Steamed Pork Spareribs, Papaya Braised Chicken and a family fish farm

Gāomíng, CHINA — Leaving Beijing at sub-zero temperatures, I thought surely I could pack for warmer weather in Guǎngdōng; I was wrong. I greet our new friend Xiǎoēn, hoping that despite government provided heating reserved for homes north of the Yangtze, her home might thaw out my toes. On our way to her house, I mention my weakness for húntún miàn (馄饨面, wonton noodle soup) and Xiǎoēn decides to make a pit stop at the family favorite noodle shop to introduce me to a local special — làifěn (濑粉, Rice Noodle Soup).

Xiǎoēn recommends that I try yú ròu làifěn (鱼肉濑粉, fish rice noodle soup). Chewy rice noodles topped with yú ròu (鱼肉, a variety of fish cake made from fish skin), peanuts, shredded Ginger, and preserved vegetables. Every texture in the bowl comes with a distinct flavor. Xiǎoēn adds that a bowl of làifěn seals deals for Hong Kong businessmen before leaving Gāomíng. Once a year, on a date that suits city officials, one street is lined with chefs cooking up their special làifěn recipe. Làifěn is also the meal of choice for all Gāomíng birthday celebrations because in Chinese tradition as well as my mom’s in the Philippines, eating noodles invites Cháng Shòu (长寿, long life). Xiǎoēn’s father, Zhāng Shifu, rings her mobile, waiting outside to take us to their home for the family favorite recipes lesson.

The flat is bright and spacious! Xiǎoēn’s mother Ōu Ayi and brother Xiǎoqiáng rustle in the kitchen, preparing the ingredients. Xiǎoēn, 26, shows me how to make four dishes with the help of her mother, brother and some pointers from her father.

Xiǎoēn slices a ripe papaya and parts tǔjī (土鸡, free-range chicken) for the soup, mùguā dùn jī (木瓜炖鸡, papaya braised chicken). I ask Xiǎoēn when she learned to cook and she explains how both her parents worked when she was little, so from age 10 she learned how to cook for the family — her first dish was fried rice. Gǒuqǐ (枸杞, Wolfberry) and dǎngxīn (党心) are added to the soup; medicinal ingredients clearing heat from the body. Papaya, according to Chinese medicine, is good for the complexion.

Xiǎoqiáng’s wife Yínhuán, takes a lunch break from work to join the family effort. She makes the tiáoliào (调料, condiment) of cilantro, scallion, and ginger finely chopped then doused with a dash of hot oil. It is served with the soup as a dipping sauce for the chicken and papaya. After chicken and papaya make their way to everyone’s bowls, the family adds xīyáng cài (西洋菜, Watercress) and yóumàicài (油麦菜, Chinese Lettuce) to the soup huǒ guō (火锅, hotpot) style.

I realize what luck I have struck as today I get to learn how to cook one of my favorites — qīng zhēng páigǔ (清蒸排骨, steamed pork ribs). I also discover a new treat — suānméi jiàng (酸梅酱, sour plum sauce). As I tasted it, Xiǎoēn warned it might be too sour, but if there is any such thing as a “sour tooth,” I might be an example.

Xiǎoqiáng enters the kitchen donning a protective glove on his left hand and a pink apron made by his wife. From the sink he pulls out the live guì yú (桂鱼, Mandarin fish) raised on his father’s fish farm nearby. The fish isn’t smacked unconscious before Xiǎoqiáng scales, guts, and cleans it. I watch as Xiǎoqiáng snips the gills and the fish twitches.

Qīng zhēng guìhuā yú (清蒸桂花鱼, steamed Mandarin fish) is a simple dish made special because the fish is fresh, giving it a natural sweetness. As the fish was placed into the wok, it flipped one last time! This is how fresh Guangdong people like their food. The fish is steamed whole with ginger and scallions then garnished with hot oil, soy sauce, and cilantro.

Steamed for 30 minutes then topped with a sauce, yáozhù rǎng jiéguā (瑶柱攘节瓜, steamed hairy gourd stuffed with dried scallops) creates an impressive addition to the family lunch.

Every one in the family had a hand in preparation of today’s meal. Sitting at the Zhang family’s table gave me strong memories of a book my parents read to me as a child, The Little Red Hen.

After lunch, Xiǎoqiáng and Xiǎoēn take us to their father’s fish farm. Guì yú, raised on the farm, is ordered mostly for banquets.

Along the banks of the fish farm the family grows vegetables, some of which were served during today’s meal. Xiǎoēn confirms my assumption that the vegetables are organic.

Giving me a try at catching fish, I dredge the bottom of the pond and fetch four! This day has turned into the ultimate family recipe lesson! It is always a rewarding experience to know where my food comes from; I’m not into mystery food.

The Zhāng family lives within a neighborhood populated mostly by other Zhāng relatives. Xiǎoqiáng and Xiǎoēn take us to the location where only the Zhāng family celebrates special events. Only a few weeks prior to our visit, Xiǎoqiáng married his wife at this building.

A short tour through the little village takes us past homes belonging to relatives that left the town long ago for Hong Kong. The homes remain uninhabited. We stop by the home Zhāng Shifu and Ōu Ayi first lived in as newly weds.

I leave Gāomíng with a strong impression of the Zhāng family. This is a family that depends on each other and the land that brought forth many generations of Zhāng family members. Xiǎoēn presents me with a parting gift, a new apron just like the one her brother wore while cleaning the fish. Pride is evident in the smiles of Xiǎoēn’s family. They are happy and seem to not want for anything as they have each other and the land that provides. Most of us live far from our families and depend wholly on supermarkets to provide us with food. The Zhāng family reminds us that bonds within a community and to the earth are blessings. At the end of the day, it feels good to dine with family and know where the food comes from.

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