a chef’s soup is crucial. There are countless varieties of soups, braised dishes, and stews; their quality relies entirely on the soup. The Diaoyutai cuisine’s demands for low sugar, low salt, low fat, and high protein are all reflected in the soup."

At that moment, the third dish was served. Zhuang Chen was momentarily stunned, then smiled, understanding at last.

A bowl of clear broth sat before him, with a few tender yellow leaves floating on top—fresh, simple, and pure.

Boiled Cabbage in Water!

It appeared modest and unadorned, yet it displayed the chef’s skill in soup-making. The broth was mellow and delicate, crystal clear; the cabbage leaves were tender yellow and vibrant, instantly evoking freshness and brightness; its scent was elegant and inviting; its texture was tender and melting, with an extraordinary fragrance.

At first glance, the clear soup seemed almost watery, with no trace of oil, but the aroma was rich, and the taste was refreshingly delicate, surpassing even the finest delicacies.

A beauty bathing, hot spring water nourishing her snow-white skin, peach blossoms dotting the surface, a subtle fragrance wafting in. Not a thread adorns her, the Peach Blossom Spring suddenly revealed—lush grass, a babbling brook winding through a secluded valley.

"What a remarkable broth!"

Zhuang Chen savored it, saying, "Old hen, old duck, ham hock, pork ribs, dried scallops—all ingredients are individually cleaned and boiled, then combined with cooking wine, scallions, garlic, and other seasonings, simmered for at least four hours."

"Then chicken breast is minced into a paste, mixed with fresh broth into a slurry, poured into the pot to absorb impurities."

"The cabbage uses only the tender yellow heart, lightly blanched and cooled in water to remove any grassy odor, then bathed in boiling chicken broth to cook."

"If I’m not mistaken, the leaves were even treated in advance with a silver needle?"

"Hahaha, nothing escapes your eye!" Hao Baoli laughed, "We select the smallest cabbages, remove the outer layers, soak the roots in prepared broth to soften the stems, gently peel off four or five leaves without breaking the root, lay them flat on a mesh, and repeatedly pierce the heart with a fine silver needle."

"The essence of the state banquet lies in this chicken broth!"

"Some things aren’t better just because they’re more expensive; what matters is mastering the simple things."

That struck Zhuang Chen deeply—it was his highest understanding of culinary art. The fresher the ingredient, the more one should subtract, to highlight its beauty to the fullest. That was the realm of true mastery.

Looking at Hao Baoli, he was moved and said, "My master always said: ‘Great flavor must be subtle, like the friendship of gentlemen—plain as water; it may seem bland, but it is actually rich.’"

"Exactly!" Hao Baoli slapped his thigh, speaking earnestly, "Cooking and living are the same, different paths to the same goal."

As they spoke, the fourth dish arrived, its rich aroma startling Zhuang Chen. He looked at the exquisite clay pot and guessed, "Could it be…"

Buddha Jumps Over the Wall!

Sea cucumber, abalone, shark fin, dried scallops, fish lips, turtle skirt, deer tendon, pigeon eggs, duck gizzard, fish maw, fish bladder, dried conpoy, pigeon, pork ribs, razor clams, ham, pig stomach, lamb shank…

Dozens of ingredients simmered together in a jar, blending their flavors but retaining their individual character. The texture was tender and velvety, the aroma rich yet not greasy; each ingredient penetrated and complemented the others, layers of flavor within flavor.

Pick up a silken radish thread, wrap it in fine noodles, enjoy it with sesame flatbread—the taste was indescribable, endless in its appeal.

The thick broth enveloped the taste buds; the abalone was springy, the sea cucumber succulent, even the sliced conch was surprisingly delicious.

Zhuang Chen could not help closing his eyes, lost amid the flavors—a fish returning to the sea, swimming in its depths, dazzling and colorful.

Walking through bustling streets, entering doors adorned with warbling swallows and lively beauties, laughter and chatter everywhere, as if passing through a hundred flowers, the fragrance converging in waves, pushing one to the pinnacle of pleasure.

After a long while, he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the clay pot, probing, "Is this the stewing vessel?"

"For years, I have always used Shaoxing wine jars. Inside, Shaoxing wine is blended with the ingredients. Stewing Buddha Jumps Over the Wall is all about preserving aroma and flavor; after loading the jar, the mouth is tightly sealed with lotus leaves, then covered."

"The fire must be pure, smokeless charcoal. After bringing it to a boil, it’s simmered on low heat for five or six hours."

Hao Baoli spoke with pride, "Nowadays, many hotels boast that their Buddha Jumps Over the Wall is aromatic, but in truth, the genuine dish releases almost no fragrance during the stewing."

"In fact, when it’s ready and the jar is opened, just a slight lift of the lotus leaf releases the wine aroma, straight to the heart."

"The soup is thick and dark, yet rich without being cloying. When eaten, the wine fragrance and myriad flavors mingle, filling the room, melting but not rotten, endlessly delicious."

"Even in the Tang Dynasty, the eminent monk Xuanquan, traveling to Southern Shaolin, passed through Mindu, staying overnight at an inn. Next door, a nobleman served Buddha Jumps Over the Wall to his guests. The monk, smelling the aroma, was tempted beyond endurance, abandoned years of monastic discipline, and jumped over the wall. Thus, the dish became famous for centuries."