Li Xiang loaded the selected rice paddy into wicker baskets. He weighed them in batches, recording the number for each basket before carrying it over and pouring the contents into the newly bought granary.
Of course, this weight in kilograms was after subtracting the weight of the basket.
The final total came to 310 kilograms of new rice.
Li Xiang and his grandma were quite happy. From just over a tenth of an acre, with no fertilizers or pesticides, getting this much purely organic rice could be considered a bountiful harvest.
He left the last two baskets of rice paddy outside. It wasn't that the granary was full, but that he planned to take them to be milled tomorrow on his three-wheeled cart.
Having harvested new rice, they naturally had to be the first to taste it fresh.
The net weight of the rice in these two baskets was about 117 pounds. After being processed at the milling station, it yielded about 82 pounds of polished rice and 34 pounds of bran. There was some loss, but not much.
In the past, before rice milling machines, pounding rice in the countryside was purely manual labor. The rice paddy was placed in a stone mortar and slowly pounded with a pestle. Not only was it inefficient, but it also produced a lot of broken grains. Furthermore, the bran (the husk) wasn't ground finely enough. Now, with milling machines, efficiency has increased dramatically. Although there are still some broken grains, it's much better than pounding by hand.
Another benefit is that the bran produced by the milling machine is very fine, making it suitable for feeding pigs.
The milling station was a small, solitary building not far from the temporary market where Li Xiang had bought groceries before. It was said to have been the power station for a nearby village. After the power station was relocated, someone contracted the old building and opened this milling station.
It was a real convenience for the surrounding villagers. Otherwise, they would have to go all the way to town or the county seat just to mill their rice, which was far too inconvenient.
Li Xiang took his 117 pounds of rice paddy, and in about 15 minutes, the bran was separated from the rice. The processing fee was 10 yuan.
The price posted on the wall was 10 yuan for every hundred pounds of rice paddy. Although Li Xiang had a little more than that, the owner didn't charge extra, saying 10 yuan was fine. Li Xiang handed the man a cigarette to show his thanks.
He also took the bran back with him. He was planning to raise pigs next year, and rice bran was excellent pig feed. Although it wasn't a lot, he could start saving it up.
Back home, after storing the new rice in a clean rice crock, Li Xiang scooped out two bowls' worth to wash and cook.
After soaking the new rice in water, he scooped some up with his hand to look at it in his palm. Each grain was plump, crystalline, and translucent, like a pearl. It also had a faint, natural fragrance. To be honest, Li Xiang quite enjoyed the process of washing rice.
In the art of Kung Fu Tea, there is a step called "unfurling the tea." Simply put, it's the process of watching the tea leaves expand. Admiring the tea leaves is like viewing a beautiful scroll painting, a delight to behold.
For green tea, even if you skip the most complicated steps, many people still love brewing it in a glass cup. Because the glass is transparent, you can clearly observe the process of the tea leaves changing in the water. The better the green tea, the more beautiful this process is.
It was the same for Li Xiang now as he washed the rice. Soaking the new rice and observing it in his palm, he found it hard to put down, as if he were admiring pearls and jade.
Each grain as white as frost, glistening as if wet with dew. When steamed, its fragrance fills the hall, a simple, true delight to eat.
But no matter how beautiful it was, it was meant to be eaten. With a sigh of admiration, Li Xiang finished washing the rice and went into the kitchen.
Grandma had already boiled a pot of water, which was just beginning to simmer. Li Xiang added the new rice, covered the pot, and then went to prepare the other dishes.
The wood-fired stove in the new kitchen he had built in the backyard was a double-burner model with two woks, so he could cook congee and stir-fry at the same time.
If he only had one wok, by the time he finished making a slightly larger meal, the first dishes would have already gone cold. And from an efficiency standpoint, operating two woks at once was definitely faster.
Additionally, there was a separate channel specifically for boiling water and another for simmering soup. These two channels didn't require special attention; the heat would naturally flow to them during normal cooking.
If he wasn't simmering soup, he could just keep the pot filled with fresh water.
By the time the stir-fried pumpkin, braised winter melon, and rice-paddy fish and tofu soup were ready, the rice in the congee pot was already half-cooked. You could tell by scooping some up with a slotted spoon and looking closely; the color of the core was different from the surface.
Or you could pinch a grain with your fingers and feel that the center was still a bit hard.
Then, Li Xiang brought over a woven bamboo strainer—flat on one side with a sieve-like bottom, used in the countryside for draining cooked rice. He used a slotted spoon to scoop out most of the rice and place it in the strainer to drain, leaving a suitable amount of grains in the pot to continue simmering until the congee reached the right consistency. This congee was exceptionally sweet and could be eaten by both people and cats.
Depending on personal preference, you could also add some corn kernels, yams, or sweet potatoes to the congee for a unique flavor.
The drained rice, meanwhile, was poured into a wooden steaming bucket and steamed over high heat.
Rice steamed this way becomes very firm and springy, with a top-notch texture and an intoxicating aroma. It's called "drained rice."
The history of drained rice is long, with mentions of it in the ancient *Book of Songs*. An old, now-obsolete term described this exact method of cooking: boiling the rice until half-done, then draining it and steaming it on a rack until fully cooked.
Although that ancient term has long fallen out of use, the method of making "drained rice" has stood strong for three thousand years. Anyone who has eaten it knows that rice steamed this way is far more fragrant than rice made in an electric rice cooker in the city.
Some electric rice cookers have a "wood-fire rice" setting, but no matter how well-designed, it's still just a simulation. How could it possibly compare to real wood-fired rice?
As the half-cooked rice began to steam in the bucket, Li Xiang added two more dishes: braised beef and braised pork.
He had previously bought braising spice packets, beef, and pork. He had used his large iron wok to braise eight pounds of beef and ten pounds of pork, adding several handfuls of dried chilies. The resulting meat was savory and fragrant. He had refrigerated it along with the braising liquid to let the flavor soak in. Now, he took out a few pieces of each, sliced them onto plates, and placed them on top of the rice to steam together.
Today was another simple meal: four dishes and a soup—three meat and two vegetable.
'So much better than the food I had as a wage slave in the big city!'
Li Xiang took a video of the freshly cooked rice and showed it to his followers, who all expressed their envy.
"That rice, every grain is so shiny! It looks delicious just from the picture!"
"I want to eat it so bad!"
"It's the legendary drained rice! It's a little strange, but it looks so appetizing."
Li Xiang replied, "It doesn't just look good, it tastes even better!"
In ancient times, eating the first new rice was accompanied by a grand ceremony. This was a custom deeply valued in agrarian culture.
It usually included a series of sacrificial and celebratory activities, like picking an auspicious day, cooking the new rice, setting off firecrackers, worshipping ancestors, performing Nuo opera, and demonstrating martial arts. The main purpose was to celebrate the harvest and give thanks to Nature and the blessings of their ancestors.
Nowadays, though, things were kept simple. Just savoring the delicious taste of the new rice felt ceremonial enough.
Of course, Li Xiang hadn't forgotten the two dogs and the litter of kittens.
The dogs' food was a bit more flavorful; he mixed their rice with vegetable broth, winter melon, and pumpkin, and added a few slices of braised beef and pork. The mother cat and her kittens, however, got a lighter meal consisting mainly of congee.
Li Xiang filled a large bowl with congee for them, then poured in fish broth and fish meat, stirring it all together.
He had meticulously picked out every single tiny bone from the fish meat. His grandma couldn't bear to watch, unable to stop herself from saying, "Are you really worried the cats will get bones stuck in their throats? They're better at spitting out bones than you are!"
Li Xiang was speechless.