Essays: Fragrant Young Sprouts (Xiangchun Ya)
Spring has arrived, and everything is reviving, with a vibrant and flourishing scene across the. Birds chirp and chatter incessantly in the trees, seemingly telling people that they received the news of spring before humans did.
The few camphor trees in our home have begun to sprout and bud. The newly grown leaves are incredibly tender; a gentle pinch will cause them to break. We call this 'xiangchun ya' () in our area, and it is now also sold in Beijing for dozens of yuan per, all grown in large greenhouses. The taste is far inferior to that of naturally grown ones.
Xiangchun ya has a wide range of uses; it can be used to stir-fry eggs. To prepare it, wash and chop the freshly picked Xiangchun ya, crack open pre-prepared eggs, and then heat oil in a pan. Gently stir-fry the eggs until they are cooked, and then add the Xiangchun ya. In a short while, a plate of color, aroma, and taste complete Xiangchun ya fried eggs will be ready.
In rural areas, Xiangchun ya is mainly used to pickle salted vegetables. When the Xiangchun ya grows to two zha ( – roughly equivalent to a certain thickness or size), it is tied to a long wooden stick with an iron hook to pull out the branches. When pulling, you must be especially careful not to bend the branches; if you do, they may not grow next year. Mother would pickle salted vegetables every year, first cleaning the salted vegetable (cylinder/container), then cutting the picked Xiangchun ya according to size and removing the twigs with a fork, evenly placing them in the salted vegetable cylinder, sprinkling salt particles on top and rubbing it back and forth, finally covering it with a lid, and it will be pickled in about a month. When eating, take it out of the cylinder, shake off the salt, wash it, chop it, and season it with vinegar, oil, and coriander, and it's particularly delicious with a big bun. Nowadays, things change, and people come and go. Mother passed away last year and can no longer be seen. When I think of her, I can only meet her in my dreams. Winter comes and goes, and the camphor tree continues to grow lush and vibrant. But her owner is now separated by life and death, and she will never return. No one in the family pickles salted vegetables anymore, the camphor tree has become a memory of my childhood. Mother is forever a pain in my heart.
