Suíjiāng, CHINA — As I walk to the corner where my team and I will set off in a sanlunche (motorized three-wheeled taxi), I look around me in awe; all of these buildings will be submerged under water after the Xiàngjiābà Dam is complete. While the people of Suíjiāng wait for their modern amenities, their present homes crumble into decline and things in need of repair beg for more than duct tape solutions. There is a charm to the decay that only I can swoon over given my temporary stay. I know I couldn’t wait as patiently for proper plumbing and fully operating fixtures; never has there been charm in my restlessness.

I woke up this morning with a slightly sore throat and certainty that I would soon be sick. After three days of train travel, little rest, and bobbing through different climates, my not so sunny disposition came at no surprise. I stopped by the hospital for a little T.L.C. from our host then continued on my way to the home of Liú (刘).

Liú Shushu received us cheerfully. His wife and daughter would join later.

Liú Shushu’s sister Liú Ayi sat at a table with her husband, prepping thin, white, segmented rooty stems for the family lunch. I asked what it was and being a doctor in Chinese medicine, Liú Ayi enlightened me. Yú Xīng Cǎo (鱼腥草, Houttuynia) possesses healing properties for cold sufferers like myself. After helping her pick off the stringy roots and snapping them into one inch pieces, she combined a handful of Yú Xīng Cǎo with a thumb of ginger and boiled a tea to alleviate my throat’s discomfort.

Feeling armed with the powers of Chinese herbal medicine, I entered the kitchen where Liu Shushu was in mid-process of the first dish, Cuì Pí Yú (脆皮鱼, Crispy Skin Fish), coating two Carps in a chili corn starch paste. I asked him to slow down for me as I needed to learn exactly how to prepare his dishes. Liú Shushu slowed his instruction so much as to wait one minute before hurtling my attention into the next dish. Doped up on med’s and being Mandarin challenged didn’t help my mood.

I looked around the kitchen and came to the realization that there was more than just a cooking lesson taking place. We were in the midst of a family gathering and Liú Shushu was multitasking. Family would arrive for lunch and judging by the spread from the day before, Liú Shushu was juggling expectations of many.

After deep frying one fish, Liú Shushu mixed the Sichuan senses of color and spice into a sauce. No sooner had the melange coated the fish, peppers crackled in oil and the air was fumigated with sinus burning chili particles. Liú Shushu had started a new recipe lesson and I had yet to give the fish a photo shoot!

We were quite the scene! The heat of the kitchen wafting with chili, occupied every space Liú Shushu and I held on reserve for tolerance and patience. I stole a moment to notice yellow pickled peppers I’d only been accustomed to having with pizza in the states. These peppers are called Xiǎo Mǐ Là (小米辣, Capsicum frutescens), but known to many of us as the Tabasco Pepper. As quickly as the ingredients for Niú Ròu Sī chǎo Qīng Cài (牛肉丝炒青菜, Stir-fried Beef with Pickled Peppers and Vegetables) hit the wok, it was time for the next act.

Boiled and drained kidney beans tossed with scallions and sour pickled vegetables may not look or sound promising, but this hearty mix of Suān Cài Chǎo Hóng Dòu (酸菜炒红豆, Red Bean Fried with Pickled Mustard Greens) is not quite mush. Bean magic scaled Jack up a beanstalk. Not only do kidney beans lead to the demise of giants, they also assist in metabolizing fats and they’ve been known to throw potential for cancer off its tracks. I’ll vouch for my favorite part of this unassuming dish – it’s comfortingly delicious!

After the kitchen inferno, family arrived and we sat at feast number two within two days of arrival in Suijiang. My head was buzzing while every family member played gracious hosts. Liú Shushu’s wife, Wú Ayi and daughter Liú Lù arrived and sat at my end of the table. Wu Ayi seemed to take an interest in marveling me with each dish. Her long drawn Sichuan intonations endeared me to her quickly and from any eye in the room, one might conclude we became best friends. Food and laughter were our common ground.

After a full meal with relatives and foreign friends, where does the party go? Why, the plum orchard, of course! As time passes, fewer places like this must exist, thus fewer people will know this experience. I haven’t had fruit this easy since I lived with my parents and took for granted the bounty of their garden. We walked into the orchard and ate plums off the trees. The owners of the orchard charge for peanuts, playing cards, drinks, and any stir fry favorite you and your local buds are craving. This was the pace of the day I waited for and longed to wallow in if it weren’t for the mauling mosquitoes.

Twilight sets and I feel I’ve pushed my limit. There may be no way to turn my cold around. In my mind, I beg for rest and a moment to reset my taste buds for any meal of magnificence to follow. I learn that several family members have taken leave from work in order to help host new friends from afar. How can I refuse? I feel beat and my sinuses are congested. Everyone knows I am sick so why the constant coaxing? I fear expressing disrespect if I bow out from tomorrow’s tour of Mahu (Ma Lake). I’m not well versed in Chinese etiquette, so where is the guideline that advises what to do in my predicament? I insist I must rest tonight before tomorrow’s retreat. But, what is this? One more event for the day? Our hosts, Jie and her husband are cooking for… the entire family!

I sat for a bowl of soup and attempted one spicy salted rib that Liú Ayi’s chopsticks snatched from my bowl, advising the salt was bad for my throat. There’s my cue to resign for the day and hope the Yú Xīng Cǎo works its magic.

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