"The dough's ready!" Qi Ya said with a bright smile, watching the dough begin to ferment. The soft, pale mass rose slowly, releasing a faint yeasty aroma into the kitchen.
Jiang Hai grinned in response, excitement building as he turned to discuss the fillings. Dumplings were simple in concept but infinitely customizable. In Northeast China, four traditional fillings were most common: leeks and meat, cabbage and meat, pickled cabbage and meat, and the "three fresh" combination, typically leeks, meat, and shrimp.
They began with leeks and meat. Everyone knew leeks, which were famous for their medicinal qualities and considered an aphrodisiac. In China, they were widely enjoyed, but abroad, few dared to eat them because of their pungent smell. True Buddhists avoided them, calling them "vegetarian meat," and Americans often found the flavor strange. To make matters worse, leeks were prone to infestations known as leek maggots—tiny but extremely destructive, making them almost unfit for consumption outside China.
Jiang Hai chuckled. He liked chives scrambled with eggs, so he had planted a few, just enough for personal use. Chives were perennials; if cut properly, they would regrow. But they had a season, and by August, their flavor was no longer optimal.
Cabbage, on the other hand, was abundant on his estate. Northeastern dumplings often relied on it to balance meat's richness. As for sauerkraut, Jiang Hai mused, its preparation varied by region. Southern sauerkraut used large green cabbage leaves, lightly pickled, ideal for dishes like sauerkraut fish. Northern sauerkraut was sourer, pickled in fall and eaten in winter—perfect for dumplings but unavailable at the moment.
"Three fresh" fillings—leeks, meat, and shrimp—were traditionally popular, but leeks were now off the table. They could either use cabbage alone or cabbage with meat and seafood. Jiang Hai and Qi Ya exchanged hesitant glances, slightly fussy over their options.
"Why deliberate so much? Just pick whatever filling you want—it's not that complicated," Wallis Shelley, who had been silently observing, said, raising an eyebrow.
Jiang Hai and Qi Ya laughed self-deprecatingly. "Pork is a must, but we have plenty of fresh fish and shrimp. Why not combine cabbage, fish, shrimp, and pork?" Qi Ya suggested. The cabbage would prevent the filling from being too greasy, giving the dumplings a light, refreshing taste.
"Okay, I'll prepare these first, and then call everyone back when it's time to help," Qi Ya said. Jiang Hai slapped his forehead. Since he had originally suggested the dumplings, it was only natural that he take charge. But Qi Ya stopped him with a gentle hand.
"Why rush? It's almost noon. Let's wait until everyone comes back for lunch," she said. Jiang Hai scratched his head, sheepishly admitting he had gotten a bit overexcited.
Together, he and Qi Ya discussed the dumpling-making process. Dumplings varied not only in filling but also in preparation. Boiled dumplings, or shuijiao, were made with leavened dough and often enjoyed with soup. Steamed dumplings used scalded dough, yielding a soft, delicate texture. Pan-fried dumplings, known as shengjian or shuijian, used unleavened dough, crisp on the outside and tender inside, though heavy if eaten in excess. They decided to boil some and steam some, offering variety for dinner.
By lunchtime, Aphra and the others returned home from their morning tasks. After showers, they began preparing lunch together. Jiang Hai announced they would be having dumplings for dinner. Though most had never made dumplings themselves, the news was met with enthusiastic smiles—particularly from Darlene and Marianne, who had become addicted to authentic dumplings after experiencing them during Chinese New Year last year.
The others had only heard of dumplings and rarely tasted genuine ones. Qi Ya, Qi Jie, Ai Xiaoxi, and Feng Yunchen, all from China, were familiar with them. Once Jiang Hai mentioned it, everyone eagerly volunteered to help.
The plan was simple: Jiang Hai would handle the pork, fish, and shrimp, while the women managed cleaning, chopping, and preparation.
Jiang Hai first prepared the pork. On his estate, he raised pigs, chickens, and various local produce. His fragrant pigs had been carefully bred for nearly a year. They weren't enormous—rarely exceeding forty kilograms—but they were robust and flavorful. He retrieved one pig, butchered it by the river, discarding the blood and entrails while keeping the liver for himself. The river, alive with fish, ensured nothing went to waste.
Next, Jiang Hai ventured to the nearby beach. Diving into the cool water, he gathered fresh seafood: abalone, sea cucumbers, salmon, and small Arctic red shrimp, all perfect for dumpling fillings. These ingredients promised a combination of flavors that was both familiar and exciting.
Returning home, Jiang Hai found the women had nearly finished cleaning the pig. Normally, this would have been a labor-intensive task, but because they only used the meat, preparation was relatively simple. The skin was peeled away, the head discarded, and only the meat remained, ready to be chopped and mixed with the other ingredients.
The kitchen buzzed with activity. The aroma of fresh cabbage, pork, and seafood mingled in the air, promising a feast that would bring warmth, satisfaction, and a touch of nostalgia to everyone at the villa.
(To be continued.)