Autumn Harvests Friendship at the Neighbourhood Table | Sister Shitai’s Shared Table
Foodthink Says
I. An Age-Defying Little Dining Table
The dog days of summer were tough, endured with no small effort. This year’s heat in Chengdu stretched unusually long. Everyone was constantly shuttling between sweat-soaked outdoors and air-conditioned indoors. Such frequent adjustments drained our vital energy considerably. Yet, perhaps thanks to half a year of regular routines and wholesome eating, the dining companions arrived punctually each day to collect their meals—a clear sign their health was holding up well. Unlike previous years, the seasonal shift brought no sudden ailments.
This sense of achievement lifted the cook’s spirits, making it clear it was time to build on the momentum and make the most of the ‘Golden September and Silver October’ to stock up everyone’s reserves for winter.
As for the cook herself, daily vitality has been remarkably high—all credit goes to the Little Dining Table.
When spring arrived, I drafted an ‘age-defying plan’, hoping to restore body and mind through a holistic overhaul of exercise, diet, and daily routine, whilst also hoping to slow the onset of age-related ailments. After all, being in my mid-forties, time waits for no one.
If we hope to remain sharp of mind and agile in movement as we grow older, we must prepare now: strengthen our fitness, maintain regular hours, and eat a balanced diet.
Since setting up the Little Dining Table, our companions have been eating seasonally, guided by whatever our partner farmers harvest. Nearly 180 days have passed, and the results are striking. Every time I stand in the kitchen to cook, I am filled with creative passion and joy born of mutual affection.
More than once, I have wished to tell the world just how wonderful the Little Dining Table is: Planning staple dishes and sides based on what’s in the fridge and pantry is excellent mental gymnastics; every step from washing and chopping to seasoning and stir-frying sharpens the coordination of hand, eye, mind, and heart.
II. Autumn: The Little Dining Table Bears the Fruit of Friendship
For me, the feedback from my dining companions is the finest nourishment of all.
Looking back over the past six months of running our little supper table, we have encountered numerous challenges, yet we have navigated them all together through unity and mutual support:
When the cook’s rented flat suffered a plumbing failure and was left without water for a period, a nearby dining companion issued an invitation. She welcomed the cook to relocate herself, along with all the pots and ingredients, to her own home, establishing a temporary outpost for our supper table.
This makeshift kitchen was equipped with a steamer, so during those weeks our menu revolved around steamed dishes and mixed cold dishes. Finally, the much-anticipated rice-flour steamed ribs were added to the rota.
Once, I found a kohlrabi in a veg box from my farming friend, Hu Xuemei. Ah, a vegetable I had long forgotten—and deliberately avoided. But since it had arrived, and thinking my dining companions might never have tried it, I quietly julienned it and stir-fried it with shredded meat, scattering fresh garlic sprouts over it just before taking it off the heat. As I cooked, I was forced to confront some rather painful memories from the past, yet I also made an effort to reflect on what those earlier experiences had taught me.
In the summer months, the veg from my farming friend tends to be leafy greens and courgettes. When I come across crops that require a great deal of prep time, I, as the cook, have considered alternatives: either leave a note asking the farmer not to send them again, or lower the bar and keep the preparation simple. But I always catch myself thinking: why not seize the chance for some good mental and manual exercise to keep dementia at bay? That’s the beauty of having dining companions. Without them, I would never push myself quite this hard.
As the days went by, our rapport deepened. My companions began keeping spare food containers at my place so I could portion out the meals straight from the pan. If anyone couldn’t make it on time, I’d pack their share and put it in the fridge for them to collect later. This not only spared me the disruption of dishing up at staggered times during my own meal, but also cut down considerably on the post-meal clearing up.
As my meal companions are all freelancers, their lives before joining were rather spontaneous and largely unstructured. Now that they are dining with me, each person’s daily schedule revolves around meal collection time. Gradually, everyone’s routines have settled into a steady, more predictable rhythm. This not only fosters a greater sense of control over one’s life but also weaves a closer connection between our bodies, our surroundings, and each other, establishing a fresh daily cadence.
This month, a new dining friend named Xiao Gao joined us. Passionate about music and working part-time as a singer, she penned a “Little Dining Table Song” at my request after her first visit: “Little dining table, little dining table, I have a little dining table.” She also took to her WeChat Moments to share “the beautifully prepared meals made by Teacher Xia,” joyfully declaring to the world: “There’s one more healthy kid in the Yulin district eating on time!”
III. Autumn Nourishment Menu: Fresh Arrivals
My farming friend Chen Ying in Meishan has just threshed her new rice, with the germ clearly visible. I quickly ordered 10 kg (20 jin) from her, and also bought a fresh batch of sweet potatoes, peanuts, chestnuts, and pumpkins to keep in store. Each time I cook, I reduce the plain grain portion and increase the proportion of legumes, seeds, sweet potatoes, or pumpkin. I also picked up some lotus roots while visiting a stall at the Chengdu Lifestyle Market, setting them aside for slow-simmered soups.
The latest Hu Xuemei vegetable box I received held a few paper-wrapped carrots and two onions. Indeed, when everything has its season, plants are the most punctual.
In the sweltering heat, the blistering sun makes everyone seek shade, yet root vegetables stretch their leaves wide beneath it, soaking up every ray to silently nurture their “fruit” deep underground. As the air gradually cools, humans and other animals turn to these root crops for sustenance, gathering strength to endure the long winter ahead. Thanks to every plant that bears an edible root.
To show my respect for the onions and carrots, I went for a morning jog the day after the box arrived. I headed straight for the greengrocer near the market, hoping to beat the early-rising “silver-haired darlings” to the shop, and brought back two slabs of “firm tofu with a creamy skin” to cook with them.
That particular batch of old tofu is highly sought after. Only one tray is sold each day, on a first-come, first-served basis, and once it’s gone, it’s gone. It looks slightly yellowed and grey on the surface, yet feels remarkably springy to the touch. Once cooked, it releases an incredible aroma; a rich, soybean depth lingers delightfully between the lips, teeth, and nostrils. After I bought some on a previous visit and cooked it once, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’ve already made plans to incorporate more tofu into our meals once the autumn chill sets in—a treat we look forward to sharing at our little all-female dining table.
This shop, which specialises in the old tofu, is truly a local gem in Yulin. Every morning at 5 a.m., the owner hauls down fresh vegetables and fruit from Longquan Mountain. By 7 a.m., the entrance is already packed with elderly customers. By half past ten at the latest, the day’s stock has sold out, and the owner locks up and heads home, generously leaving the pavement outside his prime-location shop free for the neighbouring fruit stall to use.
That said, the owner rather enjoys taking time off and follows the public holiday calendar, closing for a few days here and there. So, whenever I make a spur-of-the-moment trip to pick up vegetables or fresh fruit for a recipe, the shop might just be shut. I’ve had to learn to shrug off the disappointment, first admiring the owner’s enviable work-life balance, then feeling quietly grateful that our basic vegetable supply for the dinner table is consistently and reliably delivered straight from our farming friends.
At a recent lifestyle market, I specifically picked up a packet of Chen Erwa’s pickled cabbage and fish seasoning. I’m saving it for the next time I manage to buy the “creamy-skin old tofu,” planning to simmer a pot of “tofu that tastes like fish” for my dining companions. I’ll make sure to add extra broth and some celery to the mix; it’s sure to be a hit.
As part of our all-female crew’s autumn nourishment routine, we’re adjusting our staple foods, incorporating more plant roots and stems, and enjoying braised tofu. I also frequently prepare soups and thick stews to aid digestion and absorption, helping us build up reserves of energy to see us through the long, cold winter ahead.
This season sees an abundance of okra and loofah. I’ve quickly stir-fried them with beaten eggs for a silky-smooth dish, and I’ve also snipped prawns into small pieces, tossing them into the nearly cooked loofah and okra before adding a splash of water to simmer into a velvety shrimp and vegetable stew. Served mixed with mixed-grain rice, it’s truly delicious.
Both okra and loofah are excellent ingredients for stews; they both yield a distinctly slippery, silky juice. The loofah’s juice, in particular, is traditionally called “beauty water” in folk wisdom and is considered especially nourishing for women. While these two vegetables are still in season, I’ve promptly placed an order for some lamb with a shepherd friend from Ningxia. Once it arrives, I’ll mince it and simmer it with the vegetables into a rich, hearty soup. It should be wonderfully flavourful and easy on the stomach.
The author of *The Philosophical Cook*, a violinist who served as mayor of Belley during the French Revolution, began writing after returning to his homeland following years of exile. His opening maxim reads: “The universe only gains meaning through the existence of life, and all life requires nourishment.” In the chapter “On Digestion,” he also shares a proverb: “Man lives not by what he eats, but by what he digests. We must digest in order to survive. Rich or poor, shepherd or king, all stand equal before this iron law.”
Digestion ought to be the foremost consideration when choosing what to eat or preparing meals for others. So, to all who read this: may you enjoy sound digestion, steady absorption, robust health, and bright spirits.
Images: provided by the author unless otherwise noted.
Editor: Xu Youyou.