Qiaojiao Beef

Qiaojiao Beef? Zhou Yan was slightly taken aback.

He was no stranger to this dish. Speaking of Suji's most famous delicacy in later years, none could rival Qiaojiao Beef. It was not merely a local specialty—even Chengdu was dotted with Qiaojiao Beef restaurants.

A light-flavored soup pot served with a dipping dish had blossomed everywhere across the Ba-Shu Region, which was enough to show how exceptional it was.

In his previous life, he had visited Suji and 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 old ancestor of the Old Zhou family who slaughtered cattle; others said it had been created by an old Chinese physician from Zhou Village.

Two of his cousins were currently selling Qiaojiao Beef at the Qingyi River docks. During seasons when beef and offal were hard to sell, his mother would also set up a stall. 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 how to obtain fresh ingredients, he could live off his parents—his dad supplied them directly!

In the food service industry, ingredient supply was a crucial link.

With Cattle-Slaughtering Zhou Village at his back, he did not need to worry at all about running out of 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 rose with a smile and headed for the stairs.

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

The boy had gotten up early to buy groceries, stir-fry toppings, knead dough, and pull noodles. He had to be exhausted. In the past, he would howl and groan after doing the slightest bit of work, yet these past two days, he had not made a sound. He was starting to look like a man.

Only after Zhou Yan went upstairs and closed the door did he open the Qiaojiao Beef recipe with a thought. A vast torrent of information poured into his mind, and he froze on the spot.

Three minutes later, clarity returned to Zhou Yan's eyes. With a shift of thought, everything about Qiaojiao Beef had already fused with his memories, as though he had always known it.

If it sells well, it could be a pretty good growth point, and it would barely affect noodle sales. Zhou Yan pondered inwardly.

Although the Textile Factory had over two thousand employees, few people would eat six-mao noodles every day. He would be satisfied with a steady sale of one 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 times like this, a steaming-hot pot of Qiaojiao Beef would become extremely enticing.

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

"Zhou Momo is so adorable, and Zhou Yan is quite interesting too." Xia Yao sat on the back seat of the bicycle, one arm around Meng Anhe's waist, speaking with a smile.

"Polite and mature beyond his years. He is quite interesting." Meng Anhe smiled slightly as well, then quickly added, "But you two might not be suitable for each other."

"Huh?" Xia Yao froze for a moment, then immediately understood what Meng Anhe meant. A flush 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 mustn't fall for someone so casually, or your mother will tear me apart with her bare hands." Meng Anhe looked back at her and said gently, "Zhou Yan saved you. We'll be grateful to him and repay him, so you don't need to feel burdened.

After you graduate, you'll be returning to Hangzhou. Four thousand li of mountains and rivers will lie between you. He'll be opening a restaurant in this little town, while you'll work and live in Hangzhou. It'll be hard for you two to have any contact again."

"I know. Besides, I never even had that kind of idea..." Xia Yao said helplessly. She had never thought of things in that direction. She simply found Zhou Momo adorable and Zhou Yan rather interesting.

"Then consider me overly worried." Meng Anhe smiled. "Tomorrow afternoon, after lunch, I'm heading to Chengdu. There are some matters at the design institute that need handling. I'll drop you off in Jiazhou City on the way. The leave I got for you only lasts through tomorrow."

"Okay," Xia Yao answered.

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

When Zhou Momo, who was sitting by the entrance, saw him, she bounced up and down as she ran toward him, muttering, "Pinwheel!"

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

"Thank you, Daddy!" Zhou Momo cried happily. Clutching the pinwheel, she began running around in front of the shop.

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

"He's completely wrapped around his daughter's little finger." Inside the shop, Zhao Tieying complained to Zhou Yan.

"Exactly. I don't even get to play with it." Zhou Yan nodded in deep agreement.

"You're already this old and still want to play with a pinwheel? Your face is 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 small plate of pickled radish and a stir-fried green vegetable.

"Has all the meat been sold?" Zhao Tieying asked casually.

"The meat's sold out. Zhou Jie took the offal to sell—he sells soup pots, so he can move it." Zhou Miao scooped up a mouthful of rice.

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

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

"Passable. The weather's about to turn cold, so business should get better." Zhou Miao replied.

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

"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 gets cold, soup pots will indeed sell better. But most people who eat beef offal are laborers working down at the docks. I sold it for a while during winter these past two years, and I rarely saw Textile Factory workers coming to eat."

"Exactly." Zhou Miao immediately nodded in agreement. "Zhou Jie and the others are only earning hard-earned money. When they can't sell it, they even lose money."

Zhou Yan had already anticipated their reaction. Smiling, he said, "When I was at the Factory Canteen, I learned a medicinal cuisine dish. I plan to combine it with the soup pot. That way, the soup won't just taste fresher and better—it'll also have certain medicinal properties.

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

"That works too?" Zhao Tieying and Zhou Miao exchanged glances, both looking a little bewildered.

"Of course. If we want to sell soup pots at a higher price and make the workers love them too, we need to give this dish a good story—from tracing its historical roots and allusions to its lineage of inheritance." Zhou Yan nodded confidently.

He had heard too many brand stories while filming food-review videos, including those about Suji beef, so he already had a rough idea of how to tell this brand story well.

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

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

Zhao Tieying and Zhou Miao nodded thoughtfully. They did not understand such matters, 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. Save me an extra half jin of chuck flap, and keep some tripe, beef intestines, and beef tendon. Send the rest to Brother Jie. Tomorrow, let's first cook up a pot and see." Zhou Yan looked serious. "If we're really going to sell it, I plan to build a stove outside the entrance specifically for cooking Qiaojiao Beef. Once the aroma drifts out, it'll work better than any advertisement."

"Sounds good." Zhou Miao nodded.

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

"Then Comrade Zhao Tieying, I'll have to trouble you." Zhou Yan said with a smile.

Comrade Zhao Tieying and Comrade Zhou Miao's unconditional trust and support moved him deeply.

Family, who understands? This was what it felt like to have family!

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

Zhou Yan tucked some money into his pocket and went out. The Qiaojiao Beef recipe he had received was the peak, improved version from later generations.

In 1984, an era of material scarcity, most people were still striving simply to eat their fill. Yet some workers with steady jobs and decent incomes had gradually begun pursuing not only fullness, but good food as well.

As people's living standards continued to rise, their demands for food quality would steadily increase. That was an objective law.

From adding spices to Qiaojiao Beef to remove gaminess, to adding Chinese herbs for flavor, then to nourishing the stomach, dispelling dampness and cold, replenishing deficiency, and strengthening bones—this was all a reflection of catering to diners' desire to eat well.

Suji Town and the banks of the Qingyi River were filled with stalls selling Qiaojiao Beef. Ninety percent of them were run by people from Zhou Village, with fresh offal supplied every day, their main selling point being cheap prices and generous portions.

If Zhou Yan wanted to sell Qiaojiao Beef at a higher price, he had to create differentiation. He had to deliver a dimensionality-reduction strike in flavor, texture, and efficacy, and he also had to tell a good story.

At the two old Chinese physicians' shops in town, he weighed out more than ten medicinal herbs, including angelica dahurica, long pepper, tsaoko, amomum, and sand ginger. He did not buy much of each, but it still cost him 8.2 yuan.

First, there were many varieties. Second, qualified Chinese herbs really were expensive.

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

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

Adding Chinese herbs to Qiaojiao Beef would, first, enhance its flavor, and second, increase its medicinal cuisine benefits, thereby setting it apart from other shops' Qiaojiao Beef.

"Some Chinese herbs should be added, but not this many, right? And Chinese herbs are expensive. Even when people from our village sell soup pots, few really add them." Zhao Tieying frowned. "If you add them like this, I'm afraid you'll lose money."

"I won't. I know what I'm doing." Zhou Yan was brimming with confidence.

They finished work early that evening. Ninety bowls of noodles sold out quickly, and Zhou Yan apologetically turned away several customers who wanted noodles, telling them to come earlier tomorrow.

After dinner, his parents took Zhou Momo home with them.

Zhou Yan soaked the dried bamboo shoots, made another jar of pickled radish, rinsed himself with cold water in the courtyard, and returned to his room early.

The room was tiny. A five-watt light bulb barely illuminated it. The rough walls were plastered with yellowing old newspapers, while one pane of the glass window was broken and patched with newspaper and tape. Its edges had already curled up, and wind poured into the room through the cracks.

The bed consisted of several wooden boards laid across two long benches, uneven in height. The mattress was a thin old cotton quilt, blackened with age, who knew from what year it had been passed down. Lying on it was hard and painfully lumpy.

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

A bamboo pole hung from ropes counted as his wardrobe. Two shirts and two pairs of trousers hanging from it were all his worldly possessions.

Calling it a home with four bare walls would not have been an exaggeration in the slightest.

Little Zhou had been a good comrade. Every yuan he borrowed had gone toward something essential; he had not enjoyed even a bit of it himself.

Zhou Yan had started his previous life as an orphan, so he could be considered someone quite capable of enduring hardship.

But he had not expected that after enduring his own hardship, he would still have to endure the hardship left behind by someone else.

What a sin!

Make money!

He was now filled with motivation.

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

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

No, no, no. His aspirations were still far too low.

He should be aiming for a refrigerator, a television, and a washing machine!

His pursuit of a better life ought to be a little more advanced.

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

Today's income was 54 yuan. Buying meat and green vegetables had cost 15.3 yuan. With yesterday's remaining balance of 35.5 yuan, the cash in his hands had reached 74.2 yuan.

He now had the rent due tomorrow. After paying it, he would still have some money left, which he could use to expand the outdoor stove needed for Qiaojiao Beef.

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

It was an expensive imported item. Not only was it exquisitely made, it truly wrote more smoothly than his nine-mao Yongsheng 233 plastic-barreled pen.

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

She really was a strange girl.

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

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

Early the next morning, before the sky had even brightened, Master Little Zhou rode his Twenty-Eight Bicycle out to buy groceries.

Several lamps at Yankantou Slaughterhouse barely lit up the yard, where several groups of cattle butchers were slaughtering cattle and dividing the meat in full swing.

"Zhou Yan!"

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

He turned at the sound and saw two burly men walking toward him, each carrying a bloodstained knife.