Once the winter solstice passed, the northern sky seemed to have sprung a massive leak, with cold air relentlessly pouring down people’s collars. The fields had long been cleared of crops, and now, the most prominent sights in every household’s courtyard were the heaps of large radishes and cabbages.
In the countryside of this era, the winter dinner table offered little beyond cabbage and radishes. By the end of the season, both adults and children would turn green at the sight of these two staples.
In a corner of the Qin family’s courtyard lay a small mountain of green-skinned radishes. Qin Gang had brought them back from the production team just a couple of days earlier, boasting that the year’s favorable rainfall had made the radishes crisp and sweet. Yet, Li Guilan stared at the pile with a worried frown, her brows knitted tightly enough to crush a fly.
“There’s so much here, we won’t finish it even by next spring,” Li Guilan muttered, wrapped in an old cotton-padded jacket and swatting snow off the radish pile with a broom that had lost its handle. “In another half-month, when it gets even colder, if the hearts freeze, they’ll only be fit for feeding the pigs.”
Zhao Hongmei happened to be stepping out with a dustpan to empty the stove ashes. Hearing this, she glanced at the pile of green-skinned radishes and smiled.
“Mom, they won’t freeze,” Zhao Hongmei said, dumping the ashes at the base of the wall. “I have big plans for this pile of radishes. We’ll store some in the cellar, and for the rest, I’m planning to make dried radish strips.”
“Dried radish strips?” Li Guilan curled her lip. “That stuff uses up too much salt. Once dried, it’s like chewing on leather straps—hurts your jaw. It’s only something people used to fill their bellies back in the days when there was nothing else to eat.”
Zhao Hongmei didn’t argue, just smiled. The older generation pickled vegetables to prevent spoilage, packing them with excessive salt and drying them until they were tough as wood chips. But the dried radish strips she, Zhao Hongmei, made were something else—in her previous life, they’d been sold as a signature cold dish in restaurants.
No sooner said than done.
Zhao Hongmei selected the green radishes that were uniform in size and had a glossy skin, carrying them over to the well. Well water stayed warm in winter and cool in summer, and when drawn, it still steamed. Unfazed by the cold, she rolled up her sleeves and began washing them. The cleaned radishes didn’t need peeling—the skin was where the chewiness came from.
The kitchen knife clattered crisply on the cutting board in a rapid “thump-thump-thump” rhythm. Slicing radishes had its own technique: they couldn’t be cut into slices but had to be cut into strips. Finger-thick strips, left connected at the top like a clothes hanger, made them easy to hang on ropes for drying.
That afternoon, several ropes were strung across the Qin family’s courtyard, densely hung with radish strips. Though the winter sun wasn’t strong, the wind was biting. As the north wind blew, it carried away the moisture from the radishes.
They hung there for three full days.
The once-plump radish strips had now shriveled, their surfaces wrinkled and their color deepened. They felt soft to the touch yet retained a resilient texture. Zhao Hongmei gathered the strips, first washing off the dust with warm boiled water, then moving on to the most crucial step—kneading.
She tossed the radish strips into a large porcelain basin that held aged brine and sprinkled them generously with fine salt. Using all her strength, Zhao Hongmei kneaded and rubbed them repeatedly, as if working dough. This step was to squeeze out the last bit of bitter moisture from the radishes and to make them crisper.
After kneading, they still needed to be weighed down. She brought over the large bluestone slab used for pressing pickled cabbage and left it pressing on the radishes overnight.
Early the next morning, Zhao Hongmei rose at the crack of dawn.
The fire in the stove pit had just been lit, and the room still held a lingering chill. She lifted the cloth covering the large porcelain basin, releasing a faint aroma of radish. The radish strips, squeezed dry of moisture, now looked somewhat shriveled, but this was their best state.
Zhao Hongmei cut the radish strips into inch-long pieces and set them aside.
She heated the wok and added oil. But this oil wasn’t for stir-frying.
She poured a small half-bowl of rapeseed oil into the wok, then added a spoonful of lard. When the oil reached medium heat, she tossed in a handful of Sichuan peppercorns, two star anise pods, and a piece of cinnamon bark, frying them slowly over low heat. Once the spices turned black and their fragrance fully infused the oil, she skimmed out the residue and discarded it.
The oil now carried a complex, aromatic scent.
She took out a clean enamel basin, already prepared with two types of coarsely and finely ground chili flakes, a large spoonful of sugar, a pinch of MSG, and the most crucial ingredient—toasted sesame seeds.
She poured the sizzling spiced oil over the chili flakes.
Sizzle—
A loud crackle erupted, followed by an intense, roasted aroma that surged upward. The red oil bubbled and churned, fully releasing the fragrance of the chili and sesame seeds. The smell was so pungent that Qin Gang, who had just entered the room, sneezed three times in a row, yet his eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Wife, are you trying to blow up the kitchen this early in the morning?” Qin Gang sniffed, his mouth nearly watering.
“Go wash your face,” Zhao Hongmei replied. She let the bowl of freshly made chili oil cool before pouring it all over the dried radish strips.
Putting on gloves, she mixed everything evenly.
The once dull, grayish radish strips were instantly coated in the red oil. Each strip glistened with bright red chili oil and white sesame seeds, looking utterly appetizing. Finally, she added a few drops of strong liquor before sealing the jar.
This was called “reverse stir-frying.” The liquor served both to preserve the dish and enhance its aroma.
“Can we eat it now?” Qin Gang, having forgotten about washing his face, hovered by the basin like a greedy cat, his hand already reaching out.
Zhao Hongmei swatted his hand away. “What’s the hurry? It’s just been mixed and needs time to absorb the flavors. Don’t touch it today. Let it sit overnight, and we’ll have it with congee tomorrow morning.”
…
The next morning, before dawn had fully broken.
On the Qin family’s dining table sat a large pot of thick, steaming millet congee. In the center of the table was the plate of specially prepared radish strips, freshly taken from the jar.
They were red, glossy, and fragrant with sesame seeds.
Li Guilan held her bowl, eyeing the plate of bright red side dish and thinking to herself: How much oil did this take? This wasteful daughter-in-law, pickling vegetables with more care than cooking meat.
But when she picked up a radish strip and placed it in her mouth, her teeth gently closed.
Crunch!
A crisp sound exploded in her mouth.
Instead of the overpowering saltiness she had expected, she first tasted a rich, spicy aroma, followed by a hint of sweetness, and finally the unique, refreshing flavor of the radish itself. The most remarkable part was the texture—neither too hard nor too soft, delightfully chewy, with every bite producing a satisfying, crisp sound.
Paired with a mouthful of hot, thick millet congee.
It was perfection.
The warm congee soothed her stomach, while the cool side dish tantalized her tongue. The contrast of hot and cold, soft and crisp, brought such comfort that it seemed to chase the winter chill right out of her pores.
“How is it?” Zhao Hongmei asked with a smile as she peeled a boiled egg for Qin Gang.
Qin Gang had no time to talk. His cheeks were puffed out high as he ate with his head down, shoveling porridge into his mouth one mouthful after another, his chopsticks darting like raindrops into the dish. In the blink of an eye, half the plate of pickled radish was gone.
“Is… is this that radish?” Li Guilan had intended to find fault, but the taste in her mouth was simply too good. She couldn’t help but pick up another bite with her chopsticks. “It really goes well with rice. Just a bit too spicy—burns the throat.”
Even as she complained about it hurting her throat, her hands were honest. In no time, the plate was scraped clean.
“Gangzi, don’t just focus on eating.” Zhao Hongmei took out a glass jar she had prepared earlier, filled to the brim with red oil pickled radish. “Take this jar to the team. If you don’t feel like going to the canteen for lunch, have this with steamed buns. It’ll save money and whet your appetite.”
Qin Gang grabbed the jar as if it were a treasure, tucking it into his arms. “Alright! My wife really cares for me. The big pot dishes in the team canteen are all boiled cabbage in plain water, not a speck of oil in sight. I’ve long been sick of them.”
…
At noon, in the courtyard of the county transport team.
A group of drivers wearing thick cotton-padded jackets and large fur hats were gathered in the break room eating. A coal stove burned in the room, filling the air with a mix of smoke, sweat, and food smells—a bit stifling.
Everyone held aluminum lunchboxes brought from home or large steamed buns from the canteen. The driving work was exhausting, and the winter cold made it hard to muster an appetite. They all looked miserable as they gnawed on their dry rations.
“Ah, this is no way to live,” grumbled a driver named Da Liu, tossing half a steamed bun onto the table. “Cabbage stems stewed with potatoes every day—my mouth feels so bland I could spit out a bird.”
Qin Gang, sitting in the corner, chuckled softly and pulled out the glass jar from his arms.
He twisted open the lid.
The rich, fermented aroma of red oil and chili, mixed with the toasty scent of sesame, seemed to sprout legs and instantly wafted into the noses of the people nearby.
“Damn, Gangzi, what have you got there? Why’s it so fragrant?” Da Liu, who had the sharpest nose, immediately leaned in.
Qin Gang used his chopsticks to pick out a strip of pickled radish, placed it on his steamed bun, and took a big bite.
“Crunch—”
The crisp sound echoed clearly in the quiet break room.
“Nothing much, just some pickled vegetables my wife made.” Qin Gang chewed with such relish that red oil dripped from the corner of his mouth, making those around him swallow their saliva.
“Let me have a taste, brother!” Da Liu didn’t stand on ceremony, reaching over to snatch a strip from Qin Gang’s jar.
One taste was all it took—Da Liu’s eyes widened instantly.
“Oh my god! This is so crispy! The flavor… it’s incredible!” Da Liu stuffed the cold steamed bun in his hand into his mouth in a few bites, pairing it with the strip of radish as if he were eating a delicacy.
“What’s so good about it?”
“Let me try too!”
Seeing this, the other drivers nearby couldn’t stay seated. They crowded around, grabbing bites with their chopsticks—one for you, one for me. In less than two minutes, Qin Gang’s small jar of pickled radish was emptied, with even the last traces of oil wiped clean with steamed buns.
“Hey, hey, hey! You bunch of bandits! Leave some for me!” Qin Gang cried out in distress, clutching the empty jar, on the verge of tears.
Da Liu licked his lips with lingering satisfaction, patting Qin Gang on the shoulder. “Gangzi, you’re really not being fair. Hiding something this good until now? This is even better than the side dishes at the state-run restaurant!”
“Exactly, Gangzi, did your wife really make this? How come we never knew your wife had such skills before?”
“Gangzi, I didn’t get enough from this meal either,” another driver chimed in, wearing a fawning expression. “Could you go back and ask your wife if she could make a jar for me too? I won’t take it for free—I’ll pay! I’ll give fifty cents for a jar… no, one yuan!”
“I want one too! I’ll also pay one yuan!”
“Count me in for a jar!”
Qin Gang was stunned. He looked at the empty glass jar in his hand, then at the eager eyes fixed on him from all around.
This ordinary daikon radish, piled up like a mountain in his own yard and practically worthless, was now something people were scrambling to pay a whole yuan for?