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墨書 Inktalez
Life in the student cafeteria was indeed a bit tough. After the land reform, rural areas no longer required us to go hungry. Many students from slightly better-off families coincidentally chose a remedy—bringing vegetables from home to school.
In an era when traditional culture had not yet fully revived, even someone like me, who enjoyed reading a bit of casual literature, had no idea what "Cai Gen Tan" was. However, looking back now, the types of vegetables and utensils we brought could indeed be described with those three characters.
The vegetables we needed to bring had to meet two conditions: first, they had to be palatable; otherwise, after the effort of bringing them, if we couldn't eat them for one or two meals, it wouldn't solve the fundamental problem of poor cafeteria food. Second, they had to last long enough. With six days of classes each week and only one meat dish and three servings of Tofu Dregs, most vegetables were hard to swallow. Since we could now bring our own food, we almost daily craved the "good dishes" from home. At that time, our school didn't have the luxury of refrigerators; if the food spoiled after a day or two, it wouldn't satisfy us.
With these two conditions in mind and considering the typical inventory of rural households, two main dishes quickly became everyone's favorites: Sauerkraut and Pickled Mustard Greens. While similar dishes might exist elsewhere, few matched exactly.
Sauerkraut was relatively straightforward. In most places, fresh beans, radishes, eggplants, and other vegetables were washed and dried before being soaked in a brine jar. Generally, after two or three days, they could be stir-fried or eaten directly. The brine's base was simple: leftover steam from brewing alcohol mixed with some cool water and salt. As long as it remained clean, a jar of brine could last for several years; if it became less effective, replacing it wasn't too troublesome.
Pickled Mustard Greens were a more "niche" item—not like the Korean kimchi or Sichuan pickled mustard greens that are everywhere today. Instead, they involved taking unattractive vegetables at harvest time, washing them, cutting them into strips or chunks, sun-drying them for several days to remove all moisture, then letting them air out at home before mixing with salt and sealing them in a clean jar. About half a month later, they could be taken out and used just like sauerkraut; however, they couldn't come into contact with water during preparation. Since households typically had only one jar for pickling mustard greens, any type of vegetable would be mixed together—calling it "mixed vegetables" might be more appropriate without worrying about infringing on anyone's intellectual property.
With main dishes sorted out, how to cook them became a secret competition among mothers. After land reform, most families could raise two pigs a year—one sent to the Food Station for procurement while the other was slaughtered for family consumption during the New Year or sold for extra cash during busy farming seasons. Regardless of the situation, there was ample lard available; adding more oil when stir-frying sauerkraut or pickled mustard greens became nearly every mother's choice.
Our family was an exception; I particularly disliked overly greasy dishes (except for fatty pork). So I specifically told my mother not to use too much oil when cooking my vegetables. My mother knew her child's tastes well but also saw my stunted growth and heard others complain about the cafeteria's poor food quality. She wasn't content with just stir-frying some sauerkraut or pickled mustard greens to fill my stomach; she wanted to find ways to supplement my nutrition.
Being more knowledgeable than ordinary rural women, my mother quickly devised a low-cost yet effective solution: many families in rural areas raised pigs and slaughtered them regularly. Due to their unpleasant odor, pig intestines were often undervalued—usually kept for personal use or sold cheaply for just a few cents per set (weighing several pounds). I particularly loved fatty pork and pig intestines; whenever she heard someone was slaughtering pigs, she would go reserve this least valued item. Given her strong personality and dedication to her child, she often bought what many considered "shameful" intestines—a fact I would remember for life and pass on to future generations.
Once she brought home the intestines, my mother devoted even more effort into preparing them: first rinsing them three times in clean cold water and then rubbing them with salt twice until their color turned snow white. She would then cut them into strips and fry them separately in lard before placing them in a special clay pot. Each time she nearly finished stir-frying sauerkraut or pickled mustard greens, she would add two or three ounces of intestines into the mix. This way, we enjoyed both the nutritious flavor without excessive greasiness while enhancing the dish's color and aroma. From then on, every dish I brought to school became something everyone admired and wanted to taste.
The containers used for bringing food were mostly improvised—varied yet simple—but mothers still put considerable thought into their choices: many would use clay pots directly meant for serving food; however, this overly simplistic method lacked lids which made transporting them precarious as spills could happen easily on the way to school. Others opted for Enamel Cups which usually came with lids; throughout the 60s, 70s, and 80s in mainland China, these multipurpose cups were abundant—used for washing up or drinking water—especially among members of the People's Liberation Army who always carried one around. During recognition events held by state or collective units for outstanding individuals, these cups were often awarded with a large red character meaning "Award," which students found cumbersome due to their handles taking up too much space and their oily walls requiring multiple washes with hot water before reuse.
Our family used something different—a wide-mouthed glass bottle with a screw-on plastic lid that sealed well. Its cylindrical shape didn't take up much space but allowed for maximum capacity. Being able to use such containers was related to my mother's role as a Barefoot Doctor; these bottles were originally meant to be discarded after medication but she carefully saved them and cleaned them until they served their purpose.
Once we brought our food to school, while some might want to keep it all to themselves, more often than not students shared in groups of three or five so they could enjoy various flavors together while unknowingly strengthening friendships among classmates. The invisible "forum" born from sharing meals would eventually welcome its ancient yet fresh counterpart years later—Cai Gen Tan.
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