Waiting for Golden Peas Grown in the Cloud | Nun Yiguo’s Little Dining Table

I have loved peas since I was a child; every year when they come into season, I have to eat them for several meals in a row to satisfy my craving. When I heard that my good friend Jinzi had grown peas using “Vital Farming” methods at her farm on the Xiaojin mountains in Aba, I couldn’t wait to buy some from her. I even dubbed them “Golden Peas”—they are an old variety of yellow peas grown by Jinzi in the mountains of Xiaojin County, Aba Prefecture. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to get any for the past few years.

“Golden Peas” usually hit the market between late July and early August, with a shipping window of only about two weeks, which coincides exactly with the middle of the summer holidays. During this time, I am either busy with my son Lemao’s summer activities, organising various community teaching events for students on break, or I receive the news too late, or my order doesn’t meet Jinzi’s minimum shipping requirement. One way or another, this “midsummer sweetness” slipped through my fingers year after year.

This summer, my pace of life has been relatively steady. Moreover, two of my meal buddies, Axia and Yueliang, were calling out in the group chat, saying they “couldn’t stand takeaways anymore,” so I decided to restart the Little Dining Table ahead of schedule.

Ten-year-old Lemao was more than happy to see the Little Dining Table return. He is spending his summer in Chengdu, where we share the housework and take turns cooking (he has spent the last two winter and summer breaks in Chengdu working with me in the kitchen and can now prepare some simple dishes independently). Once the Little Dining Table is back, he can slack off a bit, serving merely as the “Summer Experience Officer” for Master Yi Guo’s Little Dining Table. He doesn’t have to man the stove like usual; at most, he just clears the table and does the washing up after dinner.

Since there were plenty of people to feed, I felt confident enough to place an order with Jinzi for some peas (3 jin). After excitedly submitting the order, I saw a special note from the seller: “Will not ship and will refund if not enough is harvested.” In other words, Jinzi couldn’t even guarantee the supply! I let out a mental wail, praying “I hope there are enough peas in the field” while mentally preparing myself for the possibility that if I missed out this year, I’d just have to wait until next.

Then, on a Friday a few days later, just before I was about to leave the house, a beautifully packaged delivery arrived. Unboxing it and feeling the plump pods, I felt as though I could smell the wind and sunshine from above 3,000 metres. My salivary glands began to activate automatically; I couldn’t wait to shell them and get them in the pot. However, my pre-booked swimming lesson couldn’t be changed. In a rush to leave, I had to quickly pop the pods into the fridge.

The next day, while Lemao was doing his homework, I slowly shelled the 3 jin of peas. Listening to music, I watched the round peas jump into the food container, slowly filling the space. My heart swelled with joy as I quietly planned the menu—pea rice, stir-fried minced meat with peas, and if I made steamed pork with rice flour, I’d use peas as a base…

Once finished, while they were still fresh, I grabbed a handful to place under the chicken breast Lemao loves and steamed them together. I left a small handful in a bowl for the next meal of pea rice, and put the rest in containers in the freezer, to be shared with everyone when the Little Dining Table cooked on Monday.

I told Lemao that these peas were grown by Jinzi in the mountains of Aba. For a moment, he couldn’t quite recall who Jinzi was, as several years had passed since she last visited Lemao’s home to conduct a deep-soil cultivation experiment, and they hadn’t seen each other since. But Lemao knew why Jinzi’s peas tasted so good—not only because they came from ecological farming, but because “that kind of place has plenty of sunshine and a large temperature difference between day and night.”

II. Old-Variety Garden Peas Grown in the Clouds

Like many ecological farming enthusiasts, Jinzi began by improving the soil, spreading wheat straw and alfalfa across the land. While the soil was improving, she simultaneously renovated her rented house to suit her personal needs. For example, she installed a rocket mass heater and upgraded the traditional dry toilet into a urine-diverting “fertiliser store.”

During the busy season, she worked hard in the fields; during the slack season, she knitted jumpers and explored the village. She describes herself as “a farmer with her own fallow periods.” By befriending the landlady and the locals, taking the time to understand the local customs, and earning the trust and help of the villagers, slowly, Jinzi began to live her ideal life in that village above the clouds: accompanied by two cats, tending to a flock of chickens, growing various vegetables, fruits, and herbs, working at sunrise and resting at sunset.

When the farm first began to take shape, Jinzi set herself a small goal: to make the farm break even within five years. To achieve this, she had to be more than just a grower; she had to be an entrepreneur. To turn her produce into a commercial product, she had to consider how to organise harvesting, packaging, and transport during the peak season, and use consumer feedback to adjust the farm’s planting schedule for the following year.

She decided to focus her sales on peas and tomatoes, not only because she loves them, but because they are easier to ship via courier, making it simpler to share them with the consumers who support her—people like us.

Just as seeds know how to find the right spot to take root and sprout, humans know how to find the right seeds to scale up cultivation. For Jinzi, in the county of Xiaojin, encountering the ‘golden’ peas—an old variety of garden pea that has been high-yielding in Aba Prefecture since the era of the People’s Communes—and promoting them to urban consumers felt like destiny.

Three catties of peas in the pod don’t amount to much once shelled. A handful went at the bottom of a plate to bed a steamed chicken breast, another handful was tossed into the pot when cooking rice, and the rest were stir-fried with minced pork. Lemo, two other dining companions, and I shared the pot. By the time I planned to steam another chicken breast before going swimming, Lemo asked: “Are there any peas left?”

A true connoisseur of food is a man of taste!

He wanted the peas not only because they are delicious, but because he knows that the “right foods” grown by ecological farmers are often “once a year” treats; when the opportunity arises to eat them, one must make the most of it. As written in *The Life-Saving Diet*, which he had been studying repeatedly this summer: “The human mechanism will naturally obtain nutrition from the right plant-based foods; we need not fret over what to eat. It is a carefree way of eating—as long as you give the body the right foods, the body will do the right thing.”

I told him that he wouldn’t taste Jinzi’s peas again until next year. This “connoisseur” was slightly disappointed, but he accepted the reality with a simple “oh”. As someone who plants peas every winter in Lemo’s family vegetable garden in Mingyue Village, he knows that growing peas takes time, and eating them requires meeting the right moment.

This sense of detachment and the grace with which he yields to nature at such a young age makes him a delight to be around. It also made me wonder: how much of one’s personality is innate, and how much is cultivated over time?

In recent years, this circle of farming friends, including ourselves, have lived and worked on our respective lands in accordance with nature’s seasons and rhythms. The produce that ripens and flows without interruption has provided Lemo with the nutrients his body needs, while cultivating his rich, sensitive palate and his understanding of the objective world. It has shaped him into someone accustomed to waiting and accepting the wait: since all things have their time, why should one rush?

I am grateful to nature, this great school, which not only restores the vitality and innocence of adults but also grants children optimism, open-mindedness, and patience.

IV. Extra: Summer and Winter Pea Rice Recipes

Finally, let’s talk about how to make pea rice.

Jinzi’s peas come into season in midsummer, and this year was the first time I had tasted pea rice made with tender summer peas.

The summer version of pea rice is simple. After rinsing the rice, add a handful of tender peas and a little millet to the pot. This “bean rice” is a breath of fresh air during the summer heat and a nutritious choice when one’s appetite is lacking. It is incredibly convenient and perfect for summer; once the rice is cooked, simply blanch a handful of sweet potato leaves or water spinach, drizzle them with a poaching sauce, and the meal is ready.

For the winter version, one can look to the cured pork, pea, and glutinous rice meals made by farmhouses and small eateries in the Western Sichuan plains every winter. Rinse an appropriate amount of glutinous rice, dice some cured pork (with a good balance of fat and lean), and add a bowl of washed pea seeds (the “seeds” here refers to dried peas kept for planting). Put everything in a rice cooker and press the start button.

For those who have never tried this, imagine a *zongzi* (sticky rice dumpling) without the bamboo leaf wrapper. Making this for a winter table is certainly easier; there’s no need to blanch greens—just serve it with a few pieces of spicy pickled cabbage. It is appetizing, cuts through the richness of the pork, and aids digestion.

In *The Story of Seeds*, Jonathan Hilvertton writes: “The technology of cooking seeds is a great movement, cunningly diverting the gifts plants leave for their offspring to other uses.”

Before reading *The Story of Seeds*, like many people, I had eaten pea rice since childhood and had a vague fondness for various kinds of bean rice—especially those with mixed grains and pumpkin—but I had never stopped to ask “why”. It turns out the secret lies in a major discovery of our ancestors: grains and legumes complement one another, providing the amino acids that the other lacks. This balances the diet, ensuring that those who rarely eat meat, or cannot afford it, still receive balanced nutrition.

I am grateful to our cunning ancestors for putting seeds on the dinner plate, beginning the shared evolutionary journey of humans and seeds.

Foodthink Author

Xia Lili

Born Hou Xinqu, a writer with a passion for nature and children. She loves cooking and is interested in the relationship between humans and food. She founded the Xiaji Study (Dujiangyan) and Lemo’s Homeland Nature School (Mingyue Village, Pujiang). She is currently conducting research and teaching practice in Yulin, Chengdu, focusing on “community building and nature education within urban renewal.”

 

 

Images: Provided by the author unless otherwise noted

Editor: Xu Youyou