“This salt helps the lard keep longer. In winter, if you put it on the windowsill, it’ll still be good until spring,” she said as she spoke, pouring the rendered pork lard from a clay jar into a slightly larger oil container.
That container already held some chicken fat she had rendered earlier. Now, with the fresh lard added, it filled up to about two-thirds of the jar. It looked heavy, full, and especially comforting.
“My heavens! That’s almost half a jar, isn’t it?” Xu Ru leaned in to look, unable to stop herself from clicking her tongue. “Just from that little bit of offal, you got this much oil? We used to throw it away—what a heartbreaking waste!”
Sun Yanfeng also clicked her tongue repeatedly. “We really didn’t know any better before. We thought it was just dirty scraps. Now it looks like all of it can fill our stomachs! From now on, if we hear anyone throwing away offal, we must go pick it up. We can’t waste it anymore.”
Ye Mengyi sprinkled some salt-and-pepper over the crispy fried oil residue and handed it to them.
“Try it. It’s very fragrant.”
Xu Ru picked up a piece and bit down with a crunch. The rich aroma burst in her mouth.
“Oh my heavens! This is even better than meat! Meng girl, you really know how to live. In your hands, even the most useless things turn into treasure!”
On the stove, the jar of lard gradually solidified, taking on a snow-white sheen.
Sunlight slanted through the window and landed on the jar, making the thick layer of fat glow with a steady, reassuring light. Life, in that moment, felt just like this pot of slowly rendered lard—what seemed like useless scraps, if handled with care, could be refined into something warm and abundant.
In the pot, a small amount of oil was left from earlier rendering. Lu Qingshan squatted by the stove, using fire tongs to stir the firewood. The flames flared up, lighting his face in a warm red glow.
Ye Mengyi stood by the stove, tossing a small handful of white sugar into the pot. The grains melted under heat, turning into a light amber syrup. Tiny bubbles formed slowly, like a soft, dense cloud gathering in a pool.
“Watch the heat,” she said softly, stirring with a spatula. “When the bubbles thin out and become larger ones, it’s almost ready.”
Xu Ru and Sun Yanfeng stood nearby, staring unblinkingly into the pot.
Sure enough, the bubbles gradually changed—smaller, denser ones turned into larger ones. The syrup deepened in color until it became a translucent amber, and a slightly bitter caramel fragrance drifted out.
“It’s ready!” Ye Mengyi said, and immediately poured in half a bowl of cold water.
With a sharp “sizzle,” the caramelized sugar violently surged and steamed.
Once the water came to a boil, she added the cleaned pork intestines and other offal that had already been blanched. She tossed in a few smashed slices of ginger and added a splash of vinegar—no wine at home, but vinegar worked just as well to remove odor.
Finally, she added salt, covered the pot, and lowered the heat to let it simmer slowly.
Not long after the lid went on, wisps of fragrance began seeping out from the edges. At first there was a gentle sweetness from the caramel, mixed with the sharp aroma of ginger. Gradually, the rich scent of meat emerged, intertwining and spreading through the courtyard, drifting beyond the yard.
“My goodness, that smell!” Xu Ru sniffed deeply and laughed. “This is even better than New Year’s stewed meat! Meng girl’s skills really can’t be hidden anymore.”
Sun Yanfeng nodded, eyes fixed on the stove. “I’ve heard the elders say caramel can enhance flavor, but seeing it today—it really does. Just the smell alone makes you hungry.”
Lu Qingshan, sitting by the firepit, grinned widely. His movements became lighter as he added firewood, the fire poker tapping the stove rhythmically, almost like he was keeping time with the fragrance.
At that moment, Lu Qinghai peeked in through the courtyard gate, sniffing loudly as he rushed inside.
“Sister-in-law! When will it be ready!”
“Soon,” Ye Mengyi smiled, lifting the lid briefly. The broth was bubbling, coating the intestines in a glossy red-brown sheen.
“It still needs about half an hour to simmer fully so the flavor can soak in.”
“Then I’m waiting for it!” Lu Qinghai rubbed his hands together, pacing in circles. “I’m definitely eating extra bowls tonight. Just for this smell, missing even one bite would be a loss!”
The aroma drifted farther and farther.
At the old pagoda tree at the village entrance, people who had been chatting under the shade could no longer sit still.
Old Madam Ye, who had been speaking animatedly, suddenly caught a faint whiff of meat drifting from the east side of the village. She smacked her lips.
“Is someone stewing meat? Smells pretty good…”
Old Madam Sun waved her fan and sniffed hard. “Who’s cooking meat? It smells strangely good. I’ve never smelled anything like it before.”
The other women nodded in agreement.
“Yes, it’s sweet but not greasy. Definitely not ordinary stewed meat.”
One sharp-eyed person glanced toward the Lu family home. “Could it be the Lu family cooking? Did they stew the offal today?”
“Impossible, right?” someone said in disbelief. “That stuff can smell like this?”
While they talked, in the Lu household courtyard, the pot lid trembled slightly under the pressure of the rising aroma. Inside, the intestines slowly unfurled in the amber broth, each piece soaking up flavor to the core.
Lu Qingshan added one last handful of firewood. The flames steadied, gently licking the bottom of the pot, as if carefully simmering time itself into fragrance.
Soon after, the iron pot on the stove steamed loudly.
Ye Mengyi lifted the wooden lid, and a rich aroma of mixed grains and aged rice surged out.
She had steamed a blend of old rice and coarse grains. The grains had absorbed enough water, swollen fully, and the surface glistened with a thin layer of rice oil.
“Dinner’s ready!” she called out, lifting the pot down. Then she turned and fished out slices of braised pork intestines from the pot. The dark-red pieces glistened in amber sauce, dripping steadily as they were picked up—instantly whetting everyone’s appetite.
The children were already unable to sit still. Lu Qingyu stood on tiptoe, gripping the table edge, sniffing hard.
“So fragrant…”
Ye Mengyi smiled and served each child a full bowl of mixed-grain rice. On top, she placed neatly sliced braised intestines, ladled over two spoonfuls of thick sauce, and added a few pieces of bright green blanched vegetables at the side.
The colors—brown rice, red meat, green vegetables—were simple but incredibly appetizing.
“Eat slowly, everyone has some,” she said, giving the younger ones, like Lu Qingsong and Lu Qinglian, smaller portions. “This is oily food. Try a little first, don’t upset your stomach.”
In another pot, large bones were simmering with fresh mushrooms picked from the mountain. The broth had turned milky white, with a few golden oil droplets floating on top.
Ye Mengyi served everyone a bowl of soup. A sip of the hot broth warmed them from head to toe.
Lu Qinghai was already squatting on the doorstep, eating rapidly—one bite of rice, one bite of intestine, grease all over his mouth.
“So good! Too good!” he mumbled. “Sister-in-law, this is even better than meat!”
The Lu brothers—Dahe, Erhe, and the others—had no time to speak. They kept their heads down, shoveling food into their bowls, occasionally fighting over the braised intestines on the plate.