Doufu and Unusual Methods of Osmosis

(Lindsay)

Imagine that Evel Knievel offers you a ride . . . across the Grand Canyon. If you can picture this, you are close to imagining what it's like to be a passenger in Mr. Wong's van. Mr. Wong has been our driver from Kunming up into the mountains around Yuanyang and Jianshui, and today, back to Kunming. He is a pro. He can pass a tour bus going around a bend with, let's say, a tuktuk and two trucks coming the other way, and absolutely no margin for error between the van and a very steep drop, without breaking a sweat. (Don't try this at home.) But Mr. Wong is not alone. Pros are a dime a dozen here in China. They all have nerves of Bessemer-processed steel.

There are rules. I think. If you are a tuk-tuk, also known as a mamu--China's three-wheeled version of the deux cheveux--you don't mess with a car; if you are a car, you don't mess with a truck, and so forth. You might think that, given the human tendency to challenge convention, this would be a recipe for constant pileups, but when you look for evidence, there is next to none. Hardly a dent anywhere. Without coming to China and seeing for yourself, you might not believe my explanation for why Chinese driving habits are so effective in China, but I believe they are so effective because the Chinese are held to a higher standard of looking out for one another than we are in the states. While it is true that a tuk-tuk does not mess with a car, it is also true that the drivers of the cars, vans, trucks and tour buses look out for the tuk-tuks, which are often carrying several relatives, including small children. In China, it seems, people get along to move along. What a concept!

This morning we visited a doufu (tofu) factory. The factories are located along the narrow lanes of the old section of Jianshui. Outside of the factory we visited was a tuk-tuk loaded with the doufu-processing waste that would be carted off and fed to the pigs. Inside the factory is a room, about 250 square feet, around which sat three or four women at doufu-straining tables. The doufu is cut into 1 inch cubes, perhaps 400 to a tray, and the women take the cubes one by one, place them in a square of cheesecloth, gently squeeze them to strain away excess water and replace them on the tray. You can fry doufu or cook it up in soup, and if you have a little left over, you can freeze it. Cubes are sold at a counter at one end of the same room. Ten cubes cost two yuan, about 33 cents U.S. Multiply that by five and you have a meal.

After visiting the factory, we walked around to the community well. (Houses in the old section of Jianshui have no plumbing.) Several men were there filling their 10 gallon jugs and buckets. Many had at least two containers, which, once filled, they would attach to either end of a bamboo pole and balance across their shoulders to get the water home. The well is a giant cistern, perhaps 15 feet across and 10 feet deep. We walked up to it to peer over the edge and were surprised to see many goldfish swimming in the clear water. We asked Jackie, our guide, why they were there, expecting the answer to be something functional, such as using a canary in a mine to indicate the presence of dangerous gas, or symbolic, such as bringing good luck. But no, Jackie said, "It was probably some naughty boy playing a prank. There used to be frogs in there."

Finally, before leaving for Kunming, we visited the Confucian temple, the second largest in the entire country. The largest is in Qifu, where Confucius was born. The grounds are beautiful; a kapok tree just inside the entrance and immaculate topiary. As we walked about, our guide, a Confucian priest, explained the significance of the stone carvings and calligraphic ornaments. At one point he played out a tune for us on an array of ancient, scaled brass bells. It was such a pretty tune that I was a little surprised that it did not draw a crowd, but there were very few other visitors when we were there. Even so, Confucius is making a somewhat rocky comeback in China. Advocates like the reminder of a wise and kind patriarch watching out for his children, much like a one-party government looking after its citizens, while opponents resist anything smacking of the hierarchy prevalent prior to the Cultural Revolution.

Touring the grounds, we came upon a 600 year old stone tablet with a relief of Confucius. His forehead was oddly indented. "When people came to the temple," the priest told us, "they would rub his forehead with their fingers and then press their fingers to their own foreheads to try to take in his wisdom." AbbyNikOla were eager to try this, but there was a barrier around the tablet. "Do not worry," the priest said, "there is a replica up ahead. It's just as good." When we got there, we all took our turns with Confucius' forehead; some of us even went back for seconds. This particular brand of idolatry reminded me of the statue of John Harvard in Harvard Yard. John has a very shiny foot from so many eager scholars over the years buffing his shoe. Confucius' forehead, John Harvard's foot; makes you wonder doesn't it? Undoubtedly the latter tradition was begun before Harvard started teaching anatomy.