Quality ingredients speak for themselves | Sister Yiguo’s Little Table
This time, she brings us straight to the lively heart of the kitchen. At the stove, Xia Lili does more than weave together her dining companions, farming friends, and seasonal produce in a burst of shared energy; she also stumbles upon the remarkable, almost alchemical way the Little Dining Table revitalises the body and spirit.
I. Cabbage and Potatoes: Sounding the Call for Spring Harvest
Picking at the various insect marks on the fresh potatoes, I could almost see my farming friend Hu Xuemei and her “handyman” Brother Li working the fields for the spring harvest. Xuemei prices all her vegetables at a flat 10 yuan a jin. To keep grocery bills down, I visit her stall once a month when she comes to the Chengdu Life Market. It saves on delivery fees, and I also get a discount for happily taking produce with minor blemishes.
Back in my hometown of Shuzhuang Village, Chongyi Town, Dujiangyan, this time of year always kept the adults exceedingly busy. Once the potatoes were pulled from the ground, the fields had to be cleared for the next planting. The bigger tubers were stacked in a neat pile for storage, while the smaller ones were swept into a basket for eating straight away.
With the adults occupied, the cooking fell to my teenage sisters. I, their ever-present shadow, would feed the fire and watch how they prepared the meal. We’d always begin by washing the rice and setting it to boil. While it simmered, I’d grab a handful of “little potatoes”, scrub them clean, and tear the cabbage leaves into rough chunks.
When the greens were cooked and the rice steamed, the head cook would be busy selecting broad-bean paste from its earthenware jar, while sending out the little tag-along to act as a little horn across the fields. The child’s voice would carry through the air, calling every labourer back home.
Years later, as the elders passed away, my male cousins moved their families away to find work, and my female cousins married and settled elsewhere. When the little tag-along visited the old home, there were no more footsteps to follow. With the redrawing of administrative boundaries, Chongyi Town has since faded from Dujiangyan City’s maps.
Thankfully, the experiences of my rural childhood have slowly grown into the finest, most closely packed rings in the tree of my life. So, my hometown, my ancestral house, and my family will forever remain with me.
II. Ingredients Speak for Themselves
Sister Jiang, a founding member of my dining group, tasted the potatoes and noted a “milky aroma,” while I found them delightfully delicate and naturally sweet. Clean ingredients really do speak for themselves. I am truly glad my efforts have paid off—I started this small dining table precisely so I could listen to them speak every day.
I am grateful to the small dining table for ushering in my new chapter in Yulin.
On the final day of February, after finalising arrangements with my dining companions, I enthusiastically placed an order on the Tian’an Life online shop as soon as the meal contributions arrived that evening. I purchased a new chopping board and a chef’s knife for the kitchen, bought a stash of whole grains, dried goods, and seasonings for future meals, and subscribed to a weekly vegetable box delivery from Hu Xuemei Family Farm.
As soon as I closed the payment page on Tiance Micro-Store, I couldn’t wait to share the good news about the little dining table’s opening with Auntie Chen from Meishan’s “Encounter Family Farm”. I ordered ten jin (about five kilograms) of rice from her, our designated “little dining table rice supplier”. Auntie Chen was delighted to hear the news. She said carrots were ready to be harvested at her farm just in time, and promised to bring along a few for the little dining table as a congratulatory gesture when I came to collect the order at the market.
That night, lying in bed, I pictured all those ingredients making their way from their origins to my door, carrying the rich scent of soil and warm wishes from fellow growers. I truly felt I would be smiling in my sleep.
I woke up still smiling, ready for the first day of cooking for my dining partners.
Standing in the kitchen of my rented flat, I looked around, brimming with anticipation. Suddenly, I felt as though every familiar face from the farming community was right there with me, sharing this rented kitchen as I took on the new challenge.
You can truly see where a person invests their time. Over the past decade, tending earnestly to the life I believed in has, in the end, yielded its own harvest.
As a self-taught food enthusiast, I assessed the dietary needs of my dining partners. Guided by the principle outlined in *The China Study*—“for better health, focus on a natural, plant-based diet”—I began reshaping our eating habits, starting with our staple foods.
To ensure every meal was nutritionally dense, our simple “one dish, one bowl of rice” format required each serving to feature at least ten different foods. Every day, before cooking the rice, I’d run through a quick mental tally.
High-quality carbohydrates are essential for those of us with East Asian genetics. To balance this, I reduced the proportion of white rice, blending it with brown rice or millet. I’d also stir in a variety of seeds and legumes—such as raw cashews, pine nuts, crushed corn, black beans, and peanuts—to broaden the range of textures, nutrients, and ingredients in every bowl.
III. Running a Small Dining Table Is Like Governing a Great State
Thanks to this small group of dining companions, I’ve begun to reflect on cooking in an entirely new light.
Each dining companion has their own reason for joining in. Miss Jiang wants to save time in the kitchen so she can pursue her hobbies. Tata, who runs a plant shop downstairs with her brother, simply lacks the time and facilities to cook. Piano teacher Chuzhuzi dislikes cooking but refuses to rely solely on takeaways. Liu Dashu, who runs a bar, hopes to manage his health by adopting a more regular routine (his main aim being weight loss)…
Aside from Miss Jiang, the others have little understanding of what constitutes ecological ingredients, or how ecological farming relates to personal health. They have neither the inclination nor the time to delve into it. So, how might I help them appreciate the true value and purpose of this little dining table?
I decided to dedicate some time to “spreading the word and educating”. Each time I finish prepping and before I start cooking, I take a moment to send a brief update to the group in WeChat called “Healthy Living”. The messages go beyond just listing today’s menu; I also share where the ingredients come from and why this particular method of preparation is beneficial…
How do I accommodate each person’s needs while staying within budget? How can I best combine what’s already in the fridge with fresh produce from my farming partners? If a particular companion has been unwell, how should I adjust the preparation to suit their constitution? When someone’s work schedule clashes with meal times, what’s the best workaround? Navigating all this coordination and compromise requires careful consideration. Running a small dining table truly feels like governing a vast nation.
Yet I remain joyful, because each day in the kitchen, as I handle the ingredients, I feel a quiet conversation unfolding between the farmers who grew them and the companions who will eat them.
Everything has been running smoothly.
Thanks to the little dining table, the kitchen has undergone a “complete overhaul”, and my efficiency has skyrocketed. With the companions pitching in, clearing out the fridge has become a breeze. Every time the stock of black pork, cured meats, soy-sauce-marinated pork, sausages, ham and fish balls that plagued me all winter finally lines up to leave the freezer, both my heart and the fridge seem to cheer in relief.
Within days, the companions joked that they’d become like Pavlov’s dogs, eagerly anticipating mealtime and confessing that they “feel truly content”. As both the organiser and the cook, I’m just as pleased: seeing them arrive hungry and eager makes me feel genuinely needed, and watching them tackle their food with gusto gives me an immense sense of satisfaction.
One day, after collecting his meal, Liu Dashu posted a photo from downstairs with his bowl in hand, remarking that one of the great perks of living in Yulin was having access to the little dining table. His delight was palpable. I imagined that, beyond enjoying a wholesome meal, he was also thrilled to have finally managed to “get up early”.
For someone in the bar trade, turning up promptly at 11:50 am is no small feat. I hope the little dining table’s focus on “healthy eating and a regular routine” will give him the push he needs to follow through on his health goals more consistently.
Alongside Liu Dashu, I’d also like to share the story of another meal companion, Chuchu Zi.
Last autumn, I signed up for a woodland hike organised by a friend and met Chuchu Zi, a fellow outdoor enthusiast. She told me she was completely uninterested in food and the land, and had only joined the Little Dining Table because she didn’t want to cook, was looking for good value, lived reasonably close by, and trusted me.
After collecting her first meal, she told me with delight, “The food is lovely. It tastes great even on its own.” She even said it would bring “pure joy to nut lovers.” Each time she comes to collect her food, she takes a photo and sends it to her mum back home—“Mum never has to worry about me not eating well now.”
After two weeks on the table, she reported that her weight was steadily dropping—she had already lost around five kilograms—and her body had undergone a remarkable transformation. She felt brimming with energy and no longer craved snacks or late-night bites. It is true: when the body receives adequate nourishment, its organs settle into a calm, self-sustaining rhythm.
In addition to teaching piano, Chuchuzi formed two bands with friends, which often meant burning the midnight oil. The community meals gave her a reason to rise earlier, supported her health management, and freed her from the daily hassle of ordering delivery, leaving her with more creative energy. I joked that if her band or songs were ever to take off, Ms Xia could at least claim a modest contribution to her grand artistic endeavours.
Before long, the first month drew to a close. Chuchuzi had grown fond of that comforting, home-cooked feeling and quickly became a devoted regular. Though her questions about food during meal pickup were often ad hoc, she increasingly found herself pondering “why eating well truly matters.”
One day, Chuchuzi told me quite seriously: “This is a wonderful, valuable thing—getting to know the land and the farmers through our meals. I hope more people find out about it.” By the second month, she had grown even more eager than I was to see the table remain a fixture in Yulin. “As long as I keep my job at the school,” she said, “I’ll keep coming for meals.”
Editing: Xu Youyou