mesbooks Chapter 8 Egg Pancakes and an Average of 5
Chapter 8 Egg Pancakes and an Average of 5
Qin Xiaowan arrived early the next morning.
Upon entering, he didn't speak, but picked up the oil paper from the counter, flipped it over, and examined it closely.
"This paper is so old."
"Um."
"The characters are old-fashioned. Look at this character for 'money,' it's in traditional form. And the character for 'liang' (两) is too. Who writes in traditional form these days?"
"Older people."
How big?
"...of a very high seniority."
"I asked you your age and you're talking about seniority." Qin Xiaowan put down the oil paper. "Fine, let's get started. We'll talk about it after we've finished."
She carried the parchment paper into the kitchen, sifted the flour, cracked in the eggs, and crushed and dissolved the brown sugar.
They moved quickly; someone with experience in the food service industry doesn't skimp on their work.
We stopped at the fermented rice wine stage.
Do you have any fermented glutinous rice at home?
"no."
"It's written in the recipe. Without fermented rice, the flavor won't come out."
"I'll go buy it."
He went to the market and bought a small jar of fermented glutinous rice from an old lady selling it.
When she returned, Qin Xiaowan had already heated the frying pan with a small spoonful of rapeseed oil, which was emitting blue smoke.
"They're here? How much?"
"The recipe says a little bit."
"How much is 'a little'? A drop? A spoonful? Half a spoonful?"
"Just a little."
"Your friend writes recipes like he writes poetry."
She dipped the tip of her chopsticks into the fermented rice wine, dripped it into the batter, stirred it a couple of times, and then brought it to her nose to smell it.
"Alright. That's enough. Any more and it'll overpower the flavor."
The batter was poured into the pan with a hiss, spreading into a thin pancake the size of a palm.
She stared at the bubbles forming on the edge, counted for about forty seconds, and then flipped it over.
Golden brown and slightly caramelized on both sides, place the brown sugar filling inside, fold in half, and scoop it up.
He placed it on a plate and pushed it in front of Wu Ling.
"You go first."
Wu Ling took a bite.
The dough is fresh, the aroma of eggs arrives first, followed by the slight sourness of fermented rice, and the caramel sweetness of brown sugar settles in last.
The three layers of flavor arrive one after the other, with each layer clearly distinct.
Finally, there's the lingering aroma of rapeseed oil, which stays in your throat.
He didn't say anything, and stuffed the remaining half into his mouth.
"How is it?" Qin Xiaowan asked, watching his expression.
"no the same."
"What's different about it?"
"It's unlike any other egg pancake you've ever had. Really."
She broke off a small piece, put it in her mouth, chewed it a couple of times, and then stopped.
"You son of a bitch."
Qin Xiaowan sat down opposite Wu Ling.
"Do you know how those egg pancakes outside are made? Flour and baking powder, some add eggs, some don't, they use granulated sugar, and they use blended oil. They pour the batter into a mold, and it's done in two minutes. They make three hundred a day, and they're all exactly the same."
"I've eaten that kind before."
"You'll know once you've tried it. That kind is sickeningly sweet, the noodles are dry, and it loses its flavor after a couple of bites. This is different."
She picked up the oil paper.
"Fermented glutinous rice is the key. Nobody outside adds this. And those who do don't use this ratio. Two ounces of flour, one and a half mace of brown sugar, the quantities are written down to the money. This isn't just a random note, it's the result of many trials."
"Um."
"When I opened my skewers shop, I searched all over town for a hot pot base recipe. I spent 3,000 yuan to buy one, and when I tried it, it was exactly the same as the hot pot base sold in supermarkets. The 3,000 yuan went down the drain."
She tapped the oil paper.
"You can't buy this kind of recipe with money. It was figured out by someone else, and they don't pass it on to outsiders."
"Um."
"Let me calculate the cost for you."
Qin Xiaowan took out her phone.
"Flour, eggs, brown sugar, fermented rice wine, rapeseed oil. One egg pancake costs eight mao (0.8 yuan). A plate of three costs two dollars and forty cents. Sells for fifteen."
She turned her phone over to show him.
"The gross profit margin is 82%. When I used to run a skewers shop, the gross profit margin was only 60%."
In her excitement, she did thirty of them that afternoon.
The aroma of eggs and caramel mingled in the kitchen, wafting out the window and reaching halfway down the alley.
Grandma Zhao arrived as usual, sat down by the window, and ordered a bowl of three-flower soup.
Wu Ling brought over a plate of egg pancakes and placed it in front of her.
"Freshly made. Try it. It's free."
Grandma Zhao picked one up and took a small bite.
She chewed very slowly, not to savor the taste, but to recognize it.
"picture."
"What does it look like?"
"It tastes just like before." Grandma Zhao put the half-eaten food back on the plate and looked at it for a while. "You can't get this kind of food outside anymore."
While Grandma Zhao was sitting by the window, several more groups of people arrived.
Some people came to drink tea, while others came to eat egg pancakes after smelling the aroma.
Qin Xiaowan and Wu Ling were so busy they barely had time to breathe.
This was the first time the teahouse had so many customers since Wu Ling took over.
By evening, only one plate of the thirty egg pancakes remained.
When Grandma Zhao left, she left thirty yuan on the table.
"I said it wouldn't cost money."
"Tea costs fifteen, cake costs fifteen."
She didn't turn her head, but paused at the door.
"Are there any more tomorrow?"
"have."
Just as they were about to close up shop, a middle-aged man came in.
Wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase, he slowed down a step as he passed the door, as if he had smelled something.
"You guys...make egg pancakes here?"
"Hmm. Three left."
He sat down, and Wu Ling brought over the last dish.
The man picked one up with his hand and put it in his mouth.
I chewed it twice.
Without saying a word, he picked up the second one.
"Did you add fermented glutinous rice?"
"You can tell by the taste?"
"My grandma used to make it with fermented glutinous rice." His voice softened. "She's been gone for twelve years. I've been searching for this taste for twelve years."
Wu Ling didn't know what to say.
Where did you learn that?
"I was taught by an experienced teacher."
Is that old master craftsman still around? I'd like to thank him in person.
"...Yes. It's far away."
The man finished all three of them on the plate.
I left fifty yuan with me when I left.
"Keep the change, please."
Qin Xiaowan glanced at Wu Ling as she collected the money.
"See? He's not here for tea. He's here to find a flavor."
Thirty items, ten plates, all sold out on the first day.
The next day, Grandma Zhao came again, this time with an old friend.
The older woman took a bite and exclaimed, "Wow, I haven't tasted this flavor in years!"
That evening, Qin Xiaowan took a photo and posted it on her WeChat Moments. Next to the three-flower covered bowl was a plate of egg pancakes, and there was an old bamboo chair and table that looked very old.
The accompanying text reads: "A century-old teahouse, traditional egg pancakes, handmade to order, limited quantities available daily."
Mr. Zhang happened to pass by and helped share it; he added people from half an alley to his WeChat Moments.
On the third day, guests started arriving from outside. Qin Xiaowan nudged Wu Ling with her elbow.
"Look, several of them found their own way, they didn't even need to beg for mercy."
In the following days, more and more people came. The middle-aged man with glasses even brought his colleague, and the three of them sat for more than an hour.
Before leaving, they asked if I did takeout.
"No."
"Why?"
"It won't taste the same when it's cold."
By the fifth day, both of them were starting to feel the strain.
A few days ago it was fine; he made tea and she made cakes, each minding their own business.
Now that there are so many people, everything is in chaos.
Wu Ling had just finished refilling the water for the table by the window when Qin Xiaowan poked her head out from the kitchen.
"Alright, bring it on!"
He hadn't even put the dish down when she called out, "The next dish is ready too!"
One time, he was carrying egg pancakes out, and she was carrying tea back in. The two bumped into each other at the kitchen door.
When she goes left, Wuling goes left too; when she goes right, Wuling goes right too.
"Don't move!"
Wu Ling stood still, and Qin Xiaowan then walked around him from the left.
After the group of customers left at noon, Qin Xiaowan leaned against the counter, her hands covered in flour and her forehead sweating profusely.
"This can't go on. We need to set a rule: you come and serve the tea when I call you, and you serve it when I don't call you. We can't have the two of you working at the same time."
"OK."
"Your tea-making skills are now good enough, much better than before."
"More like my grandfather?"
"It's far from good, but most customers wouldn't be able to tell the difference."
Boss Zhang strolled over with a cup of milk tea, leaned against the doorframe, and watched for a while.
"Fifteen yuan a plate? My milk tea was only twelve."
"Yours is made with powder."
"That's true," he said, taking a sip of his milk tea. "But you've definitely got more people around these past few days. I've actually lost a few from my side; they've all come here."
"Excuse me."
"Sorry, sir. Business is business, everyone has to do what they can." He turned and walked a few steps before turning back. "That cat came again today, it's squatting at the door. Remember to feed it if you have any fish bones."
That evening, after Qin Xiaowan finished settling the accounts, she turned her phone over and showed it to Wu Ling.
"The average daily amount was over 300 for the first two days, guess how much it is today?"
"I don't know."
"Over eight hundred. We sold twenty-five plates of egg pancakes alone. That's an average of five hundred a day over five days." She tapped her finger on the calculator. "At this rate, we'll easily surpass one thousand next week."
"So, are you happy or not?"
"Of course I'm happy. How about you?"
"Happy."
"You look as happy as someone who's constipated."
Because Wu Ling would push the back door every night after closing for the past five days.
The first two days after it was opened, I went over to sit for a while, had a bowl of tea with Old Zhou, and then came back.
It was blocked on the third day, but it was blocked on the fourth day.
Wu Ling thought that opening the door every other day would be a regular practice.
But on the sixth day, it stopped working; on the seventh day, it still stopped working; and on the eighth day, it still stopped working.
For three days in a row, all I could see were back alleys.
Trash can, stray cat, street lamp.
Qin Xiaowan saw him squatting in front of the back door, lost in thought.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just check the back alley."
"What's so interesting about the back alley?"
"Um."
"You've been acting strange lately." She leaned against the doorframe. "Business is getting better, but your face is getting longer and longer. What's wrong?"
"Nothing happened."
"Your skill at lying is about the same as your skill at brewing tea... If you don't want to talk about it, then don't."
She turned around to prepare the ingredients for tomorrow's egg pancakes.
Wu Ling squatted in front of the back door, staring at the closed door.
He thought about what he had done in the past five days.
Brewing tea, making egg pancakes, settling accounts, greeting guests, and then going to sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow at night.
There was no storytelling, not even once.
He remembered someone Old Zhou had mentioned—Zhang Xijiu.
The storyteller on Cotton Street. He struck his gavel, and even the flower sellers stopped in their tracks.
Wu Ling took out his phone and searched.
It really does.
A storyteller in Chengdu during the Republic of China era, at a teahouse on Mianhua Street.
Several old records mention this name, saying that he was "the best storyteller in Chengdu" and that he performed in teahouses year-round, with the Five Elders and Seven Sages listening to his stories.
Wu Ling stared at the screen for a long time.
The name Old Zhou casually mentioned can be found online.
This proves that person really existed.
He remembered his grandfather's words on the oil paper.
The fire must not be rushed, but it must not be extinguished either.
He went on stage around 1 a.m. that night.
Alone in an empty teahouse, there was no sound outside.
Pick up the gavel.
What are you talking about?
He thought for a moment and then told the story of Old Zhou.
It's not the same passage as last time; it's a different sentence.
An old man once told me, "If you're so busy that you can't even get a hot meal, you're busy in the wrong way."
There were twelve tables in the audience, and all of them were empty.
"That old man drinks a bowl of 'Three Flowers' soup all day long. He's not in a hurry. He doesn't keep track of the bill. He's not anxious. He just sits there, and that's it. If you ask him who he's waiting for, he won't say. If you ask him what he's after, he won't say either."
"I've been so busy these past few days. Every day I'm doing the accounting, calculating gross profit, and tracking customer traffic. The numbers are getting better and better, but the gavel on the stage has been gathering dust for five days."
"Someone once told me that a good storyteller isn't someone who's good with words, but someone who makes you forget you're listening while they're telling the story. For the past five days, I've even forgotten that I'm a storyteller."
Anyone can make egg pancakes. But storytelling is something only I do. Once it's gone, it's truly gone. No one can replace me.
That's it.
The teahouse was empty; there was no applause.
But the back door lit up, a warm yellow light, smelling of charcoal.
He didn't push the door open; there was no need for him to go over.
There's only one thing to confirm—the door still recognizes him.
He set a rule for himself.
Go on stage at least once a day, even if no one listens, even if you only speak for three minutes.
Egg pancakes can be sold, accounts can be settled, but storytelling must not stop.
The next afternoon, before the guests arrived, Qin Xiaowan came out of the kitchen and saw him standing on the stage.
"What are you doing? The customers haven't even arrived yet, what are you doing standing on the platform?"
"Practice storytelling."
"Business has finally started to pick up, instead of thinking about selling a couple more plates of egg pancakes, what are you doing practicing on the counter?"
"Storytelling is also part of the business."
"Storytelling is free. Egg pancakes are fifteen a plate. You can do the math yourself."
Not everything is priced in money.
Qin Xiaowan clicked her tongue and turned to go into the kitchen to knead the dough.
Halfway through mixing, she picked up the piece of oiled paper from the table and looked at it again.
"Wu Ling".
"Um."
"The phrase 'fire must not be rushed' was not written by the person mentioned earlier."
Wu Ling remained motionless in the front hall.
"The first few characters are written stroke by stroke, like a woman's handwriting. These three characters are thin, fast, and connected in style. It's a man. And he's not young."
"...Um."
"The old menu your grandfather wrote behind the counter is still posted. It says, 'Three Flower Tea, five yuan, refills available.' The stroke of the character 'flower' is exactly the same as the stroke of the character 'fire.'"
Wu Ling remained silent.
"So your grandfather saw this recipe." She put the oil paper back on the table. "Your friend, that's your grandfather's friend. The same person."
How did you come up with that idea?
"When I was selling skewers, I looked at the purchase orders every day. You can recognize handwriting after looking at it a lot."
Wu Ling didn't know how to respond.
"Seeing you like that, I won't ask anymore. It's only a matter of time."
The door closed.
This interruption completely disrupted what Wu Ling had prepared for his practice.
Qin Xiaowan never asked him a question she didn't want to answer a second time.
But she always remembered, both the eggs and the recipe.
Sooner or later she will piece all the pieces together.
He needs to figure out what to say on that day.
My phone rang; it was a text message.
It's from the neighborhood committee.
"The preliminary survey for the renovation of the old city area of Chama Lane has been launched. Staff will be arranged to conduct door-to-door registration. Please cooperate."
He looked at it twice, then put his phone face down on the table.