The cleaned large intestines had been cut into inch-long segments and piled high in a white porcelain basin, looking pale and quivering.
Without pausing for breath, Zhao Hongmei turned and fetched the several pieces of pork lungs. In the eyes of the villagers, this stuff was even cheaper than intestines—full of air pockets, and if not cleaned properly, it carried a muddy, fishy smell. Cooked too long, it felt like chewing soggy cotton; cooked too short, it remained underdone.
But in Zhao Hongmei’s hands, this was prime material for making “Husband and Wife Lung Slices.” Though the authentic version was served cold, in this late autumn with heavy dew, everyone’s stomachs were empty. A fiery stir-fried hot version would be the perfect accompaniment to rice.
She sliced the pork lungs paper-thin, her knife skills dazzling, each slice translucent.
“Gangzi, scrub the wok clean. We’re getting serious now.” Zhao Hongmei hitched up her apron, her stance less like cooking and more like a general heading to battle.
By now, Qin Gang had completely become Zhao Hongmei’s soldier, following orders without question. The large iron wok had been scrubbed until it gleamed, now steaming with heat.
“First, we’ll make braised intestines. This dish requires careful heat control.”
Zhao Hongmei poured a spoonful of oil into the hot wok, then immediately tossed in a handful of rock sugar. This was caramelizing the sugar—the soul of braised dishes. The heat couldn’t be too high, or the sugar would turn bitter; nor too low, or it wouldn’t melt properly.
Her spatula stirred gently in the wok as the pile of glistening sugar slowly melted, turning into a pale yellow liquid bubbling with tiny froths. Then the color deepened, becoming a rich date-red.
“Pour!”
At Zhao Hongmei’s command, the entire basin of pale intestines was dumped into the wok with a splash.
“Sizzle—!!”
The sound was like cold water hitting boiling oil, a puff of white smoke billowing upward. Zhao Hongmei’s spatula flew, and the originally white intestines were instantly coated in that date-red caramel, turning glossy and vibrant, as if brushed with a layer of shiny lacquer.
Star anise, cinnamon, bay leaves, dried red chili segments, and thickly sliced Old Ginger were all tossed in together. Finally, a large spoonful of soybean paste—the foundational flavor of this dish.
The intestines sizzled in the wok as the moisture evaporated and the fat rendered out. That complex aroma, blending the sweetness of caramel and the richness of spices, instantly exploded across the yard.
“Add water, just enough to cover the intestines.”
Qin Gang quickly scooped a ladle of water and poured it in. The lid went on, the heat turned high until it boiled, then reduced to a low simmer. The intestines needed to stew for a while to become tender and flavorful.
While the intestines simmered, Zhao Hongmei began prepping ingredients for the next dish.
A full winnowing basket of ingredients: dried erjingtiao chilies cut into segments, dazzlingly red; garlic chives sliced into inch-long pieces, delightfully green; crushed garlic cloves; and Old Ginger cut into fine shreds.
Before long, the sauce in the intestines pot had reduced significantly. Zhao Hongmei lifted the lid.
At that moment, many people in the yard couldn’t help but crane their necks to look toward the hearth.
The intestines in the wok had completely transformed—each piece plump and rosy, coated in a thick, bubbling sauce. Zhao Hongmei turned up the heat to reduce the sauce further, then finished with a drizzle of clear oil before plating.
A large basin of braised pork intestines was placed on the table, its glossy red sheen practically glowing. Second Uncle, that old chain-smoker who usually craved nothing but his dry tobacco, now stared wide-eyed, the thick phlegm in his throat stuck between swallowing and spitting.
But that wasn’t all.
The wok wasn’t washed, leaving behind a layer of leftover oil from stewing the intestines—that was fragrant oil.
“Gangzi, add firewood! This time we need a fierce flame, make the fire lick the edge of the wok!” Zhao Hongmei shouted.
Qin Gang said nothing, stuffing the hardest, most durable split logs into the hearth cavity and pulling the bellows a few times.
“Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—”
The flames in the hearth cavity surged, the fire truly licking up along the wok’s edge.
The oil temperature skyrocketed instantly, the bottom of the wok even turning slightly red. Zhao Hongmei poured the basin of sliced lung pieces into the wok.
This time, there was no gentle “sizzle,” but a “roar” as flames half a meter high erupted from the wok. This was true stir-frying!
Qin Jianguo was so startled he nearly fell backward, wanting to shout to be careful, but he saw Zhao Hongmei unfazed, her iron spatula moving so fast it became a blur.
The lung pieces rapidly changed color under the high heat, their edges curling slightly. That earthy, gamey smell was instantly carbonized by the intense temperature, transforming into a strange, charred aroma.
“Add the seasonings!”
A large handful of dried chili segments and Sichuan peppercorns were thrown in.
That pungent, spicy aroma instantly exploded. Everyone in the yard first sneezed in unison, then began sniffing frantically. This spiciness didn’t choke the throat—instead, it hooked the cravings deep in their bellies.
Finally, a large bunch of vibrant green garlic leaves.
As soon as the garlic leaves hit the wok, their fragrance mixed with the meaty aroma and spicy scent, drilling straight into everyone’s noses.
Just then, a heart-wrenching wail suddenly came from outside the courtyard wall.
“Waaah—! I’m not leaving! I’m not leaving! I want meat! I want that meat!”
Everyone turned to look and saw a grimy little head peeking over the two-meter-high earthen wall next door. It was Tiedan, the grandson of Old Wang next door. This kid usually ran wild all over the village, and now he was probably lured by the aroma, straddling the wall, snot bubbles crying out, his two little hands clinging desperately to the wall’s surface, his teary eyes fixed on the large iron wok in Zhao Hongmei’s hands.
From outside the wall came Tiedan’s grandmother’s furious voice: “You useless thing! That’s the Qin family hosting a feast, that’s offal, those are intestines that held shit, what’s so delicious about it! Get down now, Grandma will boil you an egg at home!”
“No! Eggs are tasteless! This smells good! This smells good!” Tiedan kicked his legs, crying pitifully, drool dripping down the wall and wetting the weeds at its base, “That’s meat! That smells even better than New Year’s meat! Waaah—if you don’t give me any, I’ll jump down!”
The relatives in the yard, who had been maintaining their composure, couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.
Second Auntie swallowed her saliva while laughing, nudging the eldest sister-in-law beside her with her elbow: “You know, this Wang Dapang really is blind. This smell… why does it feel so satisfying? I feel like crying along with Tiedan myself.”
Zhao Hongmei heard the crying from the wall but didn’t pause her movements.
Dish up, plate out.
The stir-fried lung slices were a vibrant mix of red and green, steaming hot and glistening with oil. Dried chili segments were scattered among the lung slices, while the garlic chives, just cooked through, retained their bright green color. Each slice was coated in red chili oil and speckled with seasoning granules.
“Food’s ready!”
At this call, Second Sister-in-law, who had been waiting nearby, immediately picked up the platter and hurried toward the banquet table. She moved so swiftly it seemed as if she feared the food might fly away if she were even a moment late.