14. Pork Tripe Stewed with Pickled Chili and Celtuce

Page 1 of 3

Now it was Nan Tu’s turn to calm everyone down.

“Let’s all cool off. It’s really nothing serious, so don’t let it spoil the mood. Since everyone has been kind enough to visit my little restaurant today, why don’t I treat you all to a meal?”

Her words successfully diverted everyone’s attention.

“The neighbors came to support your business. If you’re the one treating us, wouldn’t that mean we’re shamelessly taking advantage of you?” Auntie Ma muttered.

Uncle Qiao said, “Do you think I’m short of this little bit of money? You’re a young thing who’s only been earning for a few years. How many years do you think I’ve been earning? Enough about who’s paying. Bring us the menu.”

He had been craving the food at Nanlai Restaurant for several years. He had eaten at plenty of other places, but none had quite suited his taste. Especially now, with pre-prepared dishes everywhere, some restaurants had chefs who could not even stir-fry properly. Their most frequently used cooking appliance was the microwave. It was enough to make anyone laugh.

The parrot chimed in at exactly the right moment. “Grandpa’s got money! Grandpa’s got money!”

Everyone burst out laughing, and Xin Huan handed over the menus.

Uncle Qiao ordered the One-Pot Freshness dish that had nearly been slandered just moments ago, a subtle show of support. The husband and wife, Zhao Sufen and her husband, ordered Braised Pork Tripe with Celtuce and Pickled Peppers, while Auntie Ma chose the homestyle dish Ants Climbing a Tree.

“I make Ants Climbing a Tree at home too, but it always seems to be missing something. It’s never as good as the version at Nanlai Restaurant. I’ve been thinking about it for years.”

Nan Tu had nothing to hide and answered frankly, “The secret is actually to soak the glass noodles in beef-bone stock beforehand. Once they absorb the stock’s savory flavor, they’ll naturally taste delicious.”

Auntie Ma hastily put on an expression that plainly said she was refusing to listen. “Oh, come on. Who has beef-bone stock sitting around at home for everyday cooking? We’ll just have to come to the restaurant.”

Only after the orders had been placed did Nan Tu return to the kitchen to get to work.

The pork tripe had been stewed in advance; it simply had not yet been seasoned. Otherwise, there would never have been enough time to prepare it after a customer placed an order. Before Xin Huan came to help, Nan Tu had never even considered putting pork-tripe dishes on the menu. They were too troublesome to prepare, and she could not manage everything on her own.

Although Xin Huan had never worked with culinary arts before, she was diligent and obedient. Whatever Nan Tu instructed her to do, she completed carefully and conscientiously, saving Nan Tu a great deal of worry.

Ants Climbing a Tree was a quick dish, and all the ingredients had already been prepared, so it required little effort.

Of the several dishes, One-Pot Freshness was the most difficult. The name said it all: every fresh and savory ingredient went into the pot. For this dish, Nan Tu chose mandarin fish, river crab, river snails, clams, and eel.

Some upscale restaurants, in order to boast of using eight kinds of fresh ingredients, would also add soft-shelled turtle, freshwater mussels, and green shrimp.

Nanlai Restaurant was only a small establishment. Once the ingredients in One-Pot Freshness became too elaborate, the price would become frightening, making the dish harder to sell rather than easier.

Although it was the most difficult dish, the challenge did not lie in the seasoning. With so many ingredients naturally rich in flavor, very little seasoning was needed. The true difficulty was harmonizing ingredients with different textures, flavors, and cooking times—allowing each one to shine while still bringing them together into a unified whole.

The dishes were served one after another, and the neighbors eagerly picked up their chopsticks.

Page 2 of 3

Even setting everything else aside, the appearance and aroma alone were enough to make anyone’s appetite stir.

The translucent glass noodles had absorbed the essence of the beef-bone stock, becoming moist and springy, like slender ribbons swaying gently in the breeze. Flecks of minced meat dotted them, each little morsel clinging to a strand as though it had climbed a tree. The name could not have been more fitting.

After tasting it, everyone said one after another, “You know, it really is much better than the Ants Climbing a Tree we make at home.”

The fried minced meat was still fragrant, tender, and delicious. Most importantly, it was neither dry nor tough, nor had it lost its meaty flavor. It blended perfectly with the smooth, slippery glass noodles.

Uncle Qiao offered his assessment. “The savoriness of stock can’t be replaced by seasoning. If you simply gulp it down, you may not notice the difference, but taste it carefully and you’ll recognize the sharp, thin savoriness of seasoning at once.”

Everyone began teasing Auntie Ma. “Nan Tu has already told you the secret, and she isn’t even worried that you’ll copy it. Go home and make it for yourself.”

Auntie Ma quickly protested, “I didn’t hear a thing.”

She absolutely could not let the little rascals at home hear about it, or they would insist that she soak all her glass noodles in beef-bone stock from then on. Who could endure that? Fortunately, she had not brought them along today.

The next dish was Braised Pork Tripe with Celtuce. Its full name should really have been Pickled-Pepper Celtuce and Pork Tripe, because the pickled peppers were the finishing touch. They gave the broth a deep golden-red color that whetted the appetite at a glance, to say nothing of the savory, sour, and spicy aroma drifting through the air.

Although the dish was tempting, the neighbors were all getting on in years and had their own concerns. Only after Zhao Sufen boldly took the first bite did everyone begin asking, “Is it spicy?” and “Can you chew it?”

Zhao Sufen chewed slowly and carefully. Only after swallowing the pork tripe did she drawl, “If this had been when I was young, I would have told you it was terribly spicy and impossible to chew, just so I could keep the whole pot for myself. But I can’t eat that much anymore, so you may as well count yourselves lucky.”

There was no mistaking what she meant. Everyone happily took their bowls and began ladling out the broth and pork tripe.

They drank the broth first. Pork tripe had a way of making soup rich and delicious, especially when paired with the other ingredients. The first flavor to reach the tip of the tongue was the sour heat of the pickled peppers. The balance was exquisite: refreshing, with just a hint of stimulation that instantly awakened the taste buds without becoming overwhelming.

The clean fragrance of the celtuce arrived a moment later. Finally came the mellow depth of the pork tripe, the essence of the dish and the soul of the broth itself—full-bodied, lingering, and endlessly rewarding.

To ensure that the broth was rich and intensely savory, Nan Tu used two small tricks. The first was to add a ball of minced meat to the soup to enhance its flavor.

This was a secret Nan Yuanhai had worked out when he first opened his restaurant, and he had taught it to Nan Tu without reservation. After countless experiments, Nan Yuanhai discovered that using equal parts pork and beef created the most harmonious balance of fragrance and savoriness.

Used appropriately, this minced-meat mixture could rescue many dishes with bland or monotonous flavors. It also helped clarify the broth, drawing impurities out of the liquid.

When making the Celtuce and Pork Tripe, Nan Tu improved upon the method by using minced meat that had first been fried until fragrant. The finished dish was indeed even more delicious.

Why did everyone think that even Nanlai Restaurant’s ordinary homestyle dishes tasted far better than those made elsewhere? Because the cooks here never stopped exploring. They were never satisfied with the status quo and never allowed themselves to become rigid or complacent.

The second secret to the pork-tripe soup was to add a little prickly-ash oil just before taking it off the heat. Prickly-ash oil had a sharp, stimulating flavor, so only a small amount was needed to suit most palates. Nor could it be added too early, because prolonged heating would cause its aroma to evaporate. That tiny addition gave the broth a longer, deeper finish without overpowering the other flavors.

The people drinking the soup did not need to know any of this. They only knew that it made their mouths happy, their stomachs warm, and every part of them feel comfortable.

They tried the pork tripe, cut into thick strips. Meticulously prepared, it had not the slightest hint of gaminess, retaining only its distinctive crisp tenderness and freshness. After a long braising, the tripe had softened and absorbed the essence of the pickled peppers and celtuce. Every bite was layered with texture, steadily conveying to the diners the deep, mellow richness hidden within the ingredients.

By the time the large bowl of Celtuce and Pork Tripe was empty, everyone let out a satisfied sigh. Eating at Nanlai Restaurant required one to stay alert. You had to keep stealing glances at what everyone else was doing. Otherwise, you might become so absorbed in your own meal that, when you looked up, the broth would be gone, the pork tripe picked clean, and not a single piece of celtuce left. The regret would be enough to make you slap your thighs.

Page 3 of 3

“Looks like I’m not the one supporting Nan Tu’s business. She opened this restaurant because she took pity on us old folks, who otherwise would never get to eat anything truly good!” said a neighbor with a head full of white hair.

Uncle Qiao said, “Pork tripe is one of the ingredients that most clearly reveals a cook’s skill. An incompetent chef can turn it into a stinking, fishy mess, while a capable one can create a flavor fit for the immortals. These days, Buddhist Delicacy often uses shark fin and abalone, but the authentic version needs only an old hen, venison tendon, pork tripe, fish maw, and pigeon eggs. Never underestimate pork tripe.”

From inside its cage, the parrot squawked, “Have a taste!”

“You can’t eat,” Uncle Qiao replied without even turning his head.

“Impertinent! Impertinent!” the parrot shrieked indignantly.

Everyone roared with laughter. Clearly, it was not only their stomachs that had been satisfied; their spirits had brightened as well.

At last came the main event.

One-Pot Freshness was a substantial dish, enough for three or four people to share. That was why Auntie Ma had immediately seen through Sun Yinhua’s lie. It was strange enough that she would be willing to eat such an expensive dish. But for one old person and one child to order it together—wouldn’t that be wasteful? Sun Yinhua was the least wasteful person anyone knew.

Now, however, with such delicious food before them, the little episode involving Sun Yinhua had long since been forgotten. Amid the curling white steam, the pot’s magnificent assortment of delicacies, drawing together the finest flavors of river and sea, seized everyone’s attention.

There were so many ingredients in the pot that each neighbor reached in with their chopsticks, and each came away with something different.

Auntie Ma loved fish, so she picked up a piece of mandarin fish. Carefully selected, it was so tender it seemed to melt in her mouth. Even after eating one piece, she was not satisfied; the best part was to find a piece with the skin still attached. The fish had been fried first, leaving the skin slightly charred. It was not fishy in the least, but springy and crisp, fragrant enough to make anyone swoon.

Grandpa Wang managed to seize half a crab, cleaved straight through the middle. It was an excellent crab, its roe rich and golden, its flesh plump and firm. Naturally, it tasted wonderful.

Uncle Qiao loved soup. One-Pot Freshness did not contain much broth, but every drop was a thick, milky-white fish soup made by stewing fried mandarin fish and eel together with the other ingredients, which deepened the flavor even further. Ladle a spoonful over rice, and you could eat an entire bowl without anything else.

There was even an unexpected discovery in the broth. A few river snails and clams had mischievously hitched a ride and tumbled into Uncle Qiao’s bowl along with the rich, fragrant liquid. He certainly did not let them escape. He was an expert at sucking out snails: the small, slippery morsel flashed across his tongue and left behind an unforgettable freshness. The clam meat had a cleaner, sweeter flavor, and when he bit into it, a burst of juice sprang forth, so fresh it sent a shiver through him.

The ingredients permeated and complemented one another, creating a feast for the senses.

Before long, every dish on the table had been eaten clean, without a scrap remaining.

Fortunately, everyone had exercised some restraint and refrained from ordering too much. Otherwise, they would have eaten just as cleanly no matter how much they ordered, and who knew how painfully stuffed they would be by now? They might even have to endure their children’s scolding when they got home. Hadn’t they always taught the children not to overeat, only to forget the lesson themselves?