Qiaojiao Beef

Qiaojiao Beef? Zhou Yan froze for a moment.

He was no stranger to this dish. Speaking of Suji's most famous cuisine in later years, none could compare to Qiaojiao Beef. It was not only a local specialty; even Chengdu had Qiaojiao Beef restaurants everywhere.

A lightly flavored soup pot paired with a dipping sauce had flourished throughout the Ba-Shu Region, which was enough to show how distinctive it was.

He had visited Suji in his previous life and had even interviewed two inheritors of Qiaojiao Beef's intangible cultural heritage.

Speaking of which, this dish had originated in Cattle-Slaughtering Zhou Village. Some said it had been invented by an ancestor of Old Zhou's family who slaughtered cattle, while others said it had been created by an old Chinese medicine practitioner from Zhou Village.

Two of his cousins were currently selling Qiaojiao Beef at the Qingyi River dock. When beef and offal were hard to sell, his mother would set up a stall too. It counted as a traditional family craft.

Of course, he did not know how to make it.

But he would very soon.

Most importantly, while others selling Qiaojiao Beef had to worry about where to get fresh ingredients, he could live off his father—his dad supplied them directly!

In the food service industry, ingredient supply was an extremely important link.

With Cattle-Slaughtering Zhou Village at his back, he did not have to worry about lacking beef or offal.

"What are you spacing out for?" Zhao Tieying waved a hand in front of his eyes.

"Nothing. There's no business anyway, so I'm going upstairs to lie down for a while. I got up too early this morning." Zhou Yan smiled and got up, heading for the stairs.

"Go on. I'll call you later." Zhao Tieying nodded.

The boy had gotten up early to buy groceries, cook toppings, knead dough, and pull noodles. He had to be exhausted. Before, he would whine and complain after doing even a little work, but these past two days, he had not made a single sound. He was starting to look like a man.

Zhou Yan went upstairs and shut the door before opening the Qiaojiao Beef recipe with a thought. A vast torrent of information flooded into his mind, leaving him stunned.

Three minutes later, clarity returned to Zhou Yan's eyes. With another thought, everything concerning Qiaojiao Beef had merged with his memories, as though he had mastered it all along.

If it sells well, it could be a pretty good source of growth, and it won't really affect noodle sales either, Zhou Yan pondered.

Although the Textile Factory had more than two thousand employees, few people would eat a bowl of noodles costing sixty cents every day. He would be satisfied with steadily selling a hundred bowls a day.

But he was not satisfied with earning only thirty or forty yuan a day. Noon and evening were both far too idle.

It was already late October, and the weather would gradually turn colder. At a time like this, a steaming pot of Qiaojiao Beef would become extremely appealing.

However, if he wanted to sell Qiaojiao Beef, he had to get the support of Comrade Old Zhou and Comrade Old Zhao.

"Zhou Momo is so adorable, and Zhou Yan is pretty interesting too." Xia Yao sat on the back seat of the bicycle with one arm around Meng Anhe's waist, smiling as she spoke.

"Polite and mature beyond his years. He is quite interesting." Meng Anhe smiled faintly too, then quickly added, "But the two of you may not be suitable for each other."

"Huh?" Xia Yao paused, then immediately understood what Meng Anhe meant. A blush appeared on her cheeks as she said anxiously in a low voice, "Auntie, what are you talking about?"

"I'm just giving you a warning. You can't fall for someone so casually, or your mother will tear me apart." Meng Anhe glanced back at her and said gently, "Zhou Yan saved you, so we'll be grateful to him and repay him. You don't need to feel burdened.

"After graduation, you'll be returning to Hangzhou. Four thousand li of mountains and rivers will separate you. He'll be running a restaurant in this small town, while you'll be working and living in Hangzhou. It'll be hard for you two to have any contact again."

"I know. Besides, I never even thought about that..." Xia Yao said helplessly. She had not thought of things that way at all. She simply found Zhou Momo adorable and Zhou Yan rather interesting.

"Then I was overthinking it." Meng Anhe smiled. "Tomorrow at noon, after we eat, I need to go to Chengdu. There's something at the design institute that needs handling. I'll drop you off in Jiazhou City on the way. The leave I got for you only lasts until tomorrow too."

"Okay," Xia Yao answered.

Around noon, when things had mostly settled down, Old Zhou rode his Twenty-Eight Bicycle to the shop. He held a colorful little pinwheel in his hand, spinning furiously in the wind.

When Zhou Momo spotted him from where she sat by the entrance, she skipped toward him, muttering, "Pinwheel!"

Zhou Miao stopped the bicycle and handed the pinwheel to Zhou Momo.

"Thank you, Daddy!" Zhou Momo cried happily. Holding the pinwheel, she ran around in front of the shop.

Zhou Miao stood nearby with his arms folded, his smile equally bright.

"He's completely obsessed with his daughter," Zhao Tieying complained to Zhou Yan inside the shop.

"Exactly. I never got to play with one." Zhou Yan nodded in deep agreement.

"You're already so old, and you still want to play with a pinwheel? Your skin's thicker than a city wall around the corner." Zhao Tieying laughed and patted his arm.

With no customers left in the shop, the family finally began lunch. They had cooked rice today, with a bowl of Braised Beef and a plate of Two-Pepper Minced Beef as dishes, along with a plate of pickled radish and stir-fried greens.

"Did all the meat sell out?" Zhao Tieying asked casually.

"The meat sold out. Zhou Jie took the offal to sell. He can move it with his soup pots." Zhou Miao took a mouthful of rice.

"That works. Better than letting it rot in our hands." Zhao Tieying nodded.

Listening to their conversation, Zhou Yan's heart stirred. "How's Brother Jie's Qiaojiao Beef business?"

"Not bad. The weather's about to get cold, so business should improve." Zhou Miao replied.

"Why don't we try selling Qiaojiao Beef too?" Zhou Yan took the opportunity to suggest it.

"If you want to sell it, we can give it a try..." Zhou Miao had not even finished speaking.

"Your noodle business has only just started picking up, and now you want to sell soup pots too?" Zhao Tieying frowned slightly. "Once the weather turns cold, soup pots will indeed sell better. But most people who eat beef offal are laborers from the docks. I sold it for a while during the winters these past two years, and I rarely saw Textile Factory workers coming to eat."

"That's right." Zhou Miao immediately nodded in agreement. "Zhou Jie and the others are only earning hard-earned money. If they can't sell it all, they still lose money."

Zhou Yan had expected their reaction. Smiling, he said, "When I was at the Factory Canteen, I learned a medicinal cuisine recipe. I plan to combine it with the soup pot. The resulting soup won't just taste fresher and better—it'll also have some medicinal benefits.

"And we won't call it soup pot anymore. At our shop, it'll be called Qiaojiao Beef. Our ancestors in Zhou Village invented this dish over a hundred years ago. There was even an old Chinese medicine practitioner who once sold Qiaojiao Beef from a stall and improved the recipe. That gives it both heritage and a story."

"That can work?" Zhao Tieying and Zhou Miao exchanged looks, both somewhat bewildered.

"Of course. If we want to charge more for soup pots and make workers fall in love with them too, we need to tell this dish a good story—from its historical origins and legends to its heritage system." Zhou Yan nodded confidently.

He had heard far too many brand stories while filming restaurant review videos, including those of Suji beef. He already had a rough idea of how to tell this brand's story well.

He was not good at cooking, but storytelling was his profession.

Adaptation was not fabrication. He was merely organizing and recounting the story so this dish could flourish earlier.

Zhao Tieying and Zhou Miao nodded thoughtfully. They did not understand these things, but since Zhou Yan said he had learned it at the Factory Canteen, it should not be wrong.

"Then when we slaughter cattle tomorrow, I'll save the offal for you," Zhou Miao said.

"You don't need to save all of it. Leave me an extra half jin of chuck flap, and keep some tripe, beef intestines, and beef tendon. Send the rest to Brother Jie. Tomorrow, we'll cook a pot first and see how it goes." Zhou Yan looked serious. "If we really start selling it, I plan to build a stove outside the entrance specifically for cooking Qiaojiao Beef. Once the aroma spreads, it'll work better than any GG."

"Sounds good." Zhou Miao nodded.

"Then tomorrow, I'll clean the offal you need by the river first," Zhao Tieying said.

"Then I'll have to trouble Comrade Zhao Tieying." Zhou Yan smiled.

The unconditional trust and support of Comrade Zhao Tieying and Comrade Zhou Miao deeply moved him.

Family, who understands? This was what having a family felt like!

In this life, he had to work hard and make money, repay the debts as soon as possible, ease his parents' burden, and let them live a good life.

Zhou Yan took some money and went out. The Qiaojiao Beef recipe he had received was the pinnacle version improved by later generations.

In 1984, an era short on material goods, most people were still striving simply to eat their fill. But some workers with stable jobs and decent incomes had gradually begun pursuing not merely fullness, but good food as well.

As people's standards of living kept rising, their demands for food quality would increase day by day. That was an objective law.

From adding spices to Qiaojiao Beef to remove gaminess, to adding Chinese medicine to enhance flavor, then nourishing the stomach, dispelling dampness and cold, replenishing deficiencies, and strengthening bones, all of it catered to diners' pursuit of better food.

There were countless stalls selling Qiaojiao Beef in Suji Town and along the Qingyi River. Ninety percent of them were run by people from Zhou Village, with fresh beef offal supplied every day. Their selling point was simple: cheap and filling.

If Zhou Yan wanted to sell Qiaojiao Beef at a higher price, he needed to differentiate it. He had to crush the competition in flavor, texture, and benefits, while also telling a good story.

He went to the two old Chinese medicine practitioners in town and bought small amounts of more than ten medicinal ingredients, including angelica root, long pepper, tsaoko, amomum, and sand ginger. Even so, it cost him 8.2 yuan.

First, there were many different ingredients. Second, proper medicinal herbs were expensive.

When Zhao Tieying saw Zhou Yan return carrying several kraft-paper packets of medicinal herbs, she asked in confusion, "Are you feeling unwell somewhere? Why did you buy so much medicine?"

"I'm fine. These herbs are going into the Qiaojiao Beef." Zhou Yan gave her a brief explanation.

Adding Chinese medicine to Qiaojiao Beef would enhance its flavor on the one hand, while giving it medicinal cuisine benefits on the other, thereby differentiating it from the Qiaojiao Beef sold elsewhere.

"You do need to add some herbs, but not this many, right? And herbs are expensive. People in our village sell soup pots too, but few of them really add them." Zhao Tieying frowned. "If you add them like this, I'm afraid you'll lose money."

"I won't lose money. I know what I'm doing." Zhou Yan was full of confidence.

They closed early that night. Ninety bowls of noodles sold out quickly, and Zhou Yan had to apologetically turn away several customers who wanted noodles, telling them to come earlier tomorrow.

After dinner, his parents took Zhou Momo home.

Zhou Yan soaked the dried bamboo shoots, made another jar of pickled radish, took a cold-water bath in the courtyard, and returned to his room early.

The room was tiny. A five-watt bulb barely illuminated it. The rough walls were covered in sheets of yellowed old newspaper. One pane of the glass window was broken and had been patched with newspaper and tape, but the edges had already curled up, letting wind pour in through the gaps.

The bed was just several wooden planks laid across two benches, uneven in height. The mattress was a thin, old cotton quilt, dark and grimy, passed down from who knew when. It was hard and uncomfortable to lie on.

His pillow was a Xinhua Dictionary, and his blanket was thin as well, offering no warmth at all. At night, he had to lay his coat over it before he could sleep.

A bamboo pole hung from ropes served as a wardrobe, with two shirts and two pairs of pants hanging from it. That was all he owned.

Describing the place as bare walls and nothing else would not be an exaggeration.

Little Zhou had been a good comrade. Every borrowed yuan had been spent where it mattered, and he had not enjoyed a single bit of it himself.

Zhou Yan had started his previous life as an orphan, so he was fairly capable of enduring hardship.

But he had not expected that after suffering through his own hardships, he would also have to suffer the hardships someone else had left behind.

What a sin!

Make money!

He was now overflowing with motivation.

Only by making money could he break free from these bare walls.

Once he made money, he would get himself a Simmons mattress! Make a thick new cotton quilt! Replace his pillow with a soft one! And fix that window!

No, no, no. His ambitions were still too low.

He should be thinking about a refrigerator, a television, and a washing machine!

His pursuit of a better life needed to be a little more ambitious.

The cash box sat by his bed. He opened it and began counting.

Today's income was 54 yuan. He had spent 15.3 yuan on meat and greens, and he still had 35.5 yuan left from yesterday. The cash in his hands had reached 74.2 yuan.

He had enough for tomorrow's rent. After paying it, he would still have some money left, which he could use to build the outdoor stove needed for Qiaojiao Beef.

There was also the fountain pen Xia Yao had given him. It still had ink inside, so Zhou Yan casually unscrewed it and recorded today's accounts.

It was an expensive imported item. Not only did it look exquisite, it really did write more smoothly than his ninety-cent Yongsheng 233 plastic pen.

But what had she been thinking, giving a fountain pen to a cook?

What a strange girl.

He tugged the pull cord by his bed. The tungsten filament bulb went dark, and Zhou Yan fell asleep instantly.

The exhaustion from a full day of work left him no time to think about all that messy nonsense. It felt as though he had simply passed out from fatigue.

Early the next morning, before dawn had broken, Master Zhou rode his Twenty-Eight Bicycle out to buy groceries.

Several lamps had been hung at Yankantou Slaughterhouse, barely lighting the yard. Several groups of cattle butchers were enthusiastically slaughtering cattle and cutting up meat.

"Zhou Yan!"

Just as Zhou Yan stopped his bicycle, a booming voice rang out behind him.

He turned at the sound and saw two burly men walking toward him, bloodied knives in hand.