By Ming Qiancha

At a night market next to Pozi Food Street in Changsha City,every tourist,including me,is tempted to visit Brother Yan’s Stinky Tofu stall.

The intricate mixture of umami aroma,deep-fried smell,and the odor from the stinky tofu are hotly pursued by tourists in every direction.Besides,Brother Yan is keen and quick in his cooking.Be it mild or extra hot,salty or umami,he can skillfully flavor six or seven bowls of stinky tofu at the same time without messing up even one bowl,while counting out loud the amount of money customers pay him,and the change he gives back to them.

While holding a cell phone between his ear and shoulder,he is busy calling out to a frequent customer over the phone,“How can you be so lousy to waste my stinky tofu? You know clearly that three feet away from the frying wok,the temper and flavor of the deep-fried tofu will be lost.Listen up,you lazy bone! I don’t have time for your nonsense.Can’t you just move your behind and take a few steps downstairs? A few steps will do!”

After hanging up in a huff,Brother Yan talks to himself,“Let’s see which one is more attractive,your Mahjong table or my stinky tofu?”

The proud look on his face is so amusing.But of course,Brother Yan has a reason for such a demeanor,because his stinky tofu is always in short supply.

When Brother Yan was working in Guangdong at the age of 23,he lost his right hand in an accident,and all that remained was a bare wrist.Speaking of the past,Brother Yan made no attempt to conceal his weakness.

“For a month or so,I barely had anything to eat or drink,and whenever I thought about the difficulties of the future,I couldn’t hold back my tears.At these moments,my mother cried together with me.She cried so hard that she started losing her eyesight and couldn’t even see the eye of a needle clearly.As soon as she told me about her blurred eyesight,I stopped crying.I had already been ungrateful for being a burden to my family.If I didn’t pull myself together,my mom could end up depressed,or even cry herself blind.If she lost her job as an embroider,how could our family earn a living? It was back in 2016,and the internet was far less developed than it is today.The road ahead was too narrow for someone with only one hand like me.Luckily,my master was willing to share with me his secret recipe of making fermented brine.”

在长沙坡子街旁边的小巷夜市里，像我这样的游客很难不被岩哥的臭豆腐摊位吸引。

让人闻风而至的鲜香与焦香、臭香杂陈，难以形容；加上岩哥手脚麻利，一面唱收唱付，一面给六七碗臭豆腐同时调味，要猛辣还是微辣，咸鲜还是本鲜，没有一碗会搞错。

他歪头夹着手机，对老熟客高喊：“哪有你这般糟践臭豆腐的崽？明知离锅三尺远，臭豆腐那爆香爆臭的脾气就歇了噻，你就那么懒？我告诉你，我没空理睬你，你就下楼走几步，走几步……不就来了嘛。”气呼呼挂上电话，岩哥还自言自语：“我倒要看看，你的牌桌斗不斗得过我的臭豆腐锅。”

那模样，既傲娇，又自满，让人忍俊不禁。是的，岩哥有理由这般骄傲，他的臭豆腐供不应求。

23 岁那年，岩哥在广东打工，出事故失去了右手掌，只剩下光秃秃的右手腕。说起往事，他倒也毫不掩饰自己的软弱：

“就有一个月的功夫，不怎么吃喝，想起未来的艰难，就哭一场。我娘陪哭，哭到看不清绣针上的针鼻儿。她一说视力模糊，我就收了眼泪。出这么大事故，带累爹娘本已不孝，如果我从此活得很丧，害得我娘也抑郁恍惚，哭坏眼睛不能再做绣娘，我家里靠啥过日子？那是16年前的事，那会儿网络还没有如今发达，少了一只手，路好窄。好在我师傅愿意教我发酵臭卤水的窍门……”

有的吃客调皮，追问发酵卤水的奥秘，岩哥笑道：“我家的秘方，好多年前我就写下来当定情信物。如今，收在我老婆的百宝箱里呢，你去跟她要。”

When some nosy customer asked him about the trick of his brine,Brother Yan smiled,“I wrote down the secret recipe on a piece of paper many years ago,and gave it to my wife as a token of love.Now the note is locked in her treasure box.Why don’t you go and ask her?”

Upon hearing it,Sister Yan said with a smile,“That’s true.Back then,he had just learned to write with his left hand,and was so proud of himself.So,he wrote down the modified brine recipe and gave it to me.”

“The brine formula is a symbol of my love,which is fuller than the moon on a Mid-autumn day.If I pissed her off someday,and she took away the formula to run her own stinky tofu shop,I couldn’t even hold a candle to her.So,I have to be nice to her.That is my only way out,” Brother Yan said.

At that time,Sister Yan twisted off the cap of a tea bottle,and urged him to take a sip.Brother Yan took the chance to tease himself,“Look! Sister Yan can help me twist open bottles,or wring out wet towels.Before meeting her,I could only wear slip-ons.Now you see what I’m wearing...”

Brother Yan reached out one foot,proudly showing his laced high-top sneaker to the onlookers.Seeing that his caring wife looked after him and even tied shoelaces for him every day,we could easily feel the close bond and deep affection between the couple.

While appreciating the stinky tofu that was soft inside and crispy outside,a customer asked Sister Yan,“Did your parents support your relationship with Brother Yan back in those days?”

“Of course not.But I choose him for his honesty in doing business.He only uses best quality fermented soybeans,winter bamboo shoots,and mushrooms.Although my parents were displeased with me going out with him,I quoted a saying in Changsha dialect,‘You won’t know if the chili is hot or not until you try it yourself,’ and suggested that they pretend to be strangers and buy two skewers of stinky tofu from his stall,so they can see how he treats other people and make a reasonable decision.”

After Sister Yan’s parents finished their stinky tofu,they immediately went to book an upstairs seat facing Brother Yan’s stall at the tea house across the street,and kept an eye on his every movement.

From sunset to moonrise,they saw that Brother Yan was neither humble nor overbearing to his customers,and that he deftly used one hand to control the oil temperature,blend tofu dressings,and lift cartons of marinated bean curd.Besides,he repeatedly advised every customer,“Take care not to burn yourself.Bite off a tiny corner and blow on the inside first.” Although being handicapped,the professional skill that he mastered had made his face glow with pride and confidence the whole time.

When Sister Yan’s parents went back home that day,they immediately sent out two bottles of Maotai Liquor that had been preserved for a decade to Brother Yan.“According to the folklore,adding 150 grams of Maotai liquor into a vat of brine will get rid of all the harmful bacteria and give it a wonderful fragrance.You can have a try,” Sister Yan’s father said.

(FromRead,Enjoy,Relish,February 2021.Translation:Zhu Yaguang)

旁边的岩嫂笑着回应：“这是真的。