The air above the yard was filled with the aroma of all kinds of fried food. Several people had been busy from morning to noon. They cooked in two pots at the same time, and the food was fried quickly. By noon, most of the food was almost done.
Zhu Cuilan served a few bowls of fried meatballs to the neighbors around her. The taste of each household was different, so she wanted others to try her own.
That's how neighbors are: one day you send something, the next day I send something, and the favors are exchanged. Zhu Cuilan sent out several large bowls of fried meatballs and received a lot of fried sugar cakes and glutinous rice cakes in return.
You don’t have to cook at noon. Just try a few fried dishes and some leftover porridge from the morning, and you’ll have a meal.
After working hard all morning, you need to take a break and have a cup of tea so you can continue frying in the afternoon.
The fried food was neatly arranged in the yard. When Zhu Cuilan saw so many delicious things, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes became deeper with smiles.
This is just like the joy of farmers during the autumn harvest. The more food they have, the better their life will be. Otherwise, how could they have so much to eat?
Seeing good things makes people happy, and they are full of energy. They don’t feel tired even after blasting for a whole day.
Zhu Cuilan made ten large bowls each of rice noodles with meat and braised pork with preserved vegetables. Apart from the ones for the New Year’s Eve dinner, the rest were used to entertain guests.
Zhao Luochuan's mother fled from the south, and his relatives had long been scattered. He had never seen his uncles and grandmothers, and even if he wanted to move around, he had nowhere to go.
Zhao Luochuan's grandfather only had two sons, Zhao Hai and Zhao He, and no daughter. After the New Year, when Zhao Luochuan visited relatives, he only had Zhao He as his relative.
The two families usually get along as well as one family, so there's no need for these empty formalities.
Not to mention Yang Donghu, he had severed all ties with the Yang family, so naturally his former aunts and uncles had no contact with him anymore, and he had no relatives to leave.
So they each ordered a bowl of steamed pork with rice flour and braised pork with preserved vegetables, and left the rest to Zhu Cuilan.
Zhu Cuilan did not refuse. Anyway, there were enough fried goods and they could be stored for a long time. She could give them more when the time comes. It didn’t matter if they couldn’t finish them at once. They were all cooked in oil and could be stored for a month or so. They could just eat them slowly.
Everything was almost done. Yang Donghu saw that there was still some raw pork belly left. He had eaten enough of it before, whether it was used to make braised pork or stewed cabbage, so he might as well try another way to cook it.
He originally wanted to fry lotus root cakes, but it was not the lotus root season and the lotus pond had already frozen hard.
Yang Donghu thought for a while and remembered that when he went to the cellar to get sweet potatoes, he saw a small pile of potatoes together with the sweet potatoes.
Since lotus root boxes cannot be made, why not try using potatoes? The method is the same, just slice the ingredients and put meat filling inside, so there shouldn't be much difference.
He told Zhu Cuilan about it. Although Zhu Cuilan had never seen potatoes stuffed with meat, she thought that Yang Donghu had been busy all day, so he could do whatever he wanted. There was only a little meat left anyway, so it didn't matter if he didn't cook it well. She just let him do it.
Zhao Fangchu found it interesting and volunteered to help. Yang Donghu asked him to get some potatoes from the cellar, preferably ones that were evenly grown, otherwise the meat filling wouldn't be able to hold it in and would leak out, which would be a waste.
The pork belly can be minced just like dumpling filling. Add some onion, ginger, garlic and mince together with the meat, stuff it into the sliced potatoes, and then coat it with a layer of batter made of white flour. Put it in a frying pan over low heat, and it is ready to be served when both sides are golden and crispy.
Zhao Fangchu was chatty. Seeing the splashes of oil when Yang Donghu put the potatoes into the wok, he asked jokingly, "They won't fry, will they?"
Yang Donghu was about to say no, but before he could open his mouth, he was interrupted by another voice.
Zhu Cuilan's hearing was so good that she could hear the two of them talking in the kitchen. She shouted at the top of her voice, "Zhao Fangchu, if you can cook it, then cook it. You can't cook it somewhere else. If you keep talking nonsense, don't wait until I'm free, or you'll get a good beating today."
According to the rules of the older generation, you are not allowed to talk while frying. Zhu Cuilan didn't know why, but there was such a saying. When she was a child, her mother told her not to talk while frying while she was walking around the pot.
After being scolded, Zhao Fangchu hung his head and remained silent.
Seeing him look listless, Yang Donghu whispered, "The older generation is more superstitious. We don't believe in this."
As soon as he finished speaking, no one expected such a coincidence. There was a bang in the pot, and dots of oil with scorching temperature exploded in all directions.
Yang Donghu and Zhao Fangchu were close to each other and were caught off guard for a moment, so they were splashed with oil.
"ah!"
There was enough firewood. Zhao Luochuan and Zhao Fangyu's arms were sore that they were drinking some water and planning to take a break in the house when they heard shouting outside.
The two people's screams of pain attracted everyone over. When Zhao Luochuan came out, he saw Yang Donghu covering his face with his hands, and the back of his hands where the oil splashed were red.
Zhao Luochuan didn't even think twice before rushing to Yang Donghu's side and carefully examining the wound on his hand. Seeing Yang Donghu's eyes reddened with pain, he felt so distressed that he couldn't bear it: "How did he get burned?"
When the oil started frying, Yang Donghu's hand was placing potatoes down. He pulled his hand back the moment he felt the pain, but the oil still burned a piece of his skin.
"Look what I said. You've been against me all day. Now that's it, I'll see if you dare to talk nonsense again next time. Is it just on your hands? Are there any other places? What about Donghu? Is it severely burned?" Zhu Cuilan rushed out as soon as she heard the noise. The scolding in her mouth turned into heartache when she saw the wound on Zhao Fangchu's hand.
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