共產檔
MISH - MASH
Link: http://bigchickinchina.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-hate-jiaozi.html
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
I Hate Jiaozi
When I was a newbie here, I was invited to people's homes for dinner a lot. It was incredibly sweet, especially as nobody had a whole lot of anything back then. It's harder then hell to cook a lot when all you have is a single gas-burner, and I do deeply appreciate the effort people put into the shopping, cooking, cleaning, and supervision of dumb white guests. However, and this is a big however, sometime around 1995, someone decided the proper food for dumb white guests was jiaozi, and the entertainment for the evening should be making jiaozi.
So picture this: you're invited to dinner, and you get there, and you find everyone grinning like apes. Why? Because you have to help make dinner. They wheel out a barrel of flour. For the first time ever, you notice flat uncluttered surfaces in a Chinese house. And then the hideous process begins: someone begins to mix flour with warm water and the stretching, pounding, roping and strippling begins. That's just to make the dough. The protein in the flour has to be developed into ropey gluten so the dough can be stretched. Ugh. This is a long long process and if you offer to help---being a hell of a great strudel maker--everyone will laugh at you and tell you how YOU don't know ANYTHING about jiaozi.
This is pretty much the crux of the matter. Even if you shoot pasta out your ass without trying, everone will assure you that you don't know squat. So you sit through the tedious process of beating the tar out of the dough. Then you sit through the resting period. Someone brings you a cup of tea. You're famished, and consider eating the cup. While this is happening, you hope for snacks: alas, none, as no one wants to take the edge off that first bite of jiaozi goodness. You'd think someone would take this opportunity to mix up the filling and let the flavors blend a bit but no, everyone sits around and stares at you, the pet foreigner. Pictures may be taken. Someone whom you have never seen before may come over for their promised English lesson. Oh, didn't the host tell you? He's studying for an important exam and you are going to teach him what he needs to know for the test. You've never heard of the test and in your coversation with the student you discover that if he passes this test, he's going to the UK as a lecturer in economics, and yet his English is on the "I am happy meet you Dear Friend" level. If that. At one point he refers to Milton as a "bourgeous proletariat revolutionary" and you try not to bean him with your empty cup. Very empty cup. So now you're hungry AND thirsty. Can it get worse?
But wait, it does. They are now pinching out bits of dough, then rolling them with little rolling pins that look like fat cigars. The rolling pins are dandy and might do well for that pie you were thinking of baking--mmmm, pie---but then you discover, as they roll on, and on, and on, that they intend to make over 2,000 jiaozi that very night, so they have PLENTY to give to visitors during Spring Festival (Chinese New Year) and that every last one will be filled, stuffed, folded, and sealed shut that very evening before the first go into the pot to be cooked.
You wait, drooling, while 2,000 tiny wonton wrappers are rolled out before your eyes. Then the host comments on how he needs to put on his coat and buy the meat for the filling. "It's better fresh," he tells you as he heads out the door. So now you wait while the host tries to find an open butcher shop---it's now about a quarter past eight--and you wait, and wait, and wait, until he returns, triumphant, a sack of ground meat in his hand. Oh god, it's pork, and you are about to have pork-and-ginger jiaozi. The pork is dumped into a big wooden bowl. Ingredients--chopped ginger, and a LOT of salt--are tipped in. Now the humiliation begins. Before you can say "trichinosis" someone hands you a circle of dough, a teaspoon with raw pork, and instructs you to fold the dumpling up exactly the way they did. Having grown up with Czech great-aunts who taught you a thing or two about noodles, you make a respectable little dumpling. Everyone stares at you as if you just took dump in the jiaozi mix then bursts into laughter. Your dumpling is passed around so they can see HOW STUPID you are, you can't even fold a jiaozi! You notice, however, that EVERYONE'S jiaozi are folded in different ways but you keep silent as you think at this point if you talk you'll kill someone. Your feeble attempts at making jiaozi are put to the side, as they wouldn't want to hurt a real guest's feelings by serving them defective jiaozi. Someone seeing your disconsolate face (really, it's just hunger) tells you to cheer up because "Your bad jiaozi will open up and spill the content so no good for guests, you know we will cook them just for you and you eat and you will know what is good jiaozi." You want to say screw you all but can't, because it's not good manners and these people DID invite you over, even if they wrested a damn English lesson out of you, not to mention a photo op...You look up and notice with dismay that several of the family members are taking pictures of themselves wearing your discarded coat: they are showing how slim they are, and how they can wrap the coat around themselves with room to spare. My, so now they're mocking your clothes, your tastes, and the size of your ass. Fortunately, you are too weak with hunger to pick up a stool and brain Lao Tai Tai, the grandmother of the group who is showing that she can wrap your coat around herself twice, so you stay where you are and fold, fold, fold, even though each dumpling--lovely to your eye, firm, even, well-packed--gives rise to much merriment at your expense. But it's ok, as foreigners don't have feelings and don't mind being mocked as they are too stupid to know what is subtle.
Finally, someone thinks to put the pots on to boil, and two batches go in: theirs, the supposedly "pefect" jiaozi, and yours, the defects. They rise to the surface and the smell is, well, awful, as you loathe pork and ginger but know you can't leave until the meal is over, at which time everyone will charge to the door en masse. You'd also like to pee, but it's your first time in this home and it's kind of bad manners to use the toilet the first time in...it's warm, which is nice, but only from the steam and the amount of people packed in a tiny space. The smell of unwashed bits, damp wool, and Chinese herbal remedies is almost, but not quite, obscured by the smell of ripe boiled pork.
Finally, FINALLY, with much fanfare, the dumplings are fished out and ladled into bowls. Different types of vinegar are offered, black Chunking vinegar which you love but makes you vomit, millet vinegar from Shaanxi, which is your personal favorite, rice vinegar from the South. There are other condiments--a dish of picked peppers, for example, but you douse your dumplings in millet vinegar and then you notice something. Your dumplings are perfect: each one has held together perfectly, while the others--well, hee hee hee, most have split open and vomited their contents into the boiling broth. The dumpling which had a little coin inserted into it---like a Three Kings Cake only largely inedible--has split as well and the coin is nowhere to be found. Hee hee hee. The guests mutter among themselves as they fish through the broth trying to find the meat and ginger filling: without it, they're mostly sucking down limp noodle casing. It is a dim triumph, because you, sadly, now have stuffed dumplings, plump and proud, each filled with a mixture of chopped ginger, ground pork, and a not insignificant amount of chopped bone, gristle, and tendon. What can I say--the quality of meat back then was suspect at best, and hungry people eat what they can get. You are gagging each one down, partly out of hunger, and partly out of manners. You offer some of your plump beauties to other guests who shudder at their ugliness. Why? Why are they considered so ugly? They are symmetrical, nicely folded and crimped, and they didn't fucking fall apart while boiled. Why are they considered so horrible?
The answer is clear: because you, a foreigner, made them.
When the meal is over, the guests charge out the door. By the time you get back to your building, the front gate is locked. You manage to alert the sleeping security guard and he lets you in, but the elevator is locked, as the person who is allowed to run it has gone to bed at 11. You walk up 12 flights of stairs and fling yourself down on your bed, noticing as you do so that it's almost two a.m. and worse, you're still hungry. The next day in Chinese class you will yawn, a lot, and your stupid foreigner advisor will scold you for not having done your homework and tell you that you should, for the sake of your Chinese, hang out with the locals more often.
Translated by（翻譯）：王大發財
你們管這東西叫餛飩，我呢就叫餃子，我不管是煮餃子、凍餃子、剛做的餃子還是煎餃子，我討厭餃子。
我剛來中國那會兒，經常被人請到家裏吃飯。感覺很溫馨，一想到大家那時候條件都不是很好，隻有一個單眼爐灶，又要做很多菜，那難度簡直了。大家買菜做菜燒菜洗碗還要輔導傻逼白人怎麽吃，我很感謝主人家。但是，1995年的時候吧，有人覺得，傻逼白人應該吃餃子才對啊！於是當晚的娛樂節目就成了包餃子。
請想象如下畫麵：你被人請去吃晚飯，好，你到了，在場所有人笑得和猩猩一樣狡黠。為什麽？原因是你也要搭把手做晚飯。他們取出了麵粉袋子，這是你第一次在中國人的家裏看到一張平坦又整齊的台麵。可怕的事情開始了：這時候有個人開始用溫水倒進麵粉裏攪拌混合，然後又是拉又是摔，又是拉成一根繩，然後又扯成一坨坨。這還隻是做麵皮。要達到能夠拉扯的地步，麵粉裏的蛋白質一定要被揉成繩狀麵筋才行。呃。整個過程無比的漫長，你要是搭把手吧，大家都要嘲笑你，告訴你餃子不是這麽做應該怎麽怎麽做。
就是這點讓我很不爽，就算你不費吹灰之力拉出了一坨麵團，所有人還是認為你連蹲都不會蹲。所以雖然揍麵團的過程很乏味，你隻能耐著性子看。好，休息階段結束，有人給你端了一杯茶。這個時候你要餓死了，連茶杯都想吃掉。總應該有點零食什麽的吧：沒有，什麽都沒有，大家都等著吃第一口餃子。你覺得應該有人呈做麵皮的機會拌餡了吧？沒有，所有人都圍著你坐著眼巴巴看著你，你就是個寵物，外國來的。想象一下，你從來沒見過的人走過來讓你給他上英語課。難道主人沒告訴你？他要參加一個重要的考試，你呢就要負責把考試裏所有的考點交給他。你們聊天提到的這個考試你根本就沒聽說過，聊著聊著你發現你的學生隻要通過考試就準備去英國教經濟學，這家夥的英語水平還停留在【I am happy meet you Dear Friend】的水平。他說米爾頓是資產階級-無產階級改革者，你努力克製自己不用手裏的空茶杯敲他。茶杯裏啥都沒了。你現在又渴又餓。你覺得大概這就是最慘了吧？
等等，最慘的還沒來。他們開始揪麵團，揪成一坨坨，用小小的擀麵杖擀成粗雪茄的樣子。擀麵杖看著很不錯，讓你想到烤餡餅，誰知他們不但沒停，反而一直擀啊擀啊，那晚上他們居然想做2000多個餃子，這樣春節期間才能有足夠的餃子招待客人，在第一隻餃子下鍋之前，所有的2000多隻餃子都要填餡、包好、封口。
你一邊等一邊吞口水，眼睜睜看著2000個小餛飩皮在你眼前被擀好。這時候主人發話了，他穿好衣服要出門買餡。出門的時候，還不忘告訴你：“新鮮的才好。”主人出門找還開門的肉店了，你繼續等待——已經八點過十五分了，你還在等啊等啊等啊等，主人得意洋洋地回來，手裏提著一包豬肉餡。天哪，居然是豬肉，馬上吃的居然是豬肉生薑餃子。豬肉被倒進一個大木碗裏，調料有薑末、很多很多鹽。
現在你就要開始丟臉了，你還沒把“旋毛蟲病”這幾個字說出口，就有人遞給你一塊圓麵皮，上麵還有一勺生豬肉，開始教你如何完全按照他們的步驟折餃子。幸虧你和捷克的祖姨媽一起長大，學過一點麵食製作的你還是包出了很不錯的小餃子。大家都看著你，就好像你包進去的是垃圾，最後爆發出一陣歡笑。你包出來的餃子被每個人傳看，讓大家都看看你有多傻逼，你居然連包餃子都不會！這時候你發現所有人包餃子的方法都和你不一樣，但是你保持安靜，因為你知道如果這個時候開口，你會殺人。你包餃子的嚐試可恥地失敗了，大家也不願意你包的殘餃讓真正的客人吃到不爽。有個人看到了你悶悶不樂的樣子(其實完全是被餓的)，這人讓你不要難過，高興點，因為“你包的爛餃子開口露餡，這樣對客人不體麵，我們會專門為你煮餃子，你吃過就知道什麽是好餃子。”你想說去你們他媽的，但是你說不出來，因為這樣做不禮貌，別人畢竟邀請你過來做客，就算從你這裏騙了一堂英語課，還給你拍了照……拍照？我擦這家人的幾個親戚正穿著你脫下來的外套自拍：套上你的外套他們顯得如此苗條，衣服的其它地方還空蕩蕩的。天啊，這幫人開始嘲諷你的衣服和品位了，居然還諷刺你長了個大屁股。這家人的祖母正在炫耀你的衣服能在她身上裹兩圈，你已經餓得虛脫，否則你肯定會找一把板凳，朝這老太太腦袋上狠狠敲去。你就坐在那裏，蜷縮著，蜷縮著，蜷縮著，看著眼前一隻隻餃子被包的漂漂亮亮的，看著大家拿你尋開心。但是這樣做沒有關係，外國人是沒有感情的，也不介意被人嘲笑，因為我們笨啊，偷偷嘲諷我們是發現不了的。
最後有人建議應該下鍋開煮了，於是下了兩批餃子：一批是他們包的完美餃子，一批是我包的殘餃子。餃子煮著浮了起來，那味道聞起來太惡心了，你最討厭豬肉和生薑了，但是你又不能中途離開，吃完飯才能走。你還想尿尿，但是你第一次來人家家裏就要用廁所又不太禮貌。廁所很暖和，這點不錯，可都是房間裏的蒸汽和小小的空間裏那麽多人造成的。沒洗過的東西、濕潤的毛衣、還有中草藥補品的味道幾乎都被煮熟的豬肉味道給蓋住了。
終於，終於餃子出鍋裝碗，各種醋，你喜歡吃但是讓你作嘔的重慶醋、你最喜歡的陝西的小米醋、南方的米醋。配料還有一碟子剁辣椒，你選擇了小米醋，這時候你發現你做的餃子還不賴，居然個個都沒漏。其它的大多數都破了，餡漏的到處都是，混進了湯裏。有個餃子裏麵放了硬幣，結果這個餃子開口了，硬幣也找不到。客人們一個個交頭接耳，在湯裏麵撈來撈去找肉餡：沒了肉餡的餃子就成了麵皮。這無疑是個小小的勝利，因為你畢竟成功包好了餃子，個頭飽滿拿得出手的餃子，每個裏麵包的都是薑末和豬肉，還有不少碎掉的骨頭、軟骨和筋膜。你發現所有人都不說話了，一部分原因是因為餓了，一部分原因是出於禮貌。客人們對於自己的醜餃子表示震驚，你把自己做的豐滿好看的餃子給了一些他們。為什麽當初他們覺得你包的餃子很難看？這些餃子形狀對稱，折疊整齊褶子好看，而且最關鍵的是不會他媽的一煮就爛。為什麽這些人覺得我包的餃子就這麽糟糕？
答案很明顯，因為你是外國人。
吃完飯後，客人們湧向了門口。回到自己的住處，大門已經被鎖。保安已經睡去，你把他叫醒，他把你放了進去，但是電梯又鎖了，負責電梯的人11點就回去睡覺了，你隻能爬上12樓，躺上床發現已經是淩晨兩點，你又餓了。第二天上中文課的你哈欠連連，你那個蠢兮兮的外國人顧問罵你怎麽沒有做家庭作業，還告訴你如果要鍛煉你的中文，就應該多接觸當地人。
