Cousin Qin Jianguo stood to the side, rubbing his hands anxiously, his forehead beaded with sweat. He wanted to intervene but didn’t know how, so he could only stare helplessly at the hearth.
Zhao Hongmei paid no attention to the idle chatter.
Without a word, she picked up the kitchen knife. The heavy iron blade felt obedient in her hands. In less than half the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, two jin of meat had been sliced into strips as thick and uniform as chopsticks.
Next, she grabbed a handful of Sichuan peppercorns. The peppercorns of this era were pungent and intensely numbing. Instead of sprinkling them directly, she tossed them into a nearby dry wok that had been heated over the fire.
With a sizzle, the moisture in the peppercorns evaporated, and their numbing aroma immediately filled the air.
Zhao Hongmei poured the roasted peppercorns onto the cutting board, crushed them with the back of the knife, keeping only the coarse grains. She mixed them with large-grained salt and sprinkled the mixture over the meat strips. Then she poured in half a liang of homemade strong liquor and vigorously kneaded everything together with her hands.
Auntie, who had been cracking melon seeds and watching the scene with amusement, curled her lip and whispered to the woman beside her, “Look at that—what a waste. Pouring in so much liquor, isn’t she afraid the meat will turn bitter? I say she’s just making a mess for nothing.”
Zhao Hongmei didn’t even lift an eyelid.
While the meat was marinating, she took a large, coarse ceramic basin—the kind used for kneading dough. She poured in half a basin of sweet potato starch but didn’t add water right away. Instead, she cracked five eggs into it. Eggs were precious in these times, and Li Guilan, watching from behind, felt her heart ache. She was about to scold her for being wasteful when a cold glance from Zhao Hongmei silenced her.
She added water and stirred in one direction.
The batter had to be just right. Too thin, and it wouldn’t cling to the meat; too thick, and it would fry into dense lumps. Zhao Hongmei quickly ran her fingers through the batter, feeling its sticky resistance. Only when she lifted her hand and the batter stretched into an unbroken, silky thread did she deem it ready.
With a splash, the marinated meat strips were poured into the batter.
Zhao Hongmei plunged both hands in, tossing and turning the strips until each one was thoroughly coated in the batter.
“Gangzi, turn up the heat!” Zhao Hongmei called out.
“Got it!” Qin Gang, now fully committed, stuffed a bundle of wheat stalks into the hearth cavity. Flames roared out, licking the bottom of the large iron wok until it glowed red.
Zhao Hongmei poured half a bucket of rapeseed oil into the wok. This oil had been saved up by the Qin family for over half a year, originally reserved for the New Year, but now it all went into the wok.
The oil temperature slowly rose, and a wisp of blue smoke began to curl upward.
Zhao Hongmei didn’t rush to add the meat. Instead, she first held her hand over the surface of the oil to test the heat. When she felt the warmth begin to scald the back of her hand, she picked up a long wooden chopstick and inserted it into the oil.
Instantly, a stream of fine bubbles formed around the chopstick.
Now was the time!
Zhao Hongmei held the basin in her left hand and grabbed a handful of batter-coated meat strips with her right. Instead of dumping them all in at once—which would cause them to clump together—she gently rubbed her fingers, letting the strips slide one by one into the boiling oil.
“Sizzle—!!”
The loud sound was more delightful than New Year’s firecrackers.
The once-clear oil surface instantly erupted into a rolling boil, countless tiny oil bubbles enveloping the meat strips as they tumbled. White smoke billowed upward, but this time, there was no burnt smell—only an intense, mouthwatering aroma.
That was the charred aroma of fat crackling at high heat, the distinct sweet fragrance of sweet potato starch, and even more so, the intense numbing scent of roasted Sichuan peppercorns ignited by the hot oil. These scents blended together like an invisible hook, instantly snagging the noses of everyone in the courtyard.
The second aunt, who had just been cracking sunflower seeds and making sarcastic remarks, had her mouth half-open with a seed shell still in it, unable to close it. She instinctively sniffed, and the aroma rushed straight to her brain, completely overpowering the taste of the sunflower seeds in her mouth.
“What is that smell? How can it be so fragrant?” a sister-in-law holding a child nearby couldn’t help but ask.
The chaotic chatter in the courtyard, as if someone had pressed pause, suddenly fell silent.
Everyone’s eyes were fixed intently on the large iron wok.
Inside the wok, the strips of meat rapidly expanded and took shape as they danced in the hot oil. The originally grayish batter slowly turned into an enticing light yellow, bobbing up and down in the bubbling oil.
Zhao Hongmei held an iron strainer larger than a washbasin, gently stirring in the wok to prevent the meat strips from sticking together. The rustling sound of the friction sounded incredibly crispy.
Qin Gang, who was closest, felt the greatest impact.
He crouched in front of the stove pit, his face flushed red by the firelight. The aroma swirled right above his head, drilling straight into his nostrils. He hadn’t eaten much in the morning, and now all the cravings in his stomach were awakened, rumbling like thunder.
He secretly swallowed a mouthful of saliva and looked up at his wife.
Amidst the smoke and flames, Zhao Hongmei’s cheeks were dusted with flour, and fine beads of sweat dotted her forehead. But her gaze was focused, her lips pressed tightly together, exuding a sense of competence she didn’t usually show.
Was this still the wife who only knew how to lower her head and stitch shoe soles?
“Out of the wok!”
With Zhao Hongmei’s clear shout, the first batch of fried crispy pork was scooped out.
A full, large strainer piled up like a small golden mountain. Hot oil dripped down through the gaps between the meat strips, falling into the wok with crisp, clear sounds. At this point, the crispy pork was cooked but not yet fully crisp.
Zhao Hongmei poured the meat into an enamel basin beside her without stopping. She waited for the oil temperature to rise again until faint blue smoke began to curl from the surface of the oil.
“Second fry!”
That basin of golden crispy pork was poured back into the wok.
This time, the sound was even more intense and shorter. The high heat instantly forced out the excess oil from the batter, making the outer layer even crispier and more fragrant.
In just over ten seconds, Zhao Hongmei, quick-eyed and swift-handed, swiftly scooped it out.
This time, the crispy pork turned a deep golden color, each piece standing upright, exuding a firm, hearty quality.
With a clatter, the freshly fried crispy pork was poured into a large winnowing basket lined with oil-absorbing paper. Steam rose in waves, and the aroma seemed ready to explode.
The little nephew who had been crying and fussing to go home earlier had now stopped crying. He stuck his finger in his mouth, his eyes shining as he stared at the basket, drool trickling down the corner of his mouth.
“Gulp.”
Someone in the courtyard, unable to hold back any longer, swallowed hard. In the quiet environment, the sound was especially loud.
Then came a series of gulps, one after another.
Those who had wanted to watch and laugh earlier now had only one thought left in their minds: I want to eat it! Damn, I really want to eat it!
Second Aunt’s narrow, triangular eyes were fixed in a stare, the melon seeds in her hand having long since fallen to the ground unnoticed. She stood up awkwardly, took a couple of steps forward, and pretended to check the fire. “Well, I’ll be… Gang’s wife really has some skills, doesn’t she? That smell… sure is something.”
Li Guilan had stopped wailing. She got up from the ground, brushed the dirt off her backside, and stared in disbelief at the large basket of golden-brown meat strips. Could this really be made from that unwanted neck meat no one wanted?
Zhao Hongmei tapped the strainer against the edge of the wok, shaking off the excess oil. She didn’t even glance at the relatives with their greedy expressions. Instead, she casually picked up a freshly fried piece of crispy meat and, without worrying about the heat, stuffed it straight into the mouth of Qin Gang, who was tending the fire.
“Try it. Is it cooked?”
Qin Gang was caught off guard by the sudden feeding. Instinctively, he bit down.
Crunch!
A crisp, cracking sound.
Crispy! Damn, it was crispy!
His teeth easily shattered the crunchy outer shell, and scalding meat juices instantly flooded his mouth. The numbing tingle of Sichuan peppercorns, the mellow richness of the liquor, the savory aroma of the meat fat, and the soft, sticky texture of the sweet potato starch—the more he chewed, the more flavorful it became.
Not a hint of gaminess, just pure meaty goodness!
Qin Gang’s eyes widened. Huffing out hot air, he swallowed the meat in a gulp, too excited to speak clearly. “It’s… it’s cooked! So delicious! Wife, this is even better than the stuff they sell at the Supply and Marketing Cooperative… better than anything!”
Zhao Hongmei couldn’t help but smile at her husband’s awestruck reaction.
She turned around to face the courtyard full of eyes fixed intently on her. Unlike before, she didn’t shrink back. Instead, she tightened the strings of her apron.
“Don’t just stand there,” Zhao Hongmei said, her voice soft but steady. “Second Sister-in-Law, take this basket of crispy meat and share it with everyone. Have a bite to tide you over. The real show is still to come—this is just the beginning.”
Her tone wasn’t like someone asking for a favor; it was more like a head chef in a big restaurant assigning tasks to the kitchen staff.
The named Second Sister-in-Law was taken aback for a moment, then instinctively replied, “Yes, ma’am!” and scurried over eagerly to take the basket.
Watching the relatives who had been sneering and mocking just moments ago now crowding around the basket like hungry wolves, fighting over the crispy meat, huffing and puffing from the heat but unwilling to spit it out, Zhao Hongmei finally felt a bit of the resentment she’d carried for two lifetimes begin to ease.