FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD
Twenty minutes after asking the staff at the Walden where I could find a hearty farmer’s lunch, I was being welcomed into the home of a jolly Dongshen village granny who merrily prepared us a meal of seasonal and locally grown vegetables, potatoes, and pork in her homey, farm-style kitchen overlooking a small vegetable patch. The home of our host was actually her shop, as the hospitable laolao’s kitchen was located at the back of a ramshackle local store. Upon entering, a wooden table was hastily erected amidst the jam-packed and colorful bazaar—carrying everything from traditional douli hats to battery-operated Xi Yangyang dolls—and soon filled with glasses of boiling tea, chopsticks, and the obligatory box of tissues.
As we sat awaiting our meal, doing our best to converse with the gaggle of curious family members and locals who sat down for a quick chat, our silver-haired hostess busied herself at the giant fixed-wok at the shop’s rear, in a small kitchenette that contained some lovely looking traditional Jiangnan-style cooking apparatuses. To fuel the fire, from time to time she fed dried shards of bamboo into a stove positioned below the wok, sitting atop what seemed like the world’s tiniest wooden stool. Beyond the kitchen, the vegetable patch was sprayed by a fine, cold winter drizzle as the brooding Deqing mountains glistened beyond.
As one might expect from such a modest scene, the meal served was simple and made from local ingredients: no fancy-pants fusion or bacon-and-egg-flavored ice cream, but honest fare that pleased our palates and sated our appetites. Between sips of local beer we feasted on a handful of colorful dishes that included green beans sautéed in garlic and chili, sprinkled with flecks of succulent pork; canary yellow scrambled egg fried with shallots, onion, and garlic; sliced bamboo sautéed with garlic and some kind of tangy, pickled vegetable (for what is Chinese cuisine without mystery?); and deliciously fluffy fried potatoes with shallots, garlic, and a little chili. The food was both hearty and nuanced, well-balanced in flavors, and the whole experience was enhanced by the surroundings and the experience as well as the preparation, which felt off-the-cuff and genuine. If food for the soul can be made, it is made in Jiangnan.
Joining us for dinner was a local huntsman named Mr. Shi, a man who spins yarns about his hunting exploits and culinary expertise. “Some people hunt for money,” he tells us as we gorge ourselves, “but I just hunt for sport.” Not short of confidence, Mr. Shi boasts without a hint of
modesty that he is the best hunter (and cook) in the village. “It’s true,” says our host with a wink. After dinner we stroll along the Panxi River’s peaceful banks in search of a pleasant place to sit.
Dongshen village is the kind of place that, before the concrete can dry, chickens and dogs leave their dainty footprints along the newly paved ground. As you wander around the village’s whitewashed streets, the outside world’s nagging concerns seem to melt away in the early evening breeze.
Along the river, a sheltered seating area is packed with locals playing Chinese chess and mahjong, or otherwise just chewing that fat. They eye their foreign guests with amusement and puzzlement in equal measure. As dusk falls, the sky is ripped open by patches of brilliant orange as a gaggle of boisterous ducks flap noisily down Panxi’s banks. Heading back to the hotel on foot, we paused at the river to drink in the ambience and reflect on the magic of Dongshen and on the marvelous feast we enjoyed courtesy of the welcoming, warmhearted locals.
Back at Walden, a man who, judging by his attire, appears to be an off-duty cop, prepares us a simple supper of fresh egg-and-tomato noodle soup. And when I say fresh I mean fresh: he made the noodles right there and then, allowing my curious children to get involved with the fun. Needless to say, by the time the noodles were ready, everyone was covered head-to-toe in flour, but it was well worth it to be treated to such an experience.
With your gut full of excellent Jiangnan cuisine, you’re going to need to work off some of that food. For early risers, a good bet is to start by taking a short car or cab ride to Dongshen’s old street, where there’s a lively market. The buildings here still contain historical details that speak to their cultural value. One of the most popular and timehonored breakfast joints along this stretch is a humble noodle place run by a jovial shirtless man wrapped in a yellowing apron. “My ancestors made noodles here,” he says, his face disappearing in plumes of hot steam that rise from the fresh noodles and fragrant broth below. “I do the same. Now sit down and eat!”
Opened in the 1930s, this nameless noodle bar does brisk business, and with food this good it’s not hard to see why. The noodles are served with fragrant seaweed and little else, barring the optional slug of vinegar or a dash of chili, and they are all the better for it. Most customers eat al fresco in the early morning sun, but a handful of patrons sit inside
beneath faded technicolor posters of Chairman Mao. Elsewhere on the street couples sit folding dumplings for the lunch-hour rush as grannies pick through piles of freshly plucked cabbage.
Another site worth visiting while in the area is the eerily quiet and quirky Zhenjue Temple (真觉寺), a place of worship hidden in a seldom-visited corner of Deqing. Here, monk Xingkong lives his days in relative solitude with only a pack of local dogs to keep him company. It’s probably the only temple in the province where the canine population outnumbers the monks. “Being alone gives me great pleasure,” he says as he gives us a tour of his own private Xanadu, dogs in tow. Xingkong came to the area 14 years ago and poured his life savings into building the temple. Humble but blessed with gorgeous surroundings, including a tidy vegetable garden and hidden hiking trails, the temple is a genuine oddity and a real labor of love for the resident monk and his gaggle of furry companions.
For those wanting a weekend getaway from the beeping and buzzing of one of the busiest metropolises in China, there is perhaps no better place than Deqing. From the rustic, livable ambience of the Walden and the local fare, to the noodles of old town and the monk followed by a pack of dogs, Deqing seems like a world apart.