Chapter 51: "Stir-fried Snails"

In the blink of an eye, summer has arrived again. Every evening, beer, skewers, and crayfish stalls can be seen on the streets, and the lively voices of people make this bustling world even more vibrant. When I was young, I also enjoyed this liveliness, but among the dazzling array of food, the only thing I would rather turn away from was snails.

My aversion to snails can be traced back to the years when I was not independent and had to rely on my family.

In the northern region where I grew up, snails were a rare delicacy. People in my hometown commonly referred to them as "luosi," because their spiral hard shells resembled the shape of screws, hence the name. However, this has nothing to do with the well-known snail noodles today. If we must trace the historical origins, it could be connected in some way, but that is not the focus of this article.

Fresh snails need to be soaked in lightly salted water for three days to clean out the impurities in their bodies. Then, the tails are cut off with pliers, and they are rinsed several times with clean water before cooking. I remember that I loved to squat by the basin and watch the snails soaking, often seeing them poke their heads out of their hard shells, slowly climbing up the edge of the basin. Occasionally, I would mischievously pinch a snail that was about to climb over the edge with my fingers and put it back into the water. I also once foolishly asked an adult if snails were just water snails. The answer I received is long forgotten, but it must not have been unpleasant.

Stir-fried snails need to be cooked with plenty of oil, salt, and spice to taste good. Scallions, ginger, garlic, and cooking wine should also be added generously. The common method in my hometown is to first sauté scallions, ginger, and garlic in hot oil until fragrant, then add doubanjiang (fermented bean paste) to stir-fry until aromatic. After that, the prepared snails are added to the pot along with cooking wine and quickly stir-fried a few times, followed by adding salt, soy sauce, and other seasonings to continue stir-frying. Once the snails are colored, water is added to simmer for ten minutes to allow them to absorb the flavors. If you prefer it spicier, you can add some chili during the simmering process. Once the sauce has almost evaporated, turn up the heat and stir-fry a few more times before serving.

Those who are particular will sprinkle some chopped cilantro just before serving or right after taking it out of the pot, making it look more appetizing.

Freshly cooked stir-fried snails are fresh, fragrant, spicy, and hot, making them perfect for adults to enjoy with drinks. This rare delicacy, which is not often seen, is naturally loved by us children as well. At such times, you would see a group of little kids each holding a sewing needle, their hands covered in sauce.

We would first use the needle to poke away the covering at the top of the snail that blocks the opening of the shell, then insert the needle into the soft snail meat, pulling it out to eat. If the snail meat is slightly white in the middle, it means it is not cooked and should not be eaten. I remember someone taught me that if the snail meat feels firm, it means it was still alive when it went into the pot; if the meat is very loose, it means it is dead. My two cousins and I once had a competition to see who could suck the snail meat out without using a needle, just with our mouths. Later, we were stopped by the adults because it was easy to accidentally suck in the tail, which contains the snail's waste and unborn baby snails, and is not edible. Moreover, if you suck too hard and pull the snail meat into your throat, it could be even more troublesome. As for who suggested the competition first? That malicious idea naturally fell on me.

I remember one time, my two cousins and I shared a bowl of stir-fried snails. It was probably a family gathering that day, with the adults sitting around the TV drinking tea, eating sunflower seeds, and chatting. My mother specially cooked the snails that she had been reluctant to eat for a long time for my cousins. She called it helping me take care of my brothers. Each time I excitedly reached for the snails, my younger cousin would push my hand away, blocking me with one hand while searching for bigger snails with the other. Later, when my younger cousin got impatient, he used the needle in his hand to poke at my hand. I screamed and complained to my mother. She dismissively said it was no big deal, that I was making a fuss, and that as the older sister, I should let my younger brothers have their way. She told me to take care of my brothers, and since the adults rarely gathered, I should not be unreasonable, her words filled with disdain, as if to say, "You should be grateful; if it weren't for your brothers, would you even get to eat such a rare delicacy? Don't be ungrateful!" My younger cousin seemed to understand my mother's meaning, and his face showed an even prouder expression, his hands picking snails more skillfully. Since then, I never touched stir-fried snails at my parents' house again.

It seems to always be like this. They break my things, and my mother blames me for not putting them away properly; they take my things, and my mother says the older sister should let the younger brother have them. If I don't do this, it would be seen as not being a proper young lady, or as being uncultured and unrefined. In my mother's eyes, this is something that must be punished.

My grandmother often said I was "lacking in appetite," which is why I was the weakest one in the family.

My grandmother had four children, and after my grandfather passed away, she would take turns living with each of them. Later, due to housing demolition and other changes, my parents and I moved back to the community where my grandmother lived, so all four of her children ended up living in the same community.

Every time my grandmother's two daughters took her to their homes, they would treat her to a meal at a restaurant as a "welcome feast." During these times, my grandmother would always invite me along. I remember once eating a snail the size of half a fist at my grandmother's "welcome feast." When I got home, I excitedly told my parents about it, but I didn't notice my mother's gradually darkening expression. Suddenly, she stood up and shouted: "Is there no food at home? Do you have to go to others' places to mooch off them? If this gets out, it will seem like your parents are abusing you! Since you like eating at others' homes so much, why come back? Go stay with them!" As she spoke, my mother was already making a move to push me out of the house. Meanwhile, my father, who had been sitting quietly, just muttered: "Forget it, it's not like you go often, calm down." But my mother became even more furious. Later, my father stopped speaking. It was as if we had a tacit understanding; from that point on, I deliberately avoided my grandmother's welcome feasts, and they never invited me again. Later, I went to school in another city, getting further and further away.

I remember in my second year of college, it seemed that overnight, eating spicy crayfish became popular everywhere. At that time, a boy was pursuing a girl in our dormitory and would often treat our whole dormitory to meals. Whenever he ordered spicy crayfish, he would also definitely order a plate of stir-fried snails. After going a few times, I found excuses not to go anymore.

The next time I ate stir-fried snails was during the years I worked in Shenzhen. I was dating a boyfriend from Northeast China, who loved to sit at roadside stalls on summer nights, enjoying stir-fried snails and beer. The summer in Shenzhen is particularly long. He would carefully help me pull the snail meat out, remove the tails, and place them on a plate, and I didn't have to worry about getting hurt. Later, when we both had free time, we would hold hands and go to the market to buy fresh snails to cook at home. The flavor of Northeast cuisine is very strong, enough to mask my fear of stir-fried snails. I loved mixing the rich sauce with rice, and he once asked me if I didn't like eating stir-fried snails. At that moment, I suddenly realized that I had long been accustomed to only getting what others didn't want.

If it weren't for the changes that followed, I think I would have walked into each other's lives with this tall, sunny boy.

The End