Chapter Fifty-Three: Perhaps There Is Hope?

It was a pity that the party secretary’s son had to go home for dinner and could only leave reluctantly, swallowing his saliva in vain. Chen Xin thought for a moment and asked her eldest brother to bring two soup bowls. She filled each half-full, then mixed the sliced meat and offal into two small bowls, instructing Brother Zhang to take them to the village chief’s and the party secretary’s homes. She told him to say that they hadn’t bought much this time, and since it was their first attempt, there wasn’t enough to go around—just a taste for everyone.

Then she asked her second sister to go to Third Grandpa’s house and invite the old couple over for dinner. The broth was fresh and the meat tender, so even the elderly wouldn’t have trouble eating it.

Having made a large pot of soup with beef offal, Chen Xin decided to prepare some vegetable dishes as well. She stir-fried chili peppers—a favorite from southern Hunan—into a spicy meat dish perfect for accompanying rice. After eating, everyone would break out into a sweat, which helped dispel dampness. These were dishes invented by farmers to ward off illness, simple but flavorful and filling.

With Chen Xin’s exceptional culinary skills, even Yan Chunhua couldn’t resist having a second helping of rice, only putting down her chopsticks when she was truly full. Second Sister Zhang, who couldn’t handle too much spice, found the vegetables in the beef soup tasty and mild. She ended up eating two bowls of rice with the vegetable dishes alone—a true hearty eater.

Third Grandma and her husband were of even older generation than the Zhang family’s grandmother. In their old age, they usually ate stewed fatty meat, which was rich but not really healthy for the elderly. This time, the cross-legged beef was tender enough for both of them to enjoy, and Third Grandpa looked at Chen Xin with even more kindness and affection.

Cross-legged beef had evolved into a hotpot-style dish; after eating the meat, they cooked vegetables and vermicelli in the remaining broth, which was just as delicious.

After the meal, except for Chen Xin and Third Grandma, everyone was drenched in sweat. They worked hard every day, so their metabolism was fast. Chen Xin, on the other hand, spent most of her time indoors, making her prone to internal dampness and slower metabolism. Third Grandma, simply due to her age, was best suited for nourishing soups.

After dinner, Grandma Zhang washed the dishes in the courtyard. The daughters-in-law from the other two houses returned the soup bowls and brought homemade pickled vegetables as gifts. Hearing from Second Sister that Chen Xin liked chili sauce, both women ladled out some of their own homemade chili sauce and chili-pickled vegetables. These little side dishes were perfect with porridge or noodles.

The party secretary’s daughter-in-law was a girl from Linshan Village. Her chili sauce was much spicier than the village chief’s wife's, with plenty of garlic in it, adding a pungent kick beyond just pure chili.

Garlic chili sauce paired especially well with seafood or brushed over grilled vegetables, offering a softer, more complex flavor than just sprinkling chili powder. Another clever use was for grilling strongly flavored offal, such as kidneys or brains. Many city folks were hesitant to eat brains, finding them intimidating, but most grew to love the delicate, silky texture after trying them.

Chen Xin could also make brains, especially braised tofu with pig brains. Once cooked, it was hard to tell which pieces were tofu and which were brains unless you looked closely. Of course, for braised tofu with brains, you had to use silken tofu—the kind that was so tender it could burst with a touch—not the firm, old tofu.

In Zhangjia Village, tofu was made from brined, firm tofu, which tended to have a slightly astringent taste. This was suitable for homestyle tofu or “bear paw” tofu, but not for lighter dishes from the Huaiyang cuisine like crab roe tofu.

After giving Brother Zhang advance notice to buy two sets of pig brains on the next market day, Chen Xin started thinking about using the Zhang family’s small stone mill to make silken tofu.

They didn’t have coagulant for silken tofu here, but there was another method: using white vinegar. Homemade bean curd was usually set with white vinegar.

In the city, Chen Xin used a household blender to make soy milk, since there was no stone mill. However, the soy milk from a blender could never match the flavor of stone-ground soy milk. The soybeans needed to be soaked a day ahead, with the water changed once during soaking, using their own well water, which was clean and sweet.

After soaking, the beans were ground in the stone mill, producing thick soymilk that flowed down a groove into a bucket. This raw soymilk couldn’t be drunk as is; it needed to be boiled and filtered.

Once boiled, the soymilk was strained through two layers of cloth, resulting in a rich, smooth liquid free of bean pulp. At this point, Chen Xin would ladle some out, add sugar, and drink two bowls in one go.

Of course, the little chubby Zhang Zhang had been guarding his aunt since she started grinding the beans, afraid the adults would finish all the delicious soymilk while he was away.

Soymilk was best fresh, so after setting aside enough for a day, Chen Xin began preparing to make bean curd.

She mixed white vinegar with boiled water and, once the soymilk cooled to seventy or eighty degrees, slowly poured the acidified mixture into the pot, gently stirring in circles to help it react fully with the soymilk.

A few minutes later, the soymilk began to coagulate, forming silken tofu. Whether sweet or savory, the pure-white, tender tofu melted in the mouth—so different from the firm tofu the Zhang family was used to, they wished they could eat it as their main staple. Even Yan Chunhua, who had tasted plenty of bean curd elsewhere, had to admit that none compared to Chen Xin’s in taste and texture.

Zhang Zhang preferred his tofu sweet—with a bit of brown sugar syrup, he could polish off a big bowl in no time.

This time, Chen Xin made extra tofu. Besides the village chief, the party secretary, and Third Grandpa’s family, she sent some to their neighbors as well.

When Chen Xin was grinding beans, the village children had already gathered outside her house, each having finished half a bowl of soymilk. Now, tasting half a bowl each of sweet and savory silken tofu, the two youngest kids’ bellies were bulging.

After the tofu pudding, it was time to press regular tofu.

The mold had been made by Uncle Zhang Qi from the village, who spent half a day crafting and polishing it to prevent splinters.

Second Sister and Yan Chunhua helped lay out cheesecloth in the mold, then poured in the bean curd. Once it was about seventy percent full, they folded the extra cloth over, placed the wooden lid on top, and added a weight.

Silken tofu only needed about ten minutes to set, but firm tofu required much longer.

Since she’d already gotten everything out, Chen Xin decided to make three blocks of old tofu and two of silken tofu in one go. Each block weighed about five or six pounds. Leftovers could be stored in the fridge and wouldn’t spoil before the next meal.

The neighbors, having tasted the silken tofu, wanted to buy some when they saw the Zhangs making regular tofu. Chen Xin herself was too lazy to collect money, figuring there wasn’t much anyway. But Second Sister Zhang tugged at her sleeve, stopping her from saying anything.

Once inside, Yan Chunhua explained things to Chen Xin.

“We’re all neighbors here. If you give some to one family and not another, you’ll offend people. Giving some to the village chief, the party secretary, and Third Grandpa is different because of their positions. But with the neighbors, a taste is fine, but sending more will get people talking. It’s better to sell them a little, and just charge less.”

Chen Xin suddenly understood and nodded. “You two handle it, then. I’m not very familiar with these things.”

As long as Chen Xin wasn’t upset, Yan Chunhua smiled and went to help Second Sister Zhang weigh out the tofu for the neighbors.

Leaning against the kitchen door, Chen Xin mused that, judging from Yan Chunhua’s behavior, she clearly had a good impression of Zhang’s eldest brother. Maybe she should discreetly ask someone about it?

Choosing the right person would take some thought—she didn’t want someone who couldn’t keep a secret and ended up embarrassing everyone if things didn’t work out.

After much consideration, Chen Xin thought of the perfect candidate.