Chapter 49: Qiaojiao Beef

Recently, while traveling in Sichuan, I tasted authentic "Qiaojiao Beef" under the guidance of friends in a group chat. However, when I inquired about the origin of the name, my friends were unaware, which left me feeling a bit displeased. If they didn't know what "Qiaojiao" meant, how could they distinguish between authentic and inauthentic? But then I thought, they are just friends; why bother? If we can't get along, we can just stop interacting in the future. Indeed, during the subsequent dining experience, this thought gradually intensified.

While taking a taxi, I curiously asked the local driver about the origin of Qiaojiao Beef. At first, the driver joked that you have to lift your feet while eating this dish to enjoy it better. I asked if putting my feet down meant I couldn't eat the beef anymore, or would the flavor change if I put my feet down? If I lifted my feet at one moment and put them down at another, would I taste many different flavors? Just as we were nearing our destination, the driver explained that the original Qiaojiao Beef stall was by the river, where the customers were mostly laborers. The ground was always muddy from being trampled, so the shop used high tables and stools for customers, allowing them to sit without their feet touching the wet ground, making it more comfortable.

Is that really the case? In my confusion, our group had already entered the restaurant.

Before dining, I asked the waiter again what Qiaojiao Beef was. I learned that according to historical records, Qiaojiao Beef originated in Leshan, in the southwestern part of Sichuan, during the Guangxu period of the Qing Dynasty over a hundred years ago. It is said that at that time, the salt industry in Wutongqiao, Leshan was thriving, and salt merchants used oxen to transport the brine. Many of the oxen that pulled the brine were sent to be slaughtered for beef once they grew old. There was a village where generations had made a living by slaughtering cattle, and everyone, young and old, was skilled in this trade, known as "Beef Slaughtering Zhou Village" (because 70% of the households in the village have the surname Zhou, it is commonly referred to as "Zhou Village"). Most of the beef slaughtered in Zhou Village was sold to places like Niuhua, Leshan, Shawan, Shuikou, and Zhenzichang. However, since the cow's stomach and intestines were inconvenient to transport and couldn't be kept for long, they had to be processed on the spot. Thus, the people of Zhou Village began to cook beef offal by the riverside, setting up soup pot stalls. Because there were many laborers in the area, the beef soup pot was cheap and filling, making it very popular among the locals. The restaurants selling Qiaojiao Beef were very simple, with only a square table and no stools for customers to sit on, but there was a horizontal beam under the table for customers to rest their feet while eating. Hence, this delicious dish got its name from the way customers would eat while propping up their feet. Gradually, this delicacy spread.

By the time I heard this story, I was already filled with disgust for this meal, which deepened my disdain for the friend who strongly recommended this dish. Why should the hardworking ox be slaughtered for meat after it has no labor value? Haven't Chinese people always praised those who are diligent and endure hardships as "old yellow cows"? Then why can't they be given a dignified end? Is it the human superiority complex that makes them view other lives as mere grass? Thinking of this, I suddenly recalled the episodes about gluttony from the show "Soul Ferry" that I had watched before.

Upon reflection, many cooking processes for delicacies are indeed cruel, as they unconsciously intensify the suffering of living beings before they become ingredients to satisfy human cravings. For example, foie gras is essentially fatty liver, deformed chicken wings, sashimi, shark fins, bird's nest...

In other words, history keeps repeating itself, and class has always existed. Many times, we know the truth but dare not admit it; the instinctive fear makes us filled with resentment. I can't help but think of that saying: don't be too kind to those of lower status, as your kindness may be seen as weakness by them. The more primitive instincts are stronger in those of lower status. At the same time, I pondered a question: why do humans become more brutal after becoming human? Is it a regression to the jungle law of the animal kingdom, or have we never truly escaped it? Then why does the compassionate Buddha allow all this to happen? Is it because karma inherently has a cycle?

Once the dishes were served, the waiter said to drink the soup first and then cook the meat. I looked at a pot of broth that was as clear as boiled water, and although there was a faint aroma lingering in the air, I had lost my appetite. My gaze instinctively shifted to the friend who had enthusiastically recommended the dish; he had already rolled up his sleeves and was sweating profusely, having downed several bowls of hot soup, even grabbing the ladle before the waiter could prepare the condiments. My disgust inevitably intensified.

In the tasteless mood regarding Qiaojiao Beef, I don't want to elaborate on the cooking process; I just know that after this meal, I immediately deleted that friend from the group and secretly vowed never to touch this dish again in my life. Back at my place, I don't know if it was because I was holding my breath, but I flipped through various versions of information about Qiaojiao Beef again, most of which mentioned using discarded beef offal and various medicinal ingredients to enhance its effects. But where did these beef offal come from? The scene of the old ox being slaughtered inevitably resurfaced in my mind.

I don't mean to curse anyone; I just feel that even in a sacred place of Buddhist light, I felt fear again. So, I spent a sleepless night and arrived at the foot of Emei Mountain in the hazy morning rain. I wonder if my confusion will be resolved when I reach the top of the mountain. Yet, there seems to be some stirring in my heart.

Recalling my experience of becoming a monk many years ago, I wonder if the ties of worldly affairs have been resolved after all these years, or if holding onto resentment means I haven't let go of my attachments?

Someone in the group suggested that if I felt uncomfortable, I should eat vegetarian meals for a few days or volunteer at a temple. I don't know how many people come to Emei Mountain for cultivation; most likely, they are just looking for a quiet place away from the crowd. If that's the case, even if they eat a lot of vegetarian meals and volunteer for a long time, their hearts will not be at peace. Suddenly, I realized why I disliked that friend. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Qiaojiao Beef; it was just that heaven allowed me to see humanity's greed for the sake of appetite.

The other friends in the group were all good-natured, or perhaps they were a bit more accommodating because he was older, so a group of us changed our plans and followed him to a remote restaurant, watching him greedily feast in front of everyone. He must have been eager to eat meat after not having it for several days, even feeling that others' toasts were a waste of time. Let him be; after all, it was the last meal we would share. In fact, after this meal, the rest of us reached a tacit understanding that we wouldn't include him in future activities.

In short, I was unhappy with this meal, and unfortunately, Qiaojiao Beef took the blame. For a moment, I seemed to see the scene of him wielding a knife to slaughter the ox overlapping with the image of him gnawing on an ox bone at the dining table.

If I don't eat this dish, then so be it; after all, there are countless other delicacies in Sichuan and Chongqing. I just wonder if I will choose to give up again after learning the legends of other dishes. I will follow heaven's guidance.

Suddenly, I thought of another question: why do I always remember unhappy things deeply but have little impression of happy ones? Is it that my inner self is too pessimistic, or does heaven have other arrangements?

The End