Fish head soup and braised chicken feet

My dad is very good at making fish head soup. Go to the vegetable market and ask for a silver carp head. If the fish seller is familiar with you, he will generously pass the fish head with half of the fish neck meat, and only charge the fish head. Go home, wash the fish head, cut it open, and heat the oil in the pan; when the oil is disturbed, put the fish head out of the pan, and there is a loud “stabbing” sound. The water and oil are mixed together, and the fragrance is stimulated; frying, Optimistic about the heat, when the fish body turns brown and the lips are pursed, add water, rice wine, green onions, and ginger slices, simmer the pot, boil it slowly, and put salt shortly before starting the pot, otherwise the soup will not be white. When it’s finished, the soup is creamy and mellow. I stretch my chopsticks down the pot, as if it is bottomless; I scoop a spoonful to drink, so thick that my mouth is thick; I drink a few more mouthfuls, and my mouth feels sticky. Fish tail can also be put into the soup. After boiling, the gelatin of the fish tail, the scalp, and the white meat on the neck of the fish are half hanging and half hanging, full and crisp, delicious; the fish brain is as smooth as tofu. Scoop half a bowl of soup in a bowl, mix with rice, you can eat sweat on your forehead in winter.

My dad is also very good at making braised chicken feet. Even if there is no old brine, just spread the chicken feet with a layer of light soy sauce, deep-fry them again, and watch the chicken feet turn golden brown, then pick them up, let them cool, and soak them in yellow wine; when you think of it, just mix it with salt, Slowly cook the pepper, rice wine, fermented bean curd, and sugar. After cooking, steam it again. Look at the wrinkles of the chicken skin, as if it is going to be boneless and slippery. You can eat it: you can eat it with wine or porridge. , Sweet.

Of course he will cook other dishes, but these two are the only ones that make my grandma full of praise. Probably because my grandmother came from a poor background, she was used to being a diligent and thrifty housekeeper. She was an iron cock that made a braised eel and couldn’t bear to throw away the eel tail. Fish head and chicken feet were originally scraps, and no one of us here knows how to do it. Seeing that my dad can turn waste into treasure and turn decay into magic in this way, my grandmother was very pleased and felt that she had found a new trick to stingy.

According to my mother, every time her old man was full of chicken feet, she said to my mother: “I don’t think he will treat you badly. You see, he is so good to chicken feet!”

“He is good to chicken feet, what does it have to do with me?”

“Aren’t you a chicken?”

“That’s nonsense, where and where are all this!”

Of course, these stories above and below are not what I can see, but just heard.

When my pro-grandpa passed away, I left my grandmother with me, taking my mother (when he was four years old) and my uncle (when he was one year old). My grandmother can quarrel, play cards, sew gowns, weave pu fan, grow flowers, raise chickens, ducks, geese, cats and dogs, but a widow, who can’t support her daughter and son, had to marry my grandfather—of course, I Also call him grandpa.

My grandfather had also been married before and brought a daughter in the front room, like a princess. Stewed chicken soup, “Princess” ate chicken legs, my mother and uncle ate chicken necks and paws. Boil fish soup, the “princess” eats fish meat, my mother and uncle gnaw the fish head and tail. Steamed buns, the “princess” eats meat buns, and my mother and uncle eat white noodle rolls with some fermented bean curd. My mother gave her uncle the silk strands of meat on the chicken neck, the muscles of the chicken feet, and the Hanamaki with fermented bean curd. She sighed. Grandma looked and wiped the corners of her eyes, nothing to say. Every three or five times, she secretly spread a noodle cake for my mother and uncle to eat-you have to be careful not to let grandpa find out that the flour and sugar are missing.

When my mother was 24, she became a textile worker and met my dad who was working in a foreign trade company. Before my mom and my dad were married, it was a bit of a setback. My mother weaves gloves, sweaters, and makes bicycle handlebars. My dad asks her to eat wontons and soup dumplings. A group of local guys around my dad also ask my mom to eat buns and fried dough sticks. Finally, my mom invited my dad home for dinner. My dad sat down and saw my grandfather’s eyebrows twisted.

According to my grandmother, I cooked a table of dishes: boiled peanuts, stewed chicken soup, boiled fish soup, noodles, braised eel, and my grandfather’s brows were wrinkled into the meat. My dad didn’t see his naked eyes open, so he didn’t want to eat it, but he taught my grandma how to make the fish head and fish tail to make the soup delicious; chicken feet can actually be eaten, and the Cantonese eat it. My grandmother and my mother nodded their heads again and again, but my grandfather didn’t like it. When my dad went more, my grandfather discovered that the chicken drumsticks, fish, and eel he ate were getting less and less. Even if he did, he no longer looked at him enviously. It is often my dad who comes to help in the kitchen: making fish head soup and making braised chicken feet. After finishing it, my grandmother, mother and uncle were eating together, all staring at my dad, listening to what he said about the books he had read, what happened during a business trip, the wine he had drunk, and the TV shows he had watched. , His fun while swimming in the lake. In my grandfather’s opinion, eating fish and chicken drumsticks is half the fun and half the envy of the family. Now, envy is gone, he is not the center of the family.

It is said that my grandpa got angry about this. One time, he suddenly had a seizure. He picked up the bamboo stick behind the door, waved it and hit it: “Let you not come, tell you not to come, you still come!” The bamboo stick took a long time and changed from green to yellow. , Hard and tough, greasy outside, waving and whirring with the wind, hit my dad’s blood straight along the hairline.

It is said that the people from the joint defense team, the health station and the police station all came-some of them were my dad’s friends-saw the blood, frightened, and asked my dad what happened.

It is said that the people at the health station had helped my dad wrap his forehead and wiped off the blood. My dad held his forehead, looked at the people in the room, and said, “It’s okay. I slipped on my own and hit the door. There is nothing wrong, there is no need to break the needle.”

It is said that after he persuaded people to leave, he took the bamboo stick from my grandfather and squeezed it with his hand. With a “pop”, the bamboo stick snapped off. Then, he said to me grandiosely: “Today you hit me, this matter is over. But this is the last time. I swim, run, and also fight. It’s not a big deal to beat ten people like you. If you bully a few more, I’ll beat you up. You bully once, and I’ll beat you once.”

It is said that after that, my grandfather suddenly changed his sex, became more cautious, honest, and kind. He asked my uncle to eat chicken thighs, persuaded my mother to eat eel, and asked my grandmother every three and a half times: “Who, ah, why don’t you come to eat at home?” It is said that later, he formed with my dad and my uncle. Quite a tacit partner, such as weaving a chicken fence with bamboo, such as moving a chest of drawers with “one, two, three”, such as a grape rack on a wooden beam. Every time my dad helped with things, my grandfather would ask enthusiastically: “Can you eat apples?”

Many years later, I grew up. Whenever I went out to eat with my grandfather, he still liked to order fish head soup (a little spicy in winter) and some braised chicken feet (and some wine). At that time, chicken feet were already called chicken feet in our place, and it was very popular; fish head soup was also specially made in restaurants. My grandfather said to me triumphantly: “You know, before these became popular, your dad made them for us-it’s delicious!”