Chapter 20: Lion’s Head Meatballs Again

 

                       

Yunlai Tavern was the grandest inn in Chongxian Ward—spacious, lavishly furnished, capable of housing more than a hundred guests. Singing courtesans graced its upper floors. Though it still fell short of the great entertainment houses of the East and West Markets, it remained an impressive establishment.

Business had always been steady. Yet lately, the proprietor found himself increasingly troubled: customers had begun bringing in outside food to pair with their wine.

The tavern had never explicitly forbidden it. After all, hunters occasionally brought in their freshly caught geese or deer when dissatisfied with their own cooking, and the tavern was always happy to prepare them. Some guests even arrived with humble street snacks—fried tofu, sour pickled fish paste—and the staff would smile as they fetched plates. If that was what guests enjoyed, who were they to object?

But recently, something strange had begun to happen.

Customers were showing up with small white porcelain dishes—each holding either two quivering red-glazed cubes of meat or a single meatball as large as a child’s fist. They would sit down and call out, “Bring a soup spoon!” because the meatballs were far too tender to lift with chopsticks.

This wasn’t just a few customers, either; it was becoming a trend. Even more mortifying, while the tavern’s own dishes often remained unfinished, these little porcelain plates were always scraped spotless. Even the sauce was poured over rice.

How had it come to this?

After asking around, the proprietor learned that these dishes came from Shen’s Food Shop—the modest breakfast shop run by a young lady renowned for her pastries and jade-tip buns. He had ordered flower cakes from her during the recent festival and had admired their delicate craftsmanship. But when had she begun selling meat dishes?

Traditionally, food shops focused on steamed buns, flatbreads, rice cakes, and noodles, often closing after breakfast. Taverns sold wine and dishes, not pastries. Each kept to its own lane.

This boundary-crossing irritated the proprietor; Shen’s little shop had stepped directly into tavern territory. Still, he couldn’t scold the customers, and it didn’t seem appropriate to confront a young woman. So, he simply sent someone to buy the dishes instead.

And indeed—they were extraordinary.

He had never seen pork prepared with such finesse: rich yet not greasy, exquisitely tender, beautifully presented, worthy even of a formal banquet. When he asked his cooks to replicate them, they simply couldn’t uncover the secret methods. Something essential was always missing.

Meanwhile, Shen Shaoguang herself remained blissfully unaware that she had violated an unwritten rule of the culinary world. At her small shop, she was teaching A’yuan how to prepare Lion’s Head meatballs.

The meat-to-fat ratio was precise—50-50, 40-60, or 60-40. Master Wang Zengqi swore by seventy percent fat; Master Liang Shiqiu preferred seventy percent lean. Shen Shaoguang followed the wisdom of gourmand Yuan Mei: half lean, half fat.

The cutting, however, mattered even more. First remove the tendons, then dice the meat finely, followed by a gentle chopping. The principle was “cut more, chop less”—too coarse or too finely ground would both ruin the texture.

A’yuan’s knife skills were steady and patient, and she truly enjoyed the work. Given time, she might become a capable cook.

Once the meat was ready, Shen Shaoguang took over. With starch-dusted hands, she shaped the large meatballs—never adding starch into the meat itself, or it would turn gummy. After lightly frying the meatballs to set their shape, she steamed them for two full hours.

Only then did the Lion’s Head meatballs become as soft and tender as tofu.

As the weather cooled and the shop remained too small for seating, Shen Shaoguang focused on braised and steamed dishes—future classics with reputations polished over centuries. They were easier to popularize.

With Agate Meat and Lion’s Head meatballs selling well, she began considering clay pot chicken, and once winter deepened, perhaps cured ham. With ham, she could braise tofu and cabbage, steam duck and fish, prepare honey-glazed ham, wine-scented ham… the possibilities made her mouth water.

Such comforting dishes were perfect not only for the weather but also for elderly patrons—particularly Minister Li Yue of Yankang Ward.

Minister Li had served as Minister of Rites for over a decade before spending two terms as governor in Jiangnan. Returning last year, he resumed his post and was recently promoted to Chancellor—one of four in the empire.

In his youth, Li Yue had been outspoken and had offended many. After many rises and falls, he now cherished poetry, nature, beautiful music, wine—and good food.

Because of these preferences, his servants constantly scouted for delicacies, and soon discovered Shen Shaoguang’s shop. From jade-tip buns to flower cakes, Agate Meat to Lion’s Head meatballs, everything suited his palate. The chancellor's household bought from Shen’s frequently; even at banquets, her dishes were served.

At one such gathering, Chancellor Li gestured to the dishes before them. “Shouren, Anran—try this Agate Meat.”

Prefecture Chief White, only a few years younger than Li Yue, respectfully tasted it and nodded. “Red as rouge, fragrant with every bite—truly worthy of its name. The chancellor’s private dishes are remarkable!”

Li Yue laughed. “Not from my kitchen. These meatballs as well—please taste.”

Before tasting, Chief White chuckled, “A bold name!” He scooped a piece with a spoon, tasted it, and his expression instantly changed. “So tender!”

Li Yue then asked Lin Yan, “Well, Anran?”

Lin Yan replied with his usual gentle composure, “This humble official finds it excellent.”

“They’re from a food shop in your own ward. You haven’t tried them?”

Lin Yan dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. “Indeed, I haven’t.” But the refined flavor seemed consistent with Shen’s famous soup-filled buns.

Chief White added with a laugh, “Chongxian Ward has many fine foods! Even the young clerks eat egg pancakes there every morning. I tried one—they’re quite good.”

Chancellor Li teased, “I can hardly imagine Anran eating pancakes.”

Lin Yan only smiled faintly.

Chief White laughed again. “Anran is different. All these years, I’ve never seen him act hastily.”

Chancellor Li sighed softly. “Anran’s bearing—truly like the old days…” He stopped himself, sipped his wine, and then smiled. “Shall we have Taorui perform ‘Spring Warbler’s Song,’ with Chunnu on pipa, to thank you both for saving their lives?”

Taorui and Chunnu—the chancellor’s favored courtesans—had been frightened by horses at Qujiang and rescued by prefecture officers. Tonight’s banquet was held in gratitude.

The two women stepped forward, offering thanks, then began their graceful performance.

With wine flowing and music drifting, poetry naturally followed.

“Rouge-tinted cheeks and emerald brows, lips like sandalwood red… hairpins falling, waist soft as silk…”

Listening to the verses of his senior officials, Lin Yan quietly sipped his wine and ate the last piece of Agate Meat on his plate—wondering why the poem sounded suspiciously like it was describing that very bite.

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