Chapter Fifty-six: Sticky Rice Cakes with Spicy Peppers

“Oh my goodness, Zhang Zhang, you little rascal.” Chen Xin scooped up Zhang Zhang, whose face and clothes were smeared with spicy sauce, and rushed him to the bathroom, urging her second sister to boil water for his bath as she ran.

After a few days of fermentation, the chili sauce was no longer as painfully spicy as when it was first made, but children’s skin is delicate; even a touch of the sauce’s liquid still stung with a fiery burn. Not allowing Zhang Zhang to touch his own face, Chen Xin hurriedly wiped the sauce from his cheeks with a towel, then stripped off his little vest and shorts, cleaning the remaining sauce and juices from his skin.

The chili sauce couldn’t be washed off with hot water straight away—it had to be wiped clean with cold water first. Otherwise, hot water would open the pores and intensify the burning pain, unbearable even for adults.

Fortunately, the well water at home, drawn and stored in a vat, was close to room temperature. It took a long while to finally clean up the chubby boy. Hearing that Zhang Zhang was covered in chili sauce and juice, the neighbor aunt sent her son to the field’s edge to cut two aloe leaves.

They shaved off the outer skin of the aloe with a knife, revealing the translucent flesh inside, sticky with juice. Slicing the flesh into thin pieces, they rubbed a slice gently on the little boy’s skin. Aloe has soothing and anti-inflammatory properties; after sunburn or scalds, fresh aloe leaves effectively prevent further worsening and infection. Skin tainted by chili sauce felt much like a burn, and without medicine, aloe was the best remedy.

Luckily, the boy’s hair hadn’t gotten chili sauce on it; otherwise, it would have meant shaving his head. Even so, he was frightened, clinging tightly to his aunt and refusing to let go, sleeping fitfully and sobbing quietly in the middle of the night.

Yet, Zhang Zhang’s mischief brought unexpected attention to Chen Xin’s homemade chili sauce. The neighbor aunt had been making chili sauce for decades, but her family always found fault with the taste. When the old matriarch was around, she could guide the process, but without her, every batch turned out spoiled or sour, always carrying an odd flavor that made it unpalatable.

“I follow the recipe exactly, even weighed out the old lady’s proportions, and did everything step by step, but it just doesn’t turn out right. Why does this chili sauce always go against me?” the aunt complained a few times, helped tidy up the messy room and table, then took the leftover chili sauce and went home.

“Second Sister, when should we harvest the chili peppers at home?” After settling the little boy and changing clothes, Chen Xin washed her face and listened to the neighbor aunt’s self-reproach. She wondered whether to try making chili sauce with homegrown peppers before leaving. If successful, perhaps her shop’s chili sauce could be made entirely from the Zhang family’s produce.

“Our elevation is high, so the peppers ripen later. If you want fresh chili sauce, you could buy some from the villages below the mountain.”

“No, I really want to try making it with our own peppers. If it turns out well, I plan to set up a purchasing point in the village, ask Auntie to help oversee it, and hire some people to make the sauce. I’ll transport the finished chili sauce to sell at my place.”

“That would turn tofu into meat prices!” Second Sister clicked her tongue, calculating in her mind. If done as Chen Xin suggested, the chili sauce, usually sold for a couple yuan per pound, would need to fetch seven or eight yuan just to break even.

“This isn’t cheap goods for the market. The chili sauce sold in the shop must use a unique recipe. I haven’t decided how to proceed yet—it’s just an idea. By then, not just seven or eight yuan per pound, even ten or fifteen, people will buy it.”

Though few made private specialty dishes yet, the trend had started. On her recent trip south, Chen Xin saw several private dining establishments. These weren’t catering to the masses; dining there required advance reservations, and you couldn’t even choose what to eat. A single meal cost enough for two or three at a regular restaurant. Even so, reservations were booked ten days to half a month out. Her editor said the most famous private kitchen opened just once a week, now booked half a year in advance, and didn’t even open for holidays!

Chen Xin had no plans to enter the restaurant business. She was simply a food enthusiast, fond of making snacks or local specialties. Banquet dishes were beyond her ability.

“If you want fresh peppers, I heard Linshan Village next door set up a vegetable greenhouse this year. They’re trialing peppers inside, not many. If you want some, I’ll go buy them for you tomorrow.”

The eldest brother used to be a taciturn man, barely speaking a word all day. But over the past year or two, inspired by Chen Xin, the household atmosphere improved greatly, and he changed a lot, especially now that the livestock farm was about to be built and his sense of accomplishment grew. Though he still didn’t talk much, he wasn’t the silent type anymore.

“Yes, my mother has a talent for making sticky rice chili paste. She hasn’t made it in recent years due to health, but if you like it, I’ll ask her to make some for you to take away.”

“That’s too much trouble for Auntie…”

“Nonsense, I can help with most of it. Only the seasoning and frying requires my mother’s touch, and pounding the peppers can be done by my brother.”

Eldest brother assured her it was no problem; the family made it every year anyway. Before, Second Sister handled it, but now, with her pregnancy, only their mother could take charge.

Sticky rice chili paste wasn’t difficult to make. The key was judging the seasoning by experience, then pounding it in a stone mortar with a wooden pestle. Once mashed, it was fried in oil for fragrance, then bottled together with the oil, lasting four to five months. If refrigerated and kept separate, untouched batches could last seven to ten months.

“When the mountain was poor, sticky rice chili paste was a lifesaver during lean times. Potatoes became staple food, dipped in chili paste to get through the hardest days. Back then, we didn’t fry it in oil—just ate it straight, so spicy it made you want more.”

Life in the mountains had only improved in recent years; higher up, some minorities still refused much contact with the outside, and their days were even harder.

“Your brother-in-law once did an agricultural survey up there. The best family in that village only steamed a bowl of polished rice for him; everyone else ate potatoes, and some families couldn’t even have their fill. The daily ration was just two potatoes per person, morning and evening, and women survived on potato soup. Even now, before the New Year, the town arranges food deliveries; otherwise, many elderly would starve during the winter.”

Second Sister spoke gravely, and Chen Xin listened with equal solemnity. She was born into a good family—not wealthy, but never hungry, her needs always met. Living in this unfamiliar era under Chen Xin’s identity, the hardest days were just those first moments after waking, but even then, food was never a struggle.

Hearing their conversation, Yan Chunhua suddenly spoke: “Actually, it’s not just your mountain. Even in my hometown, some families can’t guarantee a meal from one day to the next.”

There was a trace of sadness on Yan Chunhua’s half-lowered face, quietly flowing in the night.