"I'll give you a plate. Pick up whatever you like with the chopsticks inside."
"What is this? It's marinated in red sauce and looks like ripped chicken. It also looks a bit like a tree root."
Holding a piece of pickled vegetables with chopsticks, I asked them what it was.
"Dog treasure pickles"
"To Laki" (pronounced similarly)
"This thing is called Goubao Xiancai in Northeast China, and we call it Dao Laji in Korean."
Uncle Li explained to her, Jiang Cha nodded repeatedly, and picked out several kinds from the jar.
A table had been set up on the kang in the room, and the steaming hot meals were ready, along with the side dishes she had picked, filling the table.
The bowl in front of her was already filled with rice, and chopsticks were placed to her right, next to it was a bowl of soybean paste soup. There was also stewed pork ribs with potatoes and stir-fried pork with kimchi. The chef was very skilled and the food smelled delicious.
"Uncle Li, why does this soup taste weird? It's a little smelly."
With his left hand placed underneath, he took a sip of kimchi with a spoon, then used chopsticks to pick up a mouthful of rice. He then took a sip of soybean paste soup and waited for him to finish.
"Soup made with soybean paste is like this. If you've never had it, it'll seem a bit stinky, but you'll get used to it. If you haven't had it in a while, you'll miss it."
Jiang Cha listened to him, took a sip from the bowl, and drank it bit by bit with a frown. He quickly picked up the rice and slurped it with the vegetables, using the taste of kimchi to suppress it.
"Uncle Li, you said the Chao clan is quite amazing. They can make so many kinds of pickles."
What can you expect from a pile of pickles? You've gone to great lengths to pretend you're seeing something for the first time, and you're still surprised when you take a bite.
Uncle Li, switching back and forth between his spoon and chopsticks, sat cross-legged, smiling happily. He even looked a little proud, as if he had found a close friend with whom he could share delicious pickles.
After dinner, I drank the barley tea provided by the boss and ate the rice cakes on the plate. I listened to the two of them talking very fast, but I couldn't understand what they were saying, and I only caught a few words.
He looked at them with circles in his eyes, mumbling something, not understanding anything.
"How is it? The food is pretty good, right?"
When I asked her with my hands in my pockets what she would say about the meal, she wanted to say that it would be great if it were braised pork bones or stewed pork belly, but she insisted on adding pickles and kept praising it after eating. Was it because I was afraid that she was too picky?
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