"Ah Feng, have you thought everything through?" That night, perhaps because of the need for future cooperation, Mao Dazhu invited Xiao Xian and two others for a dinner. It was because of this meal that Xiao Xian ran into an acquaintance.
"Mao Yi?" The meal was at Mao Dazhu’s home, a genuine Siheyuan located in East District. Mao Dazhu had reached an age where he witnessed three generations living under one roof; a Siheyuan split into four rooms, east, west, south, and north, where the three generations of the Mao family all lived together.
"Zhu Xiaoxian?" Thanks to the men’s basketball team renting the gym frequently in the latter half of the term, Mao Yi, who was always forthright and had eyes only for basketball, was able to recall Xiao Xian’s name.
Speaking of which, Xiao Xian had encountered Mao Yi before joining the basketball team. Right after arriving at Sacred Heart Middle School, before the tryouts for the basketball special recruitment, Xiao Xian demonstrated his basketball skills and Mao Yi was there to witness it. That’s why he could bet so confidently against the clueless Qu Yang.
"What’s up, my little apprentice nephew, you know my grandson? Oh, you all are from Sacred Heart Middle School? What a coincidence, and you’re all on the basketball team?" Mao Dazhu wasn’t very tall, standing at just 1.75 meters. It was either a genetic mutation or the saying "bad bamboo brings forth good shoots" came true, and he got a grandson as big as Mao Yi.
Although Mao Dazhu’s name had a Southern flavor, he was indeed a genuine Northerner. His family feasted on authentic Northern cuisine. The heater in the dining room was on all day; upon entering the space, the temperature rose from sub-zero to twenty-something degrees. Xiao Xian took off his heavy winter coat and also placed the potted Daffodil to the side.
The women in the family were already busy. Zhuo Feng also politely offered to help, but was stopped by Feng Shouxing, who advised not to knock over the household’s pots and pans.
"You two have such a good relationship," commented Mao Yi, who resembled his mother both in height and temperament. He had a big physique, a loud voice, and was quite efficient in getting things done.
A brazier was loaded with glowing red strip coals. Those coals burned for a long time and sustained a simmering pot. While enjoying the warm meal, the men drank, the women gossiped, making the feast last for several hours.
They dined on the famous Northeastern stew that evening, a dish where all the staple foods and ingredients for stewing were mixed together. Compared to hot pot, it had a richer flavor and was even livelier to eat.
Eight pairs of chopsticks landed on the table, and everyone was handed a coarse porcelain bowl, with a brimming pot of cabbage mixed with pork belly, along with special red sweet potato vermicelli. Red for the chili, yellow and green for the cabbage, shiny with pork fat, and the pork belly with skin trembling in the bubbling broth.
"This meal is piping hot," praised Zhuo Feng, as he inquired about the cooking method.
"It’s simple. When I was young and had no one to cook for me, I would make this. There’s a lot in the pot today, but if it were for just one or two people, you’d only need a quarter of a napa cabbage. If you don’t like the stems, just take some leaves, throw in a pound of skin-on pork belly, remember it must be pork belly with skin. That type of meat can withstand boiling, otherwise it’ll just fall apart and there’ll be nothing enjoyable to eat. Then add some dark soy sauce, if you prefer more oil and fat, add some lard, but our daughters-in-law prefer lighter flavors, so we just put enough meat. Sichuan pepper, salt, rice wine, cinnamon, chunks of green onion, and pieces of ginger, none can be omitted. Lightly fry the pork in oil until it changes color, that’ll give it flavor when you put it in the pot. The vermicelli is the tricky part. Some people’s homes prefer the fine kind, but our Mao family loves thick vermicelli, made from red sweet potatoes harvested in winter, ground into flour, then made into thick noodles as wide as a thumb, cut into ten-centimeter lengths and cooked in the pot, which brings out the strongest flavor. If you want to buy this kind of vermicelli, you’ve got to check at Old Li’s shop across the street, completely handmade." Mao Dazhu spoke enthusiastically and kept on urging Feng Xing to drink.
Northerners usually drink baijiu of at least 60 percent alcohol content. Drinking it indoors, you feel the spice on your lips and a burning sensation in your stomach. Feng Xing, who couldn’t say no, took one shot after another, and it wasn’t half an hour before he and Mao Dazhu casually called each other brothers.
Mao Yi seemed to be quite accustomed to his grandfather’s drinking habits, and after he had eaten his fill, he struck up a conversation with Xiao Xian.
The women helped with adding dishes, refilling water, Zhuo Feng assisted by picking out the softened ginger and onion chunks from the pot, and sneakily hid the empty bottle of baijiu from the table, only to be caught red-handed by Mao Dazhu, resulting in a penalty drink.