Suijiang, CHINA – As soon as my last dream ends, light from the window seeps into my eyes and there’s no turning back towards the land of nod. New ideas and things-to-do rush into my mind and I am wide awake. I love mornings. I love mornings especially if I have someone to share them with over a stroll, some breakfast, and a little shopping for lunch and dinner fixings.

My favorite part of the day begins with my team and Liu Ayi as we step into the bustling streets, dodging sanlunches (三轮车, motorized three-wheelers) and mianbaoches (面包车, minivans shaped like loaves of bread) and make our way to the market.

A lady sits peacefully, patting Yumi Ba (玉米粑) into little flying saucers stuffed with pork and yancai (salt preserved leafy vegetables). The yellow flour is made from ground corn.

Fried, filling, and delicious, this snack quells the morning beast in my stomach.

Much to my dismay, Yumi Ba will be one of the treats I must savor, as it cannot be found outside of Suijiang according to Liu Ayi. Striking conversation with several local ladies, I ask them if they make Yumi Ba and they scoff “It is too troublesome! Farmers make them and sell them in the market often, so no need to make it.”

Walking through the old market, tiled walls coated with grime, I am stunned by the vibrancy of radishes, Xue Pi Cai (Gyunura Crepidioides, 血皮菜), and dried chilies.

A lady sells to Liu Ayi Yang Sigua Jian (Loofah leaves, 洋丝瓜尖), chuckling with a raspy granny voice, cute and endearing. She could sell ice cream to Eskimos with her charm.

Get your noodles freshly made in the morning; thin or wide, wheat flour or rice. If you have time, step through the steamy threshold, find a seat, and slurp up a bowl of soup noodles.

During my market meandering, a grotesque scene of fowl slaughter held my curiosity. One lady slits the throat of a chicken while the other holds a goose staring at its fate. It was a picture only Caravaggio could master, but my camera did its best to challenge his violent legacy.

The meat aisle might allude to a scene from The Perfume. The stench of flesh is omnipresent and somewhere under one of the tables, an odorless Grenouille falls to earth.

Our butcher tugs a slab of ribs from the tree trunk hanging above and along with it drops beetles, bugs, and caterpillars disturbed from their feast. She simply brushes them off and chops the ribs to Liu Ayi’s requests.

After collecting our spoils, we treat what’s left of our appetite to an aromatic Dou Fu Hua (Bean Curd Flower, 豆腐花) garnished with scallions, chili flakes, MSG, and salt.

Liu Ayi has noted I can’t consume MSG, and has the shopkeeper bring me another saucer of garnish from the shelf.

Many Chinese people drink the water noodles or dumplings are boiled within. I’m not a fan of the bland starchy broth claimed to retain nutrients from what is boiled, but drinking the Dou Fu Hua broth, though mild in flavor, is slightly sweet with a clean taste lacking flour residue. I like it!

Our bags are heavy with meat and vegetables and our fingers pinch from the weight. A short walk to the Jinsha River shore and we board a boat owned and operated by Liu Ayi’s father. It takes us to the Sichuan shore in Pingshan for another lesson of favorite family recipes in China.

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