Chapter 159
The clan leader's household had a small fish pond where they raised some grass carp, though not in great numbers. The fish had a strong, fishy flavor. Cooking it required a careful balance of oil; too little caused it to stick to the pan, but using too much felt wasteful. People in the village did not eat fish often, but they would occasionally buy one or two for a tooth sacrifice.
[打打牙祭 (dǎ dǎ yá jì): lit. To have a tooth sacrifice; fig. To have a special meal to satisfy one's craving, to have a treat.]
Zhao Ger told Fang Zichen to go buy one. Fang Zichen hemmed and hawed, unwilling to go again. He said he had just been frightened, his little heart had stopped beating, and he needed to lie on the bed for emergency resuscitation.
Zhao Ger took off his shoe, and Fang Zichen scurried away promptly.
After working for nearly one shichen, he managed to prepare only three dishes.
One was roast duck, one was sour and spicy fish, and one was cold mixed fishmint.
The roast duck skin was crispy and fragrant, the meat was fresh and sweet, with a firm texture.
The fish meat was sliced thin. The soup was both sour and spicy, and could completely soak into the meat. It was sprinkled with chopped scallions, completely masking the fishy smell.
When they had made blood sausage previously, some peanuts had been left at home. Zhao Ger fried them, added a bit of chili sauce along with minced garlic and scallions, and mixed it all with the fishmint. Setting aside the question of taste for the moment, the combination of red, white, and green made the dish look very appetizing.
Before anyone had even returned, Fang Zichen was already drooling over the dishes. Seeing Zhao Ger go to the backyard to move firewood, he kept his eyes fixed on the doorway, hurriedly scooped up a spoonful, put it in his mouth, and then promptly spat it out.
"Bleh, bleh..."
Zhao Ger, who had returned at some point, stood at the door watching him, a gloating expression on his face.
"Holy crap, that's salty enough to kill me."
There was a lot of fishmint, and the chili sauce wasn't too salty, so Zhao Ger had poured in a spoonful of salt, but hadn't mixed it yet.
Fang Zichen's eyes had been darting around, and his entire posture suggested someone about to sneak off and cause trouble. Combined with the fact that he kept urging Zhao Ger to go move the firewood, Zhao Ger knew this guy was up to no good.
Sure enough.
Fang Zichen glared at him: "You did that on purpose?"
Zhao Ger played innocent: "No, I didn't!"
"Don't say you didn't! Do you want to salt me to death so you can be a widower? Poor me! I almost became Wu Dalang..."
[武大郎 (Wǔ Dàláng): the husband of Pan Jinlian in the novel "Water Margin," often used to imply a cuckolded or unfortunate husband.]
The more he spoke, the more outrageous he became. Zhao Ger pinched him: "Don't talk nonsense, or I'll hit you." That's what he said, but in the end, he still mixed the fishmint, got a small bowl, put some in it for Fang Zichen, and coaxed him like a child to eat it secretly.
Around youshi (5-7 PM), Guaizai and the others returned. His big head was adorned with a head full of flowers, all different colors.
Fang Zichen was stunned: "Who did this?"
"It was Yang Pig!" Guaizai spun around: "Father, does Guaizai look good? Is he beautiful?"
Fang Zichen: "..."
I can't see what's good-looking about all these gaudy colors, and they're stuck in so messily. Yang Mingyi is a ger; how can he have no sense of flower arrangement art?
Is he using my son's head as a flower vase?
Yang Mingyi felt embarrassed under his gaze.
After resting for a while, they began their evening meal. Although the hour was still early, Yang Mingyi and the others needed to hurry back, as it would be inconvenient after dark.
As soon as they entered the kitchen, they could smell the aroma.
It was hard to say exactly what the smell was. It was a bit pungent, yet not unpleasant. On the contrary, it was very fragrant and stimulating.
In the rural countryside, most women and gers didn't have great culinary skills. Their daily meals consisted mainly of vegetables, cooked over and over, almost always the same set of steps and process, unable to produce much variety. Having rarely experienced fine food, they considered any properly cooked meat to be a great delicacy.
However, when Old Master Wu saw the three substantial dishes arranged on the table, his opinion of Zhao Ger changed considerably.
Yang Mingyi saw Guaizai standing. Sitting opposite, he could just see the top of his head. He couldn't bear it and asked if he needed to be held.
Guaizai shook his head: "No need! Guaizai likes standing to eat rice."
This had already become a habit.
Previously, in the Ma family, there was no dining table in the woodshed. Their mealtimes were spent either squatting on the ground or standing while they ate.
But squatting for too long often caused leg numbness, so most of the time, Guaizai ate standing up.
Since meals didn't last very long anyway, he never felt particularly tired by this arrangement. Feeling sorry, Fang Zichen had once offered to hold him during meals, but the boy had refused.
The dining table was too high. Ordinary stools were mostly around thirty-some centimeters tall. Even adults found it unsuitable and had difficulty reaching for food. Zhao Ger had gone to the old carpenter's house to order one for him, but there were two families in the neighboring village getting married who had ordered some furniture from him, so he hadn't been able to get to it yet.
Although there were only three plates of food, the portions were substantial. The duck was over four jin (2 kg), and the grass carp Fang Zichen picked was also a big one, also over four jin. The family only had one additional elderly guest and one young guest, so the food should have been sufficient... shouldn't it?
Whether it was because they were tired from walking around in the afternoon or simply their normal appetites remained unclear, but regardless, the visitors cleared nearly every dish, only some roast duck remained. It wasn't that it wasn't tasty, but rather this thing had no sauce and could be wrapped in oiled paper.
Old Master Wu put down his chopsticks: "The weather is hot now, this probably won't keep long. Pack it up for me."
Zhao Ger: "..."
Fang Zichen:"..."
Not satisfied with just eating, you still want to take some away?
And besides, isn't it said that when people get old, their appetite decreases and they lose interest in food due to reasons like taste bud deterioration, declining digestion, and poor teeth?
Three bowls of rice!
How did he eat more than me?
And also Yi Ger, your family runs a restaurant, making money hand over fist. Did Yang Mutao starve you or something, that you also put away three bowls of rice?
Although you ate quite elegantly...
The saying 'a half-grown boy can eat his father out of house and home' is really true.
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