Reflections on a Bowl of Lamb Noodle Soup
Back then in Dali, there was a rare sense of leisure and tranquility.
Every day, I returned to my lodging with the starlight, and woke up in the sunshine filtering through sheer curtains.
Opening my eyes, it was a brand new day. I stretched my muscles and jumped up, quickly washing and getting dressed, and would invariably go to a nearby noodle shop for a bowl of mutton noodles.
The little shop was run by a couple from Guizhou. Although it was small, it was clean and refreshing.
The shop opened at 7 am every morning, and a string of copper wind chimes hung by the door, producing a pleasant 'dong dong dang dang' sound in the gentle breeze, like an enthusiastic invitation to passersby to come in and drink a bowl of steaming mutton soup to dispel the chill of a night's rain and make the morning pleasantly cool.
Inside, there were four large rectangular tables, sparsely occupied by a few customers. I went directly to the table at the back and just happened to coincide with the boss delivering a bowl of crossed noodles to the neighboring table. Shortly after, he brought me my usual order, a bowl of mutton noodles with soup.
The white, rich soup contained slippery noodles, topped with sprigs of green cilantro and scallions, slices of mutton interspersed throughout. The aroma of mutton soup mingled with cilantro was irresistible, opening my appetite and making my fingers twitch.
I remember Liang Shihui writing about roasting mutton in his 'Talk About Eating in a Manor House',
'Large chunks of fatty mutton were put in a pot to simmer until cooked, then taken out, allowed to dry slightly, and fried in a hot oil pan until golden brown, then returned to the pot with sauce to simmer until dark black. Such mutton was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, not greasy.'
Although this little shop couldn't compare to the authentic mutton shops in Beijing, its mutton soup, simmered overnight in the south, was incredibly flavorful. Pouring this soup over noodles made them far more delicious than ordinary noodles. A plate of crispy, thinly sliced pickled cucumbers would make it even more exquisite.
After Liang Shihui left Beijing, he talked about roasting mutton with a friend, causing the friend to 'exclaim with excitement, drooling' and immediately take action to 'comfort oneself with a hearty laugh'.
Some say: People eat in order to live; People live not to eat.
I thought, in the myriad aspects of life, flowers bloom in countless ways, and the world is therefore full of vibrant colors. Life is therefore filled with many beautiful feelings. As long as we recognize the big and small, don't lose sight of the big picture, and don't just become 'people who eat,' other things should also be considered a form of life's enjoyment, of course.
I recommend Liang Shihui's 'Talk About Eating in a Manor House' to you; Every dish in his writing becomes vivid and interesting. I truly feel that he created a culture through eating.
