With Zhao Hongmei’s final call, Qin Gang and several relatives who had come to help began serving the dishes on large trays.
“The food’s here—!”
That shout snapped everyone back to attention. The relatives who had been cracking melon seeds and chatting idly all stopped talking at once. Their necks craned like a row of geese awaiting slaughter, their eyes practically glued to the trays.
Leading the charge was the dish that had everyone whispering with suspicion: “Nine-Turn Large Intestine.”
A large bowl of braised large intestine was placed heavily on the main table in the center. This table was reserved for the elders, with the most senior among them, Second Uncle, seated at the head, his tobacco pipe still emitting a wisp of smoke.
All eyes were fixed on that bowl.
There was none of the nauseating, gamey stench they had imagined. Instead, a rich aroma of meat, mixed with the sweetness of caramelized sugar and the depth of spices, wafted straight into their nostrils.
Each segment of the large intestine in the bowl stood upright, its color a glossy, date-red, coated in a thick sauce, looking as if it were carved from red agate. The concentric rings of texture hinted at a tender, trembling softness.
“This… this is pig intestine?” Second Uncle tapped his tobacco pipe against the table leg, his cloudy old eyes narrowing as he leaned forward.
In his seventy years, he had attended many feasts, but this was the first time he had seen offal prepared to look like braised pork.
Beside him, Second Aunt swallowed hard. She had been the loudest in her earlier complaints, and now her cravings were the fiercest. But she still had her pride to maintain. She pursed her lips and muttered sarcastically, “It looks impressive enough, but maybe it’s just loaded with sugar to mask the taste? If this stuff isn’t cleaned properly, one bite and it’s all…”
Before she could finish the word, Second Uncle cut her off with a tap of his chopsticks.
Though old, Second Uncle had to take the first bite. With trembling hands, he extended his red-lacquered chopsticks and picked the plumpest piece from the pile of date-red cylinders.
As he lifted it, the large intestine wobbled slightly on the tips of his chopsticks, trembling, with sauce dripping down in a thick, sticky strand.
The room fell silent. Even Tiedan, who had just been taken away by his grandmother next door, stopped crying and ran back to peek through the door crack.
Second Uncle opened his mouth and placed the piece of large intestine inside.
Chew.
The first bite: his teeth cut through the outer layer, producing an almost imperceptible, crisp “crunch.” It was the caramelized crispness of the skin, fried in oil and coated in sugar.
Next came the softness. The kind of tender, stewed softness that melted effortlessly with a gentle press of the tongue.
Finally, the burst of juice. The thoroughly cleaned fat inside the intestine, soaked in sauce, exploded instantly in his mouth. It was pure, savory richness, without a hint of off-flavor—just a mouthful of salty, sweet, and umami deliciousness.
As Second Uncle chewed, his movements slowed. His furrowed brows gradually relaxed, but his eyes grew wider and wider, until even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to stretch open.
“Gulp.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the piece of intestine.
“Good heavens!” Second Uncle slapped his thigh, his voice trembling. “This isn’t pig offal! It’s even tastier than pork belly! This is what they call… rich but not greasy! Damn, it’s delicious!”
That exclamation was like the starting gun of a race.
The relatives, who had long been unable to restrain themselves, lunged forward in a frenzy, their chopsticks reaching into the basin in unison.
Second Aunt, who had earlier been concerned about appearances and afraid of getting dirty, moved faster than anyone else. With one swift motion, she snatched two pieces and stuffed them into her mouth. The heat made her gasp, but she refused to spit it out.
The rich, savory flavor instantly filled her mouth. She completely forgot the sarcastic remarks she had made earlier, feeling as though she had never tasted anything so delicious in her entire life.
“Hey, hey! Save a piece for me!”
“Don’t grab! That’s mine!”
“Er Gouzi, you little rascal, I’ve been eyeing that biggest piece for ages!”
The once dignified Eight Immortals table instantly turned into a battlefield. The clinking of chopsticks against bowls and plates, the sounds of chewing, and the slurping of broth filled the air—even the excitement of dividing pork during the New Year had never been this lively.
Next, the stir-fried lung slices arrived.
As soon as the dish was placed on the table, its vibrant red color stole the show. Green garlic shoots contrasted with the purplish-red lung slices, all while emitting a pungent, spicy aroma.
After the earlier experience with the fatty intestines, no one doubted whether the lungs were edible anymore. Everyone’s appetites had been thoroughly whetted, and no one held back.
The lung slices offered a completely different taste sensation.
Tender! Smooth!
They were nothing like the tough, cottony texture everyone had imagined. The slices were so thin they were almost translucent, as smooth and tender as tofu yet with a satisfying crunch.
The most remarkable part was the spiciness. At first, it didn’t seem too intense, but after a few chews, the numbing heat from the dried chilies and Sichuan peppercorns, activated by the hot oil, surged straight to the forehead.
“Ah—ha—!”
For a moment, the entire courtyard was filled with the sound of people gasping for air.
Spicy! Truly spicy! Yet the spicier it was, the more they craved it, and the harder it became to stop.
Second Uncle was sweating profusely from the heat. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, poured himself another cup of homemade liquor, took a sip, and then picked up another piece of lung slice—pure bliss.
“Refreshing! This dish pairs perfectly with liquor, absolutely perfect!”
Qin Jianguo, squatting in the corner, watched the scene with slightly reddened eyes. Just moments ago, he had been so worried he felt like banging his head against the wall. Now, seeing everyone eating with such relish, their faces beaming with satisfaction, the heavy weight in his heart finally lifted.
“Gangzi, hurry! Bring more steamed buns for everyone!” Zhao Hongmei called out from the kitchen.
Qin Gang rushed out carrying two large sewing baskets filled with white flour steamed buns. In those days, white flour steamed buns were a luxury. Usually, families mixed in sweet potato flour, but today, they were made entirely from high-quality wheat flour.
“Come on, come on! Fresh, hot steamed buns!”
As soon as the buns were placed on the table, a new round of battle began.
By now, the dishes on the table were nearly finished. The basin of braised large intestines had been picked clean—even the star anise pods had been sucked dry three times over. Only a thick, reddish-brown sauce remained at the bottom.
A cousin sitting at the far end of the table, quick as lightning, grabbed a snow-white steamed bun, tore it open, pressed it into the bottom of the basin, and gave it a firm swipe.
The pristine white bun instantly soaked up the bright red sauce, becoming heavy and glistening with oil.
Without a care for appearances, the cousin took a big bite.
“Mmm!” He closed his eyes, his face filled with ecstasy. “This sauce-soaked bun—I wouldn’t trade it for immortality!”
The others watched, slapping their thighs in regret—why hadn’t they thought of that trick?
Thus, the remaining broth became a coveted delicacy. The spicy red oil broth from the stir-fried lung slices and the sour, spicy garlic sauce from the cucumber salad were all wiped clean by large steamed buns. The plates and bowls were so spotless they could reflect a person’s shadow, cleaner even than if a dog had licked them.