豆汁兒
Douzhir

　　豆汁下面一定要加一個兒字，就好像說雞蛋的時候雞子下面一定要加一個兒字，若沒有這個輕讀的語尾，聽者就會不明白你的語意而生誤解。

　　胡金銓先生在《談老舍》的一本書上，一開頭就說：不能喝豆汁兒的人算不得是真正的北平人。這話一點兒也不錯。就是在北平，喝豆汁兒也是以北平城裡的人為限，城外鄉間沒有人喝豆汁兒，製作豆汁兒的原料是用以餵豬的。但是這種原料，加水熬煮，卻成了城裡人個個歡喜的食物。而且這與階級無關。賣力氣的苦哈哈，一臉漬泥兒，坐小板凳兒，圍著豆汁兒挑子，啃豆腐絲兒捲大餅，喝豆汁兒，就鹹菜兒，固然是自得其樂。府門頭兒的姑娘、哥兒們，不便在街頭巷尾公開露面，和窮苦的平民混在一起喝豆汁兒，也會派底下人或是老媽子拿沙鍋去買回家裡重新加熱大喝特喝。而且不會忘記帶回一碟那挑子上特備的辣鹹菜，家裡儘管有上好的醬菜，不管用，非那個廉價的大醃蘿蔔絲拌的鹹菜不夠味。口有同嗜，不分貧富老少男女。我不知道為什麼北平人養成這種特殊的口味。南方人到了北平，不可能喝豆汁兒的，就是河北各縣也沒有人能容忍這個異味而不齜牙咧嘴。豆汁兒之妙，一在酸，酸中帶餿腐的怪味。二在燙，只能吸溜吸溜的喝，不能大口猛灌。三在鹹菜的辣，辣得舌尖發麻。越辣越喝，越喝越燙，最後是滿頭大汗。我小時候在夏天喝豆汁兒，是先脫光脊樑，然後才喝，等到汗落再穿上衣服。

　　自從離開北平，想念豆汁兒不能自已。有一年我路過濟南，在車站附近一個小飯鋪牆上貼著條子說有「豆汁」發售。叫了一碗來吃，原來是豆漿。是我自己疏忽，寫明的是「豆汁」，不是「豆汁兒」。來到臺灣，有朋友說有一家飯館兒賣豆汁兒，乃偕往一嘗。烏糟糟的兩碗端上來，倒是有一股酸餿之味觸鼻，可是稠糊糊的像麥片粥，到嘴裡很難下咽。可見在什麼地方吃什麼東西，勉強不得。

酸梅湯與糖葫蘆
Sour Plum Drink and Candied Hawthorn

夏天喝酸梅湯，冬天吃糖葫蘆，在北平是不分階級人人都能享受的事。不過東西也有精麤之別。琉璃廠信遠齋的酸梅湯與糖葫蘆，特別考究，與其他各處或街頭小販所供應者大有不同。

　　徐凌霄《舊都百話》關於酸梅湯有這樣的記載：

　　暑天之冰，以冰梅湯為最流行，大街小巷，乾鮮果鋪的門口，都可以看見「冰鎮梅湯」四字的木檐橫額。有的黃地黑字，甚為工緻，迎風招展，好似酒家的簾子一樣，使過往的熟人，望梅止渴，富於吸引力。昔年京朝大老，貴客雅流，有閒工夫，常常要到琉璃廠逛逛書鋪，品品骨董，考考版本，消磨長晝。天熱口乾，輒以信遠齋梅湯為解渴之需。

　　信遠齋鋪面很小，只有兩間小小門面，臨街是舊式玻璃門窗，拂拭得一塵不染，門楣上一塊黑漆金字匾額，鋪內清潔簡單，道地北平式的裝修。進門右手方有黑漆大木桶一，裡面有一大白瓷罐，罐外周圍全是碎冰，罐裡是酸梅湯，所以名為冰鎮。北平的冰是從十剎海或護城河挖取藏在窖內的，冰塊裡可以看見草皮木屑，泥沙穢物更不能免，是不能放在飲料裡喝的。十剎海會賢堂的名件「冰碗」，蓮蓬桃仁杏仁菱角藕都放在冰塊上，食客不嫌其髒，真是不可思議。有人甚至把冰塊放在酸梅湯裡！信遠齋的冰鎮就高明多了。因為桶大罐小冰多，喝起來涼沁脾胃。他的酸梅湯的成功祕訣，是冰糖多，梅汁稠，水少，所以味濃而釅。上口冰涼，甜酸適度，含在嘴裡如品純醪，捨不得下嚥。很少人能站在那裡喝那一小碗而不再喝一碗的。抗戰勝利還鄉，我帶孩子們到信遠齋，我准許他們能喝多少碗都可以。他們連盡七碗方始罷休。我每次去喝，不是為解渴，是為解饞。我不知道為什麼沒有人動腦筋把信遠齋的酸梅湯製為罐頭行銷各地，而一任「可口可樂」到處猖狂。

　　信遠齋也賣酸梅滷、酸梅糕。滷沖水可以製酸梅湯，但是無論如何不能像站在那木桶旁邊細啜那樣有味。我自己在家也曾試做，在藥鋪買了烏梅，在乾果鋪買了大塊冰糖，不惜工本，仍難如願。信遠齋掌櫃姓蕭，一團和氣，我曾問他何以仿製不成，他回答得很妙：「請您過來喝，別自己費事了。」

　　信遠齋也賣蜜餞、冰糖子兒、糖葫蘆。以糖葫蘆為最出色。北平糖葫蘆分三種。一種用麥芽糖，北平話是糖稀，可以做大串山裡紅的糖葫蘆，可以長達五尺多，這種大糖葫蘆，新年廠甸賣的最多。麥芽糖裹水杏兒（沒長大的綠杏），很好吃，做糖葫蘆就不見佳，尤其是山裡紅常是爛的或是帶蟲子屎。另一種用白糖和了黏上去，冷了之後白汪汪的一層霜，另有風味。正宗是冰糖葫蘆，薄薄一層糖，透明雪亮。材料種類甚多，諸如海棠、山藥、山藥豆、杏乾、葡萄、橘子、荸薺、核桃，但是以山裡紅為正宗。山裡紅，即山楂，北地盛產，味酸，裹糖則極可口。一般的糖葫蘆皆用半尺來長的竹籤，街頭小販所售，多染塵沙，而且品質粗劣。東安市場所售較為高級。但仍以信遠齋所製為最精，不用竹籤，每一顆山裡紅或海棠均單個獨立，所用之果皆碩大無疵，而且乾淨，放在墊了油紙的紙盒中由客攜去。

　　離開北平就沒吃過糖葫蘆，實在想念。近有客自北平來，說起糖葫蘆，據稱在北平這種不屬於任何一個階級的食物幾已絕跡。他說我們在臺灣自己家裡也未嘗不可試做，臺灣雖無山裡紅，其他水果種類不少，沾了冰糖汁，放在一塊塗了油的玻璃板上，送入冰箱冷凍，豈不即可等著大嚼？他說他製成之後將邀我共嘗，但是迄今尚無下文，不知結果如何。

First published in On Food from A Cottager’s Sketchbook, Chiuko Press (九歌出版社).

Douzhir

Douzhi¹, or mung bean milk, must be followed with an “er” (儿) sound, in the same way that when eating eggs, jizi² must be followed with an “er” (儿) sound. Without the neutral tone suffix, those listening would misunderstand what you mean.

In a book Master King Hu³ wrote about Lao She⁴, Hu declared in the opening passage, “Those who cannot drink douzhir cannot be considered real Beiping⁵ natives.” These words are most certainly true. Even in Beiping, douzhir drinking is limited to those in the city proper. In the countryside, no one drinks douzhir and the main ingredient for making douzhir is used as pig feed. Yet this ingredient, when boiled in water, becomes a beloved food for all city dwellers. This fondness for douzhir transcends class. The toiling laborers certainly find joy in their own lot when they sit on small stools around the peddler’s douzhir loads, dirt and grease stains all over their faces, taking bites of tofu strips wrapped in large bing⁶, drinking douzhir, and pairing it with pickled vegetables. Girls and lads from well-to-do families—for whom it would be improper to openly mingle with the poor commoners in the streets and alleys and drink douzhir together—send a servant or amah to buy douzhir in a clay pot, reheat it at home, and indulge themselves in drinking loads of it. Moreover, they will not forget to get a dish of the specially prepared spicy pickled vegetable from the douzhir loads. Though there are fine pickled vegetables at home, nothing hits the spot like the cheap pickled radish strips from the loads. Rich or poor, old or young, man or woman, all mouths share the same craving. 

I do not know why Beiping people have formed such a peculiar taste. Southerners who come to Beiping will never drink douzhir. Even in the counties in Hebei⁷, no one can tolerate the outlandish taste without grimacing. The charm of douzhir lies first in its sourness, which gives it a distinctive rancid flavor. Second, in its piping hotness—it can only be slurped in small amounts and not gulped down. And third, in the spiciness of the pickled vegetables—so spicy that the tip of the tongue becomes numb. The spicier it is, the more one drinks; the more one drinks, the hotter one becomes, until one’s head is covered in sweat. When I was a child, in the summertime, I would only drink douzhir after stripping off my shirt and would not put it back on until after my sweat had dried.

Ever since leaving Beiping, I can’t help but miss douzhir. One year, as I was passing through Jinan, a sign on the wall of a small eatery near the train station claimed the sale of “douzhi.” I ordered a bowl, only to find out it was soy milk. It was my own mistake. The sign clearly stated “douzhi,”⁸ not “douzhir.” After moving to Taiwan, a friend said a restaurant was selling douzhir. We went to try it together. Two bowls of dark sludge were served.  A familiar pungent rancid smell wafted towards our noses, but the thick mushy texture had the mouthfeel of oatmeal porridge, and it was very difficult to swallow. Evidently, local food should be eaten at its local place, and one cannot force it to be otherwise.

Sour Plum Drink and Candied Hawthorn

Sour plum drink in the summer and candied hawthorn in the winter are both universal pleasures in Beiping. Regardless of class, everyone can enjoy them. While both are widely available, the delicately made ones and more commonplace ones differ. The sour plum drink and candied hawthorn made by Xin Yuan Zhai near Liuli Chang, which are both known for their exquisiteness, are a far cry from the ones hawked by the vendors on the streets or sold in other shops around town.

In A Hundred Tales of the Old Capital⁹, Lingxiao Xu wrote this about the sour plum drink:

Sour plum drink is the most popular cold treat on hot summer days. Banners that read “barrel-iced sour plum drink” can be found everywhere in the streets throughout Beiping. Some banners had black characters written on a yellow backdrop with delicate calligraphy, reflecting the hot summer sun like shingles of bars, forcing all passersby suffering from the heat to quench their thirst by thinking of plum. In the old days, all of the officials of the emperor and dignitaries in the city would spend their free time in the neighborhood of the glaze factory—browsing through the bookstores and antique shops, comparing various editions of ancient books side by side to fritter away the long summer days. When they get thirsty from the dry heat, they would all stop by Xin Yuan Zhai for the sour plum drink to quench their thirst.

Xin Yuan Zhai is a tiny storefront. There are only two small rooms. The one facing the street has glass windows and doors in the style of the last century, all spotlessly clean. A banner sits on top of the door lintel and golden characters spell out the name on the black-lacquered backdrop. The interior is simple and immaculate with authentic old Beiping-style decorations. On the right-hand side of the door, there is a big, black-lacquered wooden barrel in which sits a large, white ceramic pot. Ice fills the wooden barrel outside of the pot, and inside is the cold sour plum drink. Hence the name “barrel-iced.” Ice in Beiping is taken from Shichahai Lakes or the moat. Grass, bark, and mud stay in the ice, and it certainly cannot be added into beverages. The famous dish “ice bowl” from Hui Xian Tang restaurant near Shichahai Lakes layers lotus seedpod, peach seed, almond, water chestnut, and lotus onto the ice directly. It is unbelievable that their patrons do not mind how dirty the ice is. Some people even put the ice in their sour plum drink! The ice barrel in Xin Yuan Zhai is ten times wiser. Because the barrel is significantly larger than the pot and there is a lot of ice, the sour plum drink is always refreshingly icy cold. The secret of their sour plum drink is more rock sugar, thicker plum juice, and less water, which makes the drink thick and rich. The sourness and sweetness are so perfect that it tastes like fermented rice wine in the mouth and makes the drinker hate to part with it by swallowing. Rarely could anyone be satisfied with just one small bowl in the store without asking for more. 

When we returned home after the Japanese invasion had been defeated, I took my children back to Xin Yuan Zhai and told them they could have as many bowls as they would like. They did not stop until they had devoured seven bowls each. I go to Xin Yuan Zhai to quench not the thirst in my throat but the craving in my heart. I do not understand why no one has attempted to package the sour plum drink from Xin Yuan Zhai into cans to sell everywhere in China, and yet we allow Coca-Cola to wantonly flourish across our land.

Xin Yuan Zhai also sells sour plum sauce and sour plum pudding. The sauce can be used to make sour plum drink at home, but in no way could it ever match the taste from those small bowls as you stand next to the huge wooden barrel. I have also tried to make it at home. We bought dried dark plums from the pharmacy and rock sugar from the dried fruit shop, sparing no money or ingredients, yet the result was disappointing. The owner of Xin Yuan Zhai, Mr. Xiao, is a very friendly person. I once asked him why we’d always failed to replicate the drink at home, and his answer was very clever: “Please come to the store to have it and spare your effort!”

Xin Yuan Zhai also sells dried fruit, small rock candy, and candied hawthorn. Candied hawthorn is the best. There are three types of candied hawthorn in Beiping. Some use malt sugar, also known as watery sugar in the Beiping dialect. Malt sugar can be used for the big skewers over one meter long. These big hawthorn skewers are usually sold around Lunar New Year. Malt sugar-covered water apricot (green apricot that has not yet ripened) is very tasty, but malt sugar-candied hawthorn is usually subpar, especially when the hawthorn has gone bad or contains bug dung in its core. The other type of candied hawthorn uses melted white sugar instead. When it cools down, the candied surface turns into white frost with its own unique flavor. The most authentic candied hawthorn, however, has a thin layer of transparent, shiny sugar. In addition to hawthorns, it can also be made with various other ingredients such as crab apples, Chinese yam, Chinese yam beans, dried apricots, grapes, mandarin oranges, water chestnuts, and walnuts. Candied hawthorn is the classic. Hawthorn is a type of small red fruit abundant in the mountains in Northern China. It has a sweet and sour taste that goes well with a layer of sugar on top. Normally, candied hawthorns are sold on bamboo skewers over ten centimeters long. The ones sold by hawkers on the streets are often covered in dust and sand and are of low quality. Dong’an Market sells higher quality candied hawthorn skewers. The ones made by Xin Yuan Zhai, however, are on a whole other level. They don’t put the fruits on skewers. Instead, each hawthorn or crab apple is served individually, and all fruits used are big and fresh. Their candied hawthorns are clean, too. Customers carry them home in paper boxes lined with oiled paper.

I have not had candied hawthorns since I left Beiping and I miss it terribly. Recently we hosted a guest who had just come from Beiping. When the topic of candied hawthorns came up, he said the snack that transcends class has almost disappeared in Beiping. He also said we might as well try to make it at home in Taiwan. Even though there is no hawthorn here, we have a wide selection of other fruits to dip into melted sugar and leave on a greased glass surface to freeze in the freezer. All there is left to do is to wait and enjoy it. He said he would invite us to try it once he makes it, but I have not heard from him since. I wonder if it ever worked out.