Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Happiness Carried by Food

Chen Xin did not concern herself with the television station’s arrangements, because someone left a comment on her blog saying that they had noticed an uncle who bore many similarities to the son of the old man surnamed Qian she had written about. But that uncle had had his leg broken by a car while saving someone more than ten years ago, and now lived alone, so they did not dare verify it. Chen Xin hoped to get a photograph of that uncle, so she contacted the reader privately. The other party was a university student like her; they agreed that when winter break came, the reader would go back, find an opportunity to get the photo, and then get back in touch with Chen Xin.

Aside from that lead, the comments on Chen Xin’s blog grew more numerous. Some people were not skilled with words themselves and hoped that Chen Xin would go to their hometowns and show the food and stories there to more people. Chen Xin felt this was a good opportunity. She wanted to build herself into an online promoter of food, and she could certainly dig deeply into the tastes and interests of her readers.

But this kind of work required long-term planning; it could not be finished in a day or two. On top of that, the reporting assignment from Cheng Jie’s office still had not been completed, so the most urgent task was to finish the work at hand first.

Seeing Chen Xin so busy, Bai Mengqing even brought notebooks and materials with her when she went to the hospital to keep her company, and kept making phone calls to confirm the schedule.

Yet Chen Xin, though busy, was happily so. Sometimes when she came across something amusing or saw a recommended dish, she would share it with Bai Mengqing.

As for the translation work for President Huang’s company, Chen Xin could no longer spare the time. After discussing it with President Huang, she transferred the assignment to Bai Mengqing.

“You lie in bed all day, and that won’t do. Do some translation; it’s our own trade. I’ll be here with you too, and if you have any questions, I can answer them on the spot.”

A thick stack of materials to be translated was placed by Bai Mengqing’s bedside, along with a thick professional dictionary whose pages had long since yellowed.

At first Bai Mengqing instinctively wanted to refuse, but after touching those materials and seeing Chen Xin’s encouraging gaze, her fingers tightened, she pressed down on the papers, and nodded hard.

The initial translation was somewhat difficult, though not as hard as she had imagined. Because Chen Xin’s draft was already there, she only needed some time to familiarize herself with it before she could get started. The more materials she translated, the more naturally the specialized vocabulary would lodge itself in her memory.

The second dish to appear on the blog was steamed pomfret with fermented black bean sauce.

Chen Xin did not use the black fermented beans known to everyone, but instead used the local water-fermented beans unique to the old town.

These were a pale yellow, still retaining the original shape and color of soybeans, though their flavor was not far removed from black fermented beans, only a little less salty.

This dish was also learned from Old Man Qian. He had lived by the river for decades and made his living by fishing, so the meat dishes in his household were mostly fish.

According to Old Man Qian, when his wife was still alive, fish alone could be turned into two or three different dishes. This steamed fish with water-fermented beans had been Mrs. Qian’s greatest specialty in life, and everyone in the old town knew that if you wanted to eat fish, you went to the Qian household.

The fish steamed at the Qian home was mostly river fish, but Chen Xin chose pomfret today. Pomfret was not Wuchang fish, but a type of sea fish. She selected the most ordinary kind, each fish about half the size of a palm.

After washing the pomfret clean and cutting off the head, she marinated it for ten minutes with salt, cooking wine, and pepper. She also sliced ginger, garlic, scallion whites, and dried chili. The dried chili only needed to be cut into short sections about the length of a finger joint, with the seeds shaken out.

When steaming, she laid the scallion whites at the bottom, spread half the ginger slices and garlic slices over them, then placed the fish on top and steamed it for fifteen minutes. Once done, she lifted the fish away from the ginger, garlic, and scallions, arranged it on a round plate with the head outward and tail inward, placed a nest of cooked noodles at the tail, and garnished it with chopped scallions.

While arranging the plate, she also heated another wok with oil, added finely minced pork belly, then threw in the remaining ginger, garlic, and chili pieces and stir-fried them over high heat. When the meat had cooked through and begun to release its oil, she added a spoonful of dark soy sauce, half a spoonful of soybean paste, and one-third of a spoonful of sugar. Finally, she thickened the sauce lightly with starch, stirred it evenly, and poured the meat sauce over the steamed fish.

This dish was a little different from the ordinary steamed fish most people imagined, because sea fish was not as tender as river fish, though it did have the advantage of fewer bones, so even the elderly could eat it. Older people tended to prefer stronger flavors, and plain steamed fish often seemed a bit bland to them. With the meat sauce poured on top, the fish gained a richer, fuller taste, yet because sea fish itself had a strong flavor, it would not be overpowered by the sauce.

Aside from this highly local meat-sauce steamed fish, Chen Xin also specially made a light-flavored steamed fish for comparison.

For the lighter version, she chose a common local fish with firm, delicate flesh. Most people did not like to steam it, thinking it absorbed flavor poorly and was hard to cook through; those who could not control the heat often ended up with fish that was overcooked on the outside and still underdone within.

Chen Xin steamed this fish whole as well, but she first scored it carefully.

The head and body did not need to be separated, but she had to cut along the back of the fish, remove the entire central backbone from both sides, and cut through the connecting ends with scissors without damaging the flesh where the body and head joined. Once the bones were removed, the whole fish had no hard bones left except at the head and tail.

At that point, she made cuts along the body at even intervals of about two to three centimeters, taking care that the tip of the knife stayed more than one centimeter above the fish’s back, or it could easily break apart.

After both sides had been scored, she took a large fish platter, placed the fish rubbed with salt and pepper on it, arranged the head and tail symmetrically, nudged the body slightly outward, and put pre-soaked vermicelli into the space where the backbone had been. Because of the tension in the flesh, the cuts in the body barely held together, creating a flower-cut pattern.

She steamed it for ten minutes, and once the fish turned white, it was ready to serve. She poured away the juices produced during steaming, then drizzled steamed-fish soy sauce over the body. On the vermicelli she sprinkled minced garlic and chopped red chili, then heated a spoonful of oil and poured it over everything. Finally, she placed two sprigs of cilantro on the fish for color.

The red chili on the second steamed fish could be included or omitted, depending on one’s taste.

The two plates of fish were set side by side, each with its own character, and the sight of them was enough to stir the appetite.

This installment contained three stories: the decades-unbroken love of Old Man Qian and Old Madam Qian; Old Man Li’s bond with his wife across life and death; and the simple, heartfelt devotion between Old Man Zhang and Old Madam Zhang.

Readers left comments under Chen Xin’s blog saying they had followed her recipe and made two plates of steamed fish to share with their husbands and children, and that from it they seemed to feel that deep warmth of family affection.

Another reader said she had seen the blog at work and had planned to make it for her family over the weekend. Who could have known she would have to work overtime that weekend, and by the time she got home it was too late. Her husband, who was not skilled in the kitchen, had cooked the meal. She had thought they would simply make do, but when she lifted the lid and found two dishes of steamed fish, tears fell instantly. Her husband said his skills were poor and that he had broken the fish while cutting it, so the whole plate was not as beautiful as it should have been, and asked for her forgiveness, saying that after making it a few more times, he would surely do better than this. She said it was the most delicious steamed fish she had ever eaten, and there would never be a second plate with such a flavor.