The Game of Life

Master Huang was pulling noodles behind the small culinary station at the entrance of the shop, a mere meter away from Jiang Feng. Typically, Master Huang would flick the dough 8 or 9 times, but Jiang Feng remembered that the zhajiangmian Cao Guixiang made in his memory had been flicked 11 times.

“Master Huang, could you make the noodles a bit thinner? I’d like to have thinner noodles,” Jiang Feng said.

“You want them thinner, huh? Okay, I’ll give them an extra flick for you,” Master Huang agreed with alacrity.

Jiang Feng just sat at his seat and watched Master Huang’s noodle-pulling actions. Preparing the dough and then dropping it was almost done in one go, with the dough being worked into thin, long strips that seemed to skip and dance in Master Huang’s hands.

Since ordinary noodle-pulling movements don’t look as cool as hand-pulled la mian, to most people it appears fairly simple: just flick the dough, stretch the noodles, flick them back, and then stretch again. The difficulty and technical requirements of the process can only be truly understood by hands-on experience.

Master Huang had flicked the dough 8 times when Wang Hao came in with a bowl in hand.

A large bowl of preserved egg and lean pork congee, the signature dish of Fang’s Porridge Shop.

“Why did you bring your bowl over?” Jiang Feng asked, still focusing on Master Huang’s hands.

“Mr. Da Fang heard I was eating right across the street, so he told me to bring the bowl over and return it after I’m done eating,” Wang Hao replied, “I also ordered two baskets of shrimp dumplings that are still being steamed; I’ll go get them in a bit.”

Jiang Feng nodded absently; while Wang Hao had been speaking, Master Huang had finished the ninth flick and was about to do the tenth.

As the noodles stretched out, the tenth flick was flawlessly completed.

By now, the noodles in Master Huang’s hands were as thin as vermicelli.

The noodles were put into the pot and were ready to be served in just a few minutes. The two thick slices of beef had been stewed until very tender. One of them had tendons, and at first glance, it looked like the sinew was separating, with the meat’s grain clearly visible. A gentle press with chopsticks was all it took for the juices to seep out.

Master Huang sprinkled a handful of green onions over the noodles and ladeled a spoonful of braising sauce before adding a touch of chili oil, turning the originally light brown noodle soup a tint redder. Then he placed the bowl in front of Jiang Feng.

“Here, Feng, have a taste and see if Uncle Huang’s skills have diminished,” Master Huang was clearly satisfied with the noodles he had pulled this time.

Wang Hao looked at the beef noodles in front of Jiang Feng and exclaimed, “Wow, these noodles are so fine!”

“I just asked Master Huang for finer ones,” Jiang Feng explained. He picked up some noodles with his chopsticks, mixed in a little chili oil, and slurped them up along with a few green onions.

Though the noodles were thin, they were firm and smooth to the taste. Master Huang’s secret chili oil wasn’t very spicy but rather on the salty side, which perfectly complemented the rich beef broth.

After having a bite of noodles followed by a sip of the soup, even without tasting the beef, Jiang Feng felt blissfully content.

“Master Huang, your skills are as good as ever,” Jiang Feng praised.

Master Huang’s noodle house managed to carve out a niche for itself amongst the nearly one hundred noodle shops within a 20-kilometer radius of UAL University, becoming one of the top-ranked noodle houses in the hearts of UAL students and landing in the top three for monthly delivery sales on a certain group-ordering platform. Naturally, this was due to genuine quality.

The main reason Master Huang only ranked in the top three was due to the time needed to cook noodles; for instance, Fang’s Porridge Shop across the street offered quick food items like congee, tea eggs, and side dishes that could be readily packed and delivered. In terms of efficiency, Master Huang, who needed to pull and cook noodles on the spot, couldn’t compare.

Wang Hao gazed longingly at the beef in Jiang Feng’s bowl.

Jiang Feng glanced at him and broke off the smaller piece of beef with his chopsticks, giving half to Wang Hao.

Wang Hao started sipping on his preserved egg and lean pork congee with the half piece of beef, taking two or three gulps before asking, “Feng, are the thin noodles tasty?”

“They’re quite good. Do you want to try some?” Jiang Feng said. Seeing Wang Hao nod, he picked out some noodles for him.

After a small taste, Wang Hao didn’t feel much of a difference and even thought thicker noodles tasted better, “I think noodles should be a bit thicker to be tasty.”

“Everyone has their own taste and preferences; noodles aren’t necessarily better when they’re thinner, it’s just that the thinner they are, the harder they are to pull.” Master Huang had already sat down and picked up his phone again, ready to watch his show.

“Master Huang, how many times can you fold at most?” Jiang Feng asked curiously.

“The most?” Master Huang thought for a moment, “Back when I was young and had just learned the craft from my master, I could probably fold up to 14 times. But later on, when I opened my own noodle house, there was no need for noodles that fine, so now I guess I could do 12 or 13 at most.”

Fourteen folds is already the minimum standard for dragon beard noodles. For an ordinary noodle house chef, this is definitely a very impressive achievement.

“Impressive!” Jiang Feng exclaimed.

“That’s all from when I was young. Back then, I was hell-bent on becoming a Master White Chef in a big city’s grand restaurant. I practiced hard for a few years, but later found out that running a small noodle house and living a comfortable life suited me better. Now, I reckon I couldn’t do it.” Master Huang laughed.

“You’ve worked in grand restaurants too, Master Huang?” Wang Hao asked with curiosity.

“I did, for two years; then I came back to open my own noodle house. I’m a local from Alan City. This area was countryside more than 20 years ago. Fortunately, I had the foresight to buy my place back then; otherwise, I definitely couldn’t afford it now.” Master Huang sighed, a touch of pride in his voice. With nothing else to do, he just sat there, chatting with Jiang Feng and Wang Hao, “You guys know about the Spring Noodle House that used to be at the front gate, right?”

“Yes,” the two chimed together.

“That was opened by my disciple. That kid is different from me; he’s more ambitious. After making some money, he ran off to the city center to open an even bigger noodle house. He told me last month that he’s planning to open a branch next year.” Master Huang began to boast.

“You have a disciple too?” Wang Hao was definitely playing along.

“Of course, I have a disciple. Fang across the street has disciples too, don’t his sons and daughters count? It’s just that my daughter doesn’t want to learn the art of noodle pulling, but to be fair, it’s indeed tough for girls, and being a regular office worker is good too,” Master Huang said.

“I agree, making noodles seems like it’s really physically demanding.” Wang Hao continued to chat with Master Huang, even though he couldn’t tell the difference between pulling and stretching noodles.

Jiang Feng, while absentmindedly eating his noodles, was trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of learning noodle pulling from Master Huang.

It was even better, knowing that Master Huang had taken on disciples; those who had taught others had experience, and the difference was clear between Granduncle Weiming and Sir. Their cooking skills might not be vastly different, but their teaching abilities were indeed night and day. Teaching your son and teaching a disciple are inherently different.

You can scold your son however you like. If he doesn’t learn, it’s definitely the son’s problem, not the father’s. With a disciple, you have to think before scolding, and if they don’t learn, the master might even reflect on whether there’s something wrong with his teaching methods.

Seeing that the conversation between Wang Hao and Master Huang was drifting from noodle pulling to war dramas, Jiang Feng nudged Wang Hao’s arm with his elbow and said, “Hao, your two baskets of shrimp dumplings should be ready by now, right?”

“Right, right, the shrimp dumplings! I almost forgot, I’ve already paid for them!” Wang Hao, as if awakening from a dream, hastily got up and pushed the door open to go across the street to fetch his shrimp dumplings.

Jiang Feng felt it was the right moment.

“Master Huang.” Jiang Feng spoke up, “I’ve been learning to make fried sauce noodles from my Granduncle Weiming recently. He says my kneading is up to par, but I just can’t get the hang of pulling noodles. Could you teach me, so I can at least get a foot in the door?”

“Can’t get the hang of it?” Master Huang was startled, then realized, “If I remember correctly, you haven’t learned this craft before, have you? You want to master the basics right off the bat; that’s quite ambitious.”

“The basics are easy. Do you have classes in the next couple of days? If not, just stay in my shop and watch how I pull noodles. After watching for two days, you can try it yourself, and I’ll point out anything that’s off. You’ll master the basics in no time,” Master Huang agreed right away.

“Thank you, Master Huang, I really appreciate it,” Jiang Feng said with a smile.

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