Riding the wind of rebirth

After everyone got on the bus, Zhou Zhi said, "The boss still claims he's innocent. That big iron pot from Lianhe Township really made Jiajia look bad!"

Li Yijia patted Zhou Zhi on the shoulder from behind: "You brought it up again!"

During a holiday, everyone was quite busy, so Li Yijia volunteered to cook for everyone. However, the shredded meat stuck to the pot as soon as it was put in, and the dish was so burnt that it was unappetizing. She was so angry that she severely criticized the big iron pot.

Then Zhou Zhi pulled her to the pot and cooked it again. The shredded meat didn't stick at all. This made Li Yijia even angrier, and she cursed the pot for bullying her.

Zhouzhi told her a trick: first heat the pan, then add cold oil. Once the oil is hot, scoop it into a bowl for later use. Add cold oil again, and once it's hot, add the shredded meat and stir-fry. The pan will then form an oil film on the surface, making it completely non-stick.

Therefore, the large iron pot on the stove in Lianhe Township was wronged. Not only that, countless iron pots throughout China were also wronged in this way. As a result, non-stick coated pans, which may have health risks, became very popular, while the tips for making iron pots non-stick were lost in family traditions.

As the car entered Yazhou, it started raining again, and it was pouring rain. The city's nickname "Rain City" was truly well-deserved.

"It's raining quite heavily, why don't we have a meal before we leave?" Zhou Zhi asked for everyone's opinion.

"There, there's a noodle shop in Yingjing." Mai Xiaomiao felt she had encountered a lot of new characters today. She had just learned the word "Yingjing" and wanted to show off, but she didn't recognize the rest.

"Tartar noodles, that's it!"

When everyone got off the bus and arrived at the shop, there was a large pot on one side and a worktable on the other. The noodle maker was making noodles for the customers. All the operations were on full display, and no one was afraid to watch.

"Hey, ramen?!" Huang Ruishan's eyes lit up: "They even have ramen here!"

"This... can't really be considered ramen, can it?" Li Yijia noticed that the chef had pulled the noodles a few times, and they were clearly not as thin as normal noodles. So he put the noodles back on the cutting board and squeezed them with his hands, flattening the cylindrical noodles into wide noodles.

"Are you all having noodles?" the owner greeted Zhou Zhi and his group.

"Oh, boss, what kind of noodles do you have here?"

"We have fried beef with minced meat sauce, pork intestines, and spare ribs. How much would you like?"

"Two ounces of everything, oh wait, three ounces for the beef bowl," Zhou Zhi ordered directly.

"Please come in and have a seat. It will be ready soon."

"Can we see if you're making noodles? We won't go in and sit down for now, will that interfere with your business?"

"It's raining, but that won't delay you. You can watch all you want! Standing at the store entrance is actually helping me build up my popularity!"

So everyone watched with great interest as the owner demonstrated his processing techniques, and now they understood how the noodles were made.

Unlike ramen, the thick noodles of Tata Noodles are made in advance, then coated with oil to prevent moisture from evaporating, and then allowed to rest for a period of time.

When a customer arrives, the chef takes out three or four coiled noodles from the basin, arranges them, rolls them out into relatively thick, wide noodles with a rolling pin, then grabs both ends, stretches them using the same technique as pulling noodles, and vigorously slaps the noodles on the cutting board to make them into wide, thin noodles.

This is why Huang Ruishan thought the noodles were ramen, because the movements did indeed resemble those of ramen makers.

Zhou Zhi also understood why this noodle dish was called "Tata Noodles." "Tata" isn't pronounced like "tuo" in Mandarin; it should be "da," which in the Sichuan dialect means "to pound or beat." Therefore, "Tata Noodles" means noodles made by pounding or beating.

The noodles cook relatively quickly, and the owner can run the entire noodle shop by himself. Each bowl of noodles is made by hand, requiring kneading and pounding, demonstrating his exceptional skill.

"These noodles are really good." Sitting down at a small table in the shop, Huang Ruishan picked up a noodle that was about the width of his index finger, thin at the edges, and slightly thicker in the middle, took a bite, and praised it.

"Well, if you say it's good, then it really is good."

The noodle market in Sichuan is looked down upon by students from the north. The reason for this disdain is not because of the toppings or seasonings, but mainly because of the quality of the noodles themselves.

In Sichuan, there are almost no handmade noodles; most are machine-made alkaline noodles, and there are even some unusual ones like Huaxing Fried Egg Noodles, which use dried noodles directly.

Handmade noodles are limited to knife-cut noodles, and a very few local specialties such as Rongchang Pugai noodles can also be considered handmade noodles.

However, judging from the name, "pugaimian" is not "noodles" but "noodle blocks".

"I didn't know Sichuan had such delicious handmade noodles." Huang Ruishan slurped up another big mouthful. "Zhouzi, aren't you a food connoisseur? These handmade noodles are so good, why don't you recommend them to your classmates from the north?"

“You know, I’m terrible at making braised dishes.” Zhou Zhi ordered a bowl of braised pork intestine noodles. In addition to the usual toppings, the owner added a spoonful of stewed peas. The taste was similar to other noodle shops in Sichuan, but this noodle was definitely much better than ordinary noodle shops: “To be honest, I didn’t even know that there were noodles like this here before.”

"Tartar noodles" have a smooth, chewy texture, unlike machine-made or dried noodles.

“It’s really good,” Mai Xiaomiao said. “It’s about the same as the noodles at the Hebei noodle shop that Master Ma took us to.”

“Yes, indeed.” Zhou Zhi tapped the bowl with his chopsticks: “The Sichuan-style toppings paired with the northern-style handmade noodles are almost perfect.”

“A noodle shop like this should open in Sichuan,” Huang Ruishan said. “It would be best if it opened next to our school. I would go there at least three or four times a week.”

"Runtu, you're doing great!" Zhou Zhi laughed. "Eating out three or four times a week, you're living a comfortable life, aren't you?"

"Huh?" Huang Ruishan then remembered that he was still a "recipient of assistance" and blushed.

"Just kidding, just kidding." Zhou Zhi was being mischievous, as usual, and immediately regretted it, but his mind couldn't control his mouth: "But it seems like it really is your turn to treat this time..."

"Why are you bullying Ruishan?!" Li Yijia exclaimed, standing up for Ruishan. "I'll treat you to a few bowls of noodles!"

"No, no, no, you're right, it's on me today." After saying that, he turned around and shouted towards the door, "Boss, another three-ounce serving of minced meat sauce, no chili!"

Li Yijia, Mai Xiaomiao, and Zhou Zhi looked at each other in bewilderment. In small cities, the portions of noodles are usually generous. They had eaten three two-liang noodles and felt quite full, but this guy wanted two three-liang noodles each!
Once back on the bus, Huang Ruishan patted his stomach: "After three years in Sichuan, I've finally had some good noodles..."

"Looks like I'll have to drive slower for a bit, so you don't cause any trouble." Zhou Zhi couldn't stop laughing: "Isn't it time for Sichuan to be exonerated today? It's not that we can't make good noodles, it doesn't really have much to do with the texture of flour from the north or south..."

"We just don't really like eating noodles..." (End of Chapter)