On the second day of Chinese New Year, what I look forward to most is that taste of Mom's cooking
For a woman newly married, the first New Year's Eve is the hardest to get through.
And unfortunately, while the newlywed happiness is still wrapped all around you, you do not think about this day that is about to come, so there is not much mental preparation either, until New Year's Eve arrives very quickly.
I have always remembered that first New Year's Eve after moving into another family. When I saw the dishes on the table, I was deeply shaken: my parents' home, the dining table, was an important place where love and warmth were performed. That night, I was afraid that my voice on the phone would betray me and choke up, so I did not dare call home. Amid that table full of lively reunion, I thought of the dishes on our family's dining table; I thought of the charcoal fire my father had prepared under the wooden table. That New Year's Eve, although I showed a smile and ate that meal, in my heart I had long been so lonely that I wanted to rush home.
As soon as I got home on the second day of the New Year, I could let go of that sadness, and, full of steadiness and calm, I became happy in a solid way. My mother quietly asked me about the dishes of New Year's Eve the night before. She immediately saw through what was in my heart. The abundance on the table that second day was also my overflowing longing.
The second year, I began going into the kitchen to prepare the New Year dishes. It might look a little hard, but after battling through an afternoon, my body was tired, yet my heart was greatly satisfied. Because that table of dishes was a copy of my mother's flavors: on the platter there was jellyfish skin, fried cashews, a smooth and slippery cabbage and fish skin soup, and braised pork hock in tomato sauce. When I ate these dishes, I no longer felt so lonely and sad.
In my childhood impressions, because of poverty, there were not many chances for the whole family to travel out, and we rarely went out to restaurants. Whenever a festival came, my mother would begin arranging her menu in her mind. She would say: "This time shall I fry some lean pork, okay? And braised big pork cut, and do you want to eat cashews and beans?" It felt as if you could order the dishes you liked, and it was full of her ideas. When she asked the children like this, we could not stop the saliva from being drawn out, and we waited joyfully for the arrival of that day.
My mother first learned to cook from [Miyamoto Shokudo] at Houyi in Taichung. In the days when she lived next door to the eatery, the kitchen behind the house where my mother was connected to the eatery's kitchen, and she learned the eatery's signature dish, [glass steak]. In addition, the only big cookbook at home, [Chinese Cuisine] published by the Weichuan Home Economics Class, was also one she often leafed through. It contained many dishes she had once made and experimented with, and she could make each dish just by looking at it. Also, when she went out to eat at banquet tables, those dishes that passed her lips, she could go home, think about them, guess a little, and reproduce about ninety percent of their appearance. And of course there was also the craft inherited from my maternal grandmother; the fried meatballs from my grandmother's home are still a dish everyone never forgets.
My mother worked very hard in the kitchen varying these dishes, and even everything the children wanted to eat, she and my father could conjure up. If we wanted to eat breakfast from a shop outside, then early on a holiday morning she would get up to knead dough and make steamed buns and soy milk, truly conjuring up a soy milk and steamed bun breakfast. If we wanted to eat stinky tofu, she would go find a stinky tofu supplier, buy a big board, fry pot after pot, and grate cucumber over it so everyone could eat their fill. If we wanted to eat meatballs, she would test again and again, making meatballs she herself was proud of and that could rival those from a meatball shop. I also still remember the memory of her and my father working hard, taking turns beating eggs, wanting to bake a cake in a wok.
This love for food was only because in times of poverty it was exchanged with their own hands; because for a whole big family to go out and eat these foods would always cost a large sum of money, and that was something we could not afford. My mother always said that no matter how poor, one must not skimp on food. She did not waste money buying ingredients, nor did she go out to restaurants, but she often used her brains and her hands to transform them. Every festival in my memory is these memories of food on the dining table, year after year filling our stomachs abundantly.
Because of this, the dishes of New Year's Eve at home were usually the climax of the whole year. Even the tomato flower basket and the carved cucumber garnish around the edges came out, and the abundant dishes could make everyone look forward to them, bouncing with excitement, for a long time.
My mother's New Year's Eve dishes were very unusual. I remember the toast stuffed with egg, which had a very special fresh fragrance. It was made by spreading shrimp paste on crustless toast, then embedding half a salted egg yolk, and then deep-frying it. There were also cashews and beans; usually my mother had to fry twice the amount that went to the table, because before it was served, it would be stolen one by one until only half was left. The fried lean pork was slices of meat seasoned with five-spice powder, garlic, and pepper, coated in sweet potato starch and fried. It smelled wonderful, and you could eat many slices. Tomato fish was similar to a sweet-and-sour preparation. We all called it thoo-ma-tooh fish, which is the Japanese word for tomato. This was a dish made by cutting the middle section of grass carp into large slices, deep-frying them, and then coating them in tomato sauce. It was also my favorite dish; I loved the very thick fish belly mixed with a little green pepper and the fragrance of onion.
Jellyfish skin was also something I never tired of eating, along with the refreshing and delicious pork tripe soup....
In the years after growing up, some of the greasy dishes have been replaced by my mother's mood for variation. I will occasionally make these dishes at home, and if they do not turn out true to the original, I go home to ask her, and I can always get a few small tips.
Some of my mother's signature dishes I inherited. Then on another dining table I started the stove, letting these interesting dishes add to another house. I know that from each year's New Year dishes I have already seen what my parents' home gave me, and I too have begun varying the dishes that appear each year. This kind of New Year's Eve no longer needs to be sad, and after two days I can happily eat my mother's cooking on the second day of the New Year.
This year's second day of the New Year is something I am very much looking forward to, because my mother, just like when I was little, told me in advance the dishes she had conceived. Moreover, at everyone's request, she is going to remake the thoo-ma-tooh fish (tomato fish) that has not appeared for a long time. She secretly said: the key is to add a little chili sauce. Heh heh, so it was chili sauce. No wonder it did not taste greasy from the ketchup. Even when I follow that big cookbook, I did not see chili sauce in the recipe. This is also my mother's brilliance; she does not just cook by following recipes.
We, who are already entering middle age, especially always miss the dishes on the dining table from childhood. Never mind the calories! On the second day of the New Year, I am just going to eat my mother's flavors.
