“The Ultimate Flavor is Among People” (至味在人间, Zhìwèi zài rénjiān): a title as evocative as the dishes Chen Xiaoqing describes within. This collection of essays, penned by the director of the acclaimed documentary series A Bite of China (舌尖上的中国, Shéjiān shàng de Zhōngguó), isn’t just a cookbook or a restaurant guide; it’s a love letter to Chinese food, a nostalgic journey through memory, and a profound exploration of the emotional connections we forge with what we eat. For Americans unfamiliar with Chinese cuisine beyond takeout menus, this book offers an intimate and insightful glimpse into a world of culinary richness and tradition, where a simple bowl of noodles can evoke a lifetime of memories.
What makes “至味在人间” particularly compelling is its organic evolution from the digital realm to the printed page. Long before the book’s publication, these essays existed as blog posts, chronicling Chen’s personal musings on food over a decade. Shared on platforms like MSN Spaces and later on the influential Bullog (牛博网), these writings cultivated a devoted online following. Chen’s heartfelt stories resonated with readers who appreciated his down-to-earth approach and focus on the everyday food experiences that shape our lives. It’s this pre-existing online popularity, this “asking style” of presenting familiar content in a new format, that fueled much of the book’s initial buzz. Think of it like a beloved food blogger finally compiling their best recipes into a highly anticipated cookbook.
The subsequent success of A Bite of China, a documentary series that captivated audiences worldwide with its stunning visuals and exploration of China’s diverse culinary landscape, only served to amplify the book’s appeal. Chen’s name became synonymous with authentic Chinese food storytelling, creating a built-in audience eager to delve deeper into his culinary world. Published by Guangxi Normal University Press (广西师范大学出版社) in January 2016, ISBN 978-7-5495-7373-8, “至味在人间” quickly climbed the bestseller lists, cementing its place as a modern classic of Chinese food writing.
The book’s digital roots continue to play a significant role in its enduring popularity. On Dangdang (当当), one of China’s largest online book retailers, “至味在人间” boasts an impressive track record, with nearly 10,000 customer reviews and an average rating of close to 8 out of 10. This enthusiastic online reception speaks volumes about the book’s ability to connect with readers on a personal level. Scrolling through the reviews, you’ll find a chorus of praise for Chen’s evocative writing style, his knack for intertwining food with personal memories, and his celebration of the cultural identity embedded within every bite. Readers often comment on how Chen’s stories transport them back to their own childhoods, reminding them of the flavors and aromas that shaped their own culinary journeys. This powerful connection to shared experience is a key ingredient in the book’s success, forging a sense of community among readers who appreciate Chen’s unpretentious approach and celebration of the simple joys of eating. For an American audience, these online reviews offer a valuable window into the book’s cultural impact and a testament to its enduring appeal within China. They provide context and demonstrate the book’s significance beyond its pages, making it more than just a collection of essays, but a cultural touchstone.
Everyone’s Humble Delicacies: The Soul of Chinese Cuisine Lies in Simplicity
In “至味在人间,” Chen Xiaoqing doesn’t just take us on a culinary tour of China; he invites us into his personal memories, revealing how seemingly simple, everyday dishes hold a profound place in the Chinese heart. For Americans accustomed to a wider variety of cuisines and ingredients, this deep-rooted appreciation for the humble might seem surprising. But as Chen reveals through his evocative storytelling, understanding this connection is key to unlocking the essence of Chinese food culture.
One of the earliest and most potent food memories Chen shares in “一坛酱，四十年” (A Jar of Sauce, Forty Years) revolves around homemade sauce, a staple in many Chinese households. He describes the annual ritual of “捂酱” ( wǔ jiàng) – a meticulous process of fermenting soybeans that requires patience, precision, and an intimate understanding of nature’s rhythms. Imagine the humid summer air thick with the aroma of fermenting soybeans, laid out on bamboo trays and covered with fragrant mugwort to temper the pungent smell. This process, passed down through generations, wasn’t just about making a condiment; it was about preserving a tradition, connecting with the past, and creating a flavor that couldn’t be replicated in any factory. The resulting “酱豆” ( jiàng dòu), fermented soybeans swimming in a savory liquid, was more than just a sauce; it was the soul of countless meals, adding depth and umami to simple congee and steamed buns. Later, the “酱豆” would be dried, transforming into “盐豆” (yán dòu) – salty, savory nuggets perfect for crunching on with plain rice. These humble sauces were the unsung heroes of Chen’s childhood meals, a testament to the power of simple ingredients transformed through time and tradition.
This deep appreciation for simple, deeply flavorful ingredients is further highlighted in “荤腥的妄念” (Yearnings for Rich Flavors). Here, Chen explores the enduring allure of fatty meats for a generation that grew up during times of scarcity. He recounts his childhood visits to his grandmother’s village, where a single sliver of intensely salty cured pork fat (“腊肉,” làròu) was a precious treat, savored with every bite of plain rice. This intense longing for “荤腥” ( hūnxīng) – a term encompassing rich, savory, and often fatty flavors – reflects a deeply ingrained cultural memory of wanting what was once scarce and unattainable. For those who remember going hungry, a mouthful of fatty meat isn’t just about taste; it’s a reminder of abundance, a symbol of having overcome hardship. This yearning for “荤腥” might be difficult for Americans accustomed to a plentiful food supply to fully grasp, but it’s a crucial lens through which to understand the food preferences of an entire generation of Chinese people.
Finally, Chen delves into the heart of Chinese cuisine in “一切不能拌饭的菜都是耍流氓” (Any Dish that Can’t Be Mixed with Rice is a Hooligan), highlighting the importance of “下饭” (xiàfàn) – a dish’s ability to elevate and complement the enjoyment of staple foods like rice, noodles, or steamed buns. This concept is more than just a culinary preference; it’s a cornerstone of Chinese food culture, reflecting the practical need to make every bite of these precious staples as satisfying as possible. Chen uses a humorous anecdote from his colleague, a prominent Chinese media personality, to illustrate this point: “一切不能拌饭的菜都是耍流氓” – “Any dish that can’t be mixed with rice is a hooligan.” This playful statement encapsulates the central role rice and other staples play in Chinese cuisine. It’s not just about having a side of rice; it’s about creating a harmonious interplay of flavors, textures, and aromas, where every component contributes to a satisfying whole. Think of it like this: in Western cuisine, the main course is often the star, with sides playing a supporting role. But in Chinese cuisine, the staple food is the foundation, and every dish is designed to enhance its enjoyment.
These three essays, each focusing on seemingly simple ingredients and concepts, illuminate the profound depths of Chinese culinary culture. They reveal how history, memory, and practicality intertwine to shape culinary preferences, demonstrating how the most humble dishes can hold the greatest power to evoke emotions, connect generations, and define a culture’s relationship with food. For Americans venturing into the world of Chinese cuisine, understanding these foundational elements is crucial to appreciating the nuances and complexities that lie beyond the surface. It’s about seeing beyond the exotic and appreciating the profound impact of simplicity, the enduring power of memory, and the deep-rooted connection between food and identity that defines Chinese cuisine.
The Solitary Noodle Shop: Finding Comfort and Connection in Beijing’s Late-Night Culinary Landscape
While Beijing pulsates with a vibrant culinary scene, Chen Xiaoqing’s essays reveal a hidden truth: this energy isn’t evenly distributed. As anyone who’s worked late in the city’s western districts can attest, finding a decent meal past 10 pm can feel like navigating a culinary wasteland. But for a true “吃货” ( chīhuò, foodie) like Chen, this challenge is less a deterrent and more an invitation to uncover hidden gems and embrace the quiet solace of Beijing’s late-night food landscape.
In “一个人的面馆” (The Solitary Noodle Shop), Chen paints a vivid picture of this uneven culinary terrain. He describes the western districts as a “宵夜” ( xiāoyè, late-night snack) desert, where the only options are often bland, homogenous fast-food chains, like outposts of some culinary Siberia. He recounts with a mix of humor and resignation his experiences with these establishments, where promises of regional specialties like “老友粉” ( lǎoyǒu fěn, a spicy rice noodle soup from Southern China) turn out to be pale imitations, leaving him with a longing for the real deal. He even laments the lack of basic congee options, where essential ingredients like mung beans and lotus seeds mysteriously vanish from the menu, leaving him to contemplate the possibility of a world where even rice might be in short supply.
But Chen’s late-night culinary explorations are driven by more than just hunger; they’re a rebellion against the monotony of daily life. In a city that can often feel overwhelming, these solitary expeditions offer a sense of freedom and adventure. There’s a quiet thrill in traversing the deserted streets, seeking out a beacon of warmth in the form of a humble noodle shop, and embracing the unexpected encounters that these journeys often bring.
He writes about his preference for venturing beyond the familiar, braving the late-night commute to seek out havens like the “眉州东坡” ( Méizhōu Dōngpō) restaurant chain in the distant districts of “魏公村” ( Wèigōngcūn) and “石景山” ( Shíjǐngshān) – a journey that’s as much about the destination as it is about the escape. At “眉州东坡,” he finds solace in familiar Sichuan flavors, meticulously prepared even in the wee hours, and savors the comforting combination of a steaming bowl of “干绍面” ( gān shào miàn, dry noodles with sauce) and a side of “酒酿圆子” ( jiǔniàng yuánzi, glutinous rice balls in fermented rice wine). This ritual, repeated countless times, becomes a comforting anchor in the chaotic sea of city life.
But it’s at a nondescript establishment called “马华拉面” ( Mǎhuá Lāmiàn) that Chen discovers something more than just a satisfying meal. He stumbles upon this brightly lit oasis in the dead of night, drawn in by the warm glow emanating from its windows. Inside, he finds a scene that’s both familiar and unexpectedly comforting. A group of young people huddle around a table, their laughter and animated conversation filling the otherwise quiet space. They’re engaged in a game of “杀人游戏” ( shārén yóuxì, Mafia), a popular social deduction game, their camaraderie providing a sense of warmth and connection that transcends the language barrier. As he slurps down his bowl of “牛肉面” ( niúròu miàn, beef noodle soup), meticulously prepared by the smiling chef, he’s struck by the genuine hospitality of the staff, a rare find in a city known for its brusque service.
In “大隐于市” (Hidden Gems in the City), Chen delves into the concept of “潜伏菜” ( qiánfú cài, literally “hidden dishes”), highlighting the hidden culinary treasures that often lie tucked away in unexpected places. He writes about a small, unassuming Hunan restaurant hidden on the top floor of a nondescript guesthouse near his office. This secret culinary haven, run by a husband-and-wife team, becomes his refuge after long nights of work. He relishes the authentic flavors of their home-style Hunan cooking, the simple yet satisfying dishes like “小炒肉” ( xiǎo chǎo ròu, stir-fried pork with peppers) and “紫苏煎黄瓜” ( zǐsū jiān huángguā, pan-fried cucumber with perilla leaves), and the warm camaraderie he shares with the couple, who greet him with a friendly “掐狗的毛” ( qiā gǒu de máo, Hunan dialect for “Have you eaten?”). This discovery reinforces Chen’s belief that the best culinary experiences aren’t always found in the flashiest restaurants, but in the hidden corners of the city, where genuine hospitality and authentic flavors reign supreme.
For Chen, the search for a satisfying bowl of noodles isn’t just about filling his stomach; it’s about finding a sense of place and belonging in a city that can often feel alienating. In “面瓜” (Noodle Lover), he embraces his self-proclaimed “面瓜” ( miànguā, literally “noodle melon,” meaning a noodle lover) identity, describing his deep affection for all forms of noodles, from the hearty “兰州拉面” ( Lánzhōu lāmiàn, hand-pulled noodles from Lanzhou) to the delicate “上海阳春面” ( Shànghǎi yángchūn miàn, plain noodles from Shanghai). He reminisces about his student days, when a humble bowl of “延吉冷面” ( Yánjí lěngmiàn, cold noodles from Yanji, a Korean-Chinese city) at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the Forbidden City became his comfort food, its unique flavors a reminder of home in a city that felt worlds away.
These experiences, recounted with honesty and humor, paint a poignant picture of the solitary yet deeply satisfying nature of seeking out culinary comfort in a bustling metropolis. They speak to the universal human need for connection and belonging, and the way that food can transcend cultural boundaries and forge a sense of shared humanity, even in the most unexpected places. For those unfamiliar with the nuances of Chinese food culture, Chen’s essays offer a powerful reminder that a simple bowl of noodles can be more than just a meal; it can be a source of comfort, a portal to the past, and a bridge to unexpected connections.
The Flavor is in the Everyday: Honoring Tradition in a Changing Culinary Landscape
Beyond the bustling restaurants and meticulously crafted dishes, Chen Xiaoqing’s essays in “至味在人间” delve into a deeper culinary philosophy, one that champions the unsung heroes of Chinese cuisine: everyday ingredients and traditional techniques. He guides us through a world where true flavor lies not in expensive ingredients or fancy presentation, but in the heart and soul of home-style cooking, the “江湖菜” (jiānghú cài) of back alleys and family kitchens, where generations of culinary wisdom simmer in every pot.
This appreciation for the everyday is particularly evident in “至味在人间” (The Ultimate Flavor is in the Everyday), where Chen recounts a transformative culinary experience in post-earthquake Sichuan. He stumbles upon a humble roadside eatery called “三妹子酒家” ( Sān Mèizi Jiǔjiā, “Three Sisters Restaurant”), nestled amidst a bamboo grove. There are no menus, no fancy decor, just a gruff, mustachioed chef wielding a cleaver and a table laden with fresh, local ingredients. The simplicity is striking, yet the flavors are profound. A dish of “耙耙菜” (pápá cài, a type of pickled vegetable) and “老腊肉” ( lǎo làròu, aged cured pork belly) transport Chen back to a time when food was about sustenance, community, and the honest expression of local flavors. The “老腊肉,” intensely salty and smoky, embodies the essence of “江湖菜” – bold, unpretentious, and deeply satisfying. It’s a reminder that the most memorable meals aren’t always found in Michelin-starred restaurants, but in the unassuming corners of everyday life, where culinary traditions are preserved and celebrated.
This contrast between elaborate restaurant fare and the unadorned authenticity of home-style cooking is further explored in “潜伏菜” (Hidden Dishes). Here, Chen unveils the secret world of “潜伏菜,” dishes that often fly under the radar of restaurant menus, reserved for trusted regulars or those in the know. He describes his discovery of a clandestine Hunan restaurant, operating discreetly on the top floor of a nondescript guesthouse near his office. This hidden culinary haven, run by a husband-and-wife team, becomes his sanctuary after long nights of work. He relishes the authentic flavors of their home-style Hunan cooking – “小炒肉” ( xiǎo chǎo ròu, stir-fried pork with peppers) sizzling with chilies and garlic, “紫苏煎黄瓜” ( zǐsū jiān huángguā, pan-fried cucumber with perilla leaves) fragrant with herbs, and a hearty “腊排骨火锅” ( là páigǔ huǒguō, cured rib hot pot) simmering with warmth and spice. These “潜伏菜,” unburdened by the need to impress or cater to a wider audience, represent the soul of home cooking: unpretentious, deeply personal, and bursting with the flavors of tradition.
This appreciation for tradition extends beyond cooking styles to encompass individual dishes that embody a region’s culinary heritage. In “留住手艺” (Preserving Culinary Skills), Chen explores the enduring legacy of a dish that’s both beloved and reviled: “臭鳜鱼” (chòu guìyú, fermented mandarin fish). This pungent, umami-rich delicacy, a cornerstone of Anhui cuisine, challenges the uninitiated with its strong aroma, but rewards the adventurous with a symphony of complex flavors. Chen delves into the history of this unique dish, debunking romanticized origin stories and emphasizing its humble, folk origins. He traces its evolution from a simple preservation technique to a culinary icon, highlighting the meticulous process of fermentation that transforms fresh mandarin fish into a fragrant, flavorful masterpiece.
He contrasts the traditional, time-honored methods of preparing “臭鳜鱼,” with modern shortcuts that prioritize speed and convenience over depth of flavor. He laments the increasing use of pre-made marinades and quick-fix solutions that compromise the dish’s authenticity and complexity. This concern for preserving traditional techniques extends beyond a single dish to encompass the entire culinary landscape. Chen recognizes that the relentless pace of modernization and commercialization poses a threat to culinary heritage, and he advocates for a conscious effort to safeguard these traditions, ensuring that the flavors and techniques that define a culture’s cuisine are passed down to future generations.
For Chen, this preservation of culinary heritage goes beyond simply replicating recipes; it’s about understanding the cultural context, the stories, and the emotions that shape a dish’s identity. He emphasizes the importance of recognizing the human element in food – the hands that prepare it, the hearts that pour love into every step, and the communities that gather around the table to share a meal.
This appreciation for the human touch is also evident in his exploration of the dichotomy between “特色菜” ( tèsè cài, specialty dishes) and “口味菜” ( kǒuwèi cài, local favorites). While “特色菜” are often designed to appeal to a broader audience, catering to tourist expectations and emphasizing novelty over authenticity, “口味菜” represent the soul of a region’s cuisine – the dishes that locals crave, the flavors that evoke memories of home, and the culinary expressions that define a community’s identity.
In a world increasingly dominated by standardized, mass-produced food, Chen Xiaoqing’s essays remind us that true flavor resides in the everyday, in the humble ingredients and time-tested techniques that have sustained generations. They urge us to seek out the hidden culinary gems, to appreciate the artistry of traditional cooking, and to savor the stories and emotions that infuse every bite. For an American audience, unfamiliar with the depths of Chinese food culture, “至味在人间” offers a compelling invitation to explore beyond the familiar, to embrace the unexpected, and to discover the profound beauty of the everyday in a bowl of noodles, a jar of fermented soybeans, or a plate of pungent, umami-rich fish.
“至味在人间,” a phrase that beautifully captures the essence of Chen Xiaoqing’s culinary philosophy, reminds us that the most profound flavors are found not in exotic ingredients or Michelin-starred restaurants, but in the everyday moments we share with loved ones over a humble meal. It’s the taste of home-cooked sauces simmering on the stove, the satisfying crunch of a perfectly fried radish, the comforting warmth of a bowl of noodles on a cold night, and the joyous laughter that echoes around a table laden with shared dishes. These are the flavors that resonate deepest, that connect us to our past, and that define our understanding of what it means to belong.
This collection of essays serves as a potent reminder that food is more than just sustenance; it’s a language, a cultural tapestry, a window into the soul of a nation. Through Chen’s eyes, we see how history, memory, and individual experience shape culinary preferences, weaving together a rich narrative of Chinese food culture. We learn how a generation marked by scarcity developed a deep appreciation for “荤腥,” the rich, savory flavors that embody abundance and resilience. We discover the significance of “下饭,” the art of creating dishes that elevate the enjoyment of staple foods like rice and noodles, a concept that reveals the practical wisdom and deep respect for essential ingredients that underpin Chinese cuisine.
For American readers unfamiliar with the nuances of Chinese food culture, “至味在人间” offers a valuable opportunity to venture beyond the familiar, to challenge preconceived notions, and to embrace the unexpected. It’s an invitation to explore the bustling streets of Beijing in search of a late-night bowl of noodles, to discover the hidden culinary treasures tucked away in unassuming restaurants, and to savor the bold flavors of “江湖菜,” the home-style cooking that embodies the heart and soul of Chinese culinary tradition.
As you delve into these essays, prepare to have your senses awakened and your perception of Chinese cuisine transformed. You’ll find yourself transported to bustling street markets and quiet family kitchens, inhaling the aromas of sizzling spices and simmering broths, and experiencing the vibrant tapestry of flavors that define China’s diverse culinary landscape. But beyond the sensory delights, you’ll encounter a deeper narrative – one that explores the emotional connections we forge with food, the cultural memories embedded in every bite, and the enduring power of shared meals to connect us to our past, our communities, and our own humanity.
Whether you’re a seasoned foodie or a curious newcomer to Chinese cuisine, “至味在人间” is a journey worth taking. It’s a book to be savored, to be shared, and to be revisited, each time revealing new layers of meaning and deepening your appreciation for the profound beauty of Chinese food culture. It’s a testament to the power of storytelling, to the transformative nature of food, and to the universal human experience of finding comfort, connection, and joy in the simple act of sharing a meal. So, seek out this book, embark on your own culinary adventure, and discover for yourself why “the ultimate flavor is among people.”
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