I washed the pot, and then poured most of the lard into it.
When frying fish, you must be generous with the amount of oil; otherwise, the fish will not be intact and the bones will not be fried until crispy.
The temperature of lard is not as high as that of vegetable oil, so I waited a little longer until the lard in the pot started to smoke before I put some fish in.
There was definitely not enough time to fry all the fish at once, so I found a banana leaf, laid it on the ground as a plate, and put all the fried fish on it.
After frying the fish until it was almost done, I set aside some fresh fish. Although the Lantern Festival has long passed, I still wanted to make some dumplings since I had the ingredients on hand.
There are two kinds of dumpling fillings: one is bird meat filling, which I have chopped into minced meat, bones and all, from the prepared heron; the other is fish filling.
Making fish filling is a bit more troublesome. These small fish have some fine bones, and if they are not handled properly, it will not only affect the taste, but also pose a risk of getting fish bones stuck in your throat.
However, this is not a problem for me, coming from a family of fishermen.
I took out a small piece of purplish-red wood, a cutting board I brought from my hometown, which is perfect for processing such delicate ingredients.
The small fish first needs to be split in half along its back, and then finely sliced into thin pieces. Fish prepared this way is safe for both adults and children to eat.
The fish bones are chopped up along with the slices, so there's no need to worry about getting a fish bone stuck in your throat.
The sliced fish cannot be used directly, otherwise the dumplings will have a strong fishy smell and be inedible.
I left a small amount of lard in the pan, and after the oil was hot, I stir-fried the fish fillets until the moisture evaporated. Once they started to smell fragrant, I removed them and used them as filling.
In our area, we call this kind of dumpling with fish filling dumplings. In the 1970s and 80s, when families were poor and couldn't afford pork, we used this method to make dumplings.
After preparing the filling, you still need to make the dumpling wrappers.
By this time, Top had already washed all the taro and carried them back in a basket. After I peeled off all the taro skins, I took out a small basin made of gold.
After slicing all the taro into pieces, mash it into a paste and put it into a bowl. At this point, fill the bowl halfway with water and stir constantly.
The white starch began to float in the water, and the water turned milky white.
At this point, I need to take out another tool of mine, a sieve I woven from fine bamboo strips back in my hometown, used to skim off foam.
I filtered out all the coarse fiber from the taro using a sieve, and what was left was a relatively fine starch.
This starch isn't even the finest kind, but it's already a luxury in this wilderness.
The prepared starch cannot be used to knead dough yet, as it has no stickiness and needs to be processed before it can be used as dough.
Taro starch has a characteristic similar to glutinous rice: it becomes sticky when heated.
I heated a small portion of taro starch in a pot, and to improve its texture and viscosity, I also chopped some cleaned pork skin pieces and cooked them together.
Pour a paste-like, viscous liquid into raw starch, mix well, and then tan. The dough will then become as elastic as flour.
Although there wasn't much dough in front of me, only about the size of a fist, it was still a rare and valuable ingredient.
I tore off pieces of dough and flattened them into wrappers on the cutting board with my palms. I then wrapped the prepared filling inside each wrapper.
Top squatted down beside me like a curious child, watching me tinker with these strange gadgets. Every time I fiddled with these things, Top knew that something new and good was coming.
While I was making dumplings, I washed the pot and then added some lard to it and brought it to a boil.
When I was chasing the fish earlier, I caught some large water centipedes. I haven't tried this Dai ethnic dish before, so I have to have a plate of it today.
After the oil in the pot started to smoke, I poured the water centipedes I had obtained into the pot, and with a sizzling sound...
The water centipedes were stretched to one or two times their original size and became fluffy and crispy under the heat of the oil. The unique aroma of insects filled the air.
Top stared at the centipede in the pot and couldn't help but rub his little hands together.
I scooped the centipedes out of the pot to drain the oil, then sprinkled some fine salt on top. A savory and fragrant insect feast was now complete.
After making the dumplings, I washed the pot again and added some water. As soon as the water boiled, I couldn't wait to put all the dumplings in.
More than thirty dumplings of varying sizes were tumbling in the boiling water. Soon, the dumpling skins turned a beautiful translucent state, and even the fillings inside were clearly visible.
Top squatted in front of the pot, deeply sniffing the aroma that was meant to lure the monkey. He hadn't expected that there could be something so fragrant besides meat.
I patted Top's head with a smile and said to it,
"Top, go get the bowls. We haven't had a proper meal in ages."
Top came happily to my basket and took out two sets of bowls and chopsticks, one large and one small, that had been stored inside for a long time.
Then, as it always served me, it brought me a wine jug and two golden goblets.
I've already divided the dumplings; I'll eat more than twenty, and Top will eat more than ten.
At this moment, Top skillfully poured the wine from the bamboo tube into the wine pot, and then placed the cup flat on the banana leaf to fill it with wine for me and himself.
When you bite into a hot dumpling, the filling bursts with juice, and the rich, savory flavor lingers in your mouth.
This wonderful feeling is like returning to my childhood, the blissful satisfaction of sitting at the front door with a blue and white porcelain bowl, eating dumplings.
Especially the fish dumplings, they still taste like home. The filling is fresh and fragrant, and the dough is smooth and tender; it's as if I can see my father returning from fishing any second now.
I was moved as I ate, and my eyes welled up with tears. I couldn't help but miss my family; if I could, I would love to go back to that dilapidated home I used to live in.
Top noticed that I was acting strangely and assumed it was because I hadn't eaten enough. This thoughtful guy actually tried to share some of the few dumplings he had left with me.
I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, forced a smile at Top, and said...
"Top, eat up, I'm already full."
"Squeak!"
Top screamed, grabbed a bowl, ran up to me, picked up a dumpling with chopsticks, and tried to pry open my mouth to stuff it in.
I was both amused and exasperated by Top's actions, and could only nod repeatedly and say to Top.
"Okay, okay, put it down, I can do it myself."
...
Time flies, and three days have passed in a flash. My good luck will also completely disappear from my life starting today.
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