Guanqiao Dried Tofu

Guanqiao Dried Tofu

　　The "LianDoumei Cloth-Wrapped Dried Tofu" from Guanqiao Town in Anxi is quite different from ordinary dried tofu. Not only is it richly aromatic, not easily broken, and quite chewy, but even if dropped from a height, it won’t turn mushy. It’s also especially resistant to prolonged cooking—even after boiling vigorously, it won’t deform or fall apart.

　　Nowadays, people often cut the tofu into cubes, wedges, strips, or minced forms, using it as filling, deep-frying it, adding it to soups, or serving it on a plate. During the "economically difficult" times, when meat was unaffordable, people couldn’t do without it: buy a piece of cloth-wrapped tofu, bury it in salt for a few days, and it would become salty and tough—perfect to eat with congee, both economical and satisfying.

　　Even now, people in Anxi still love "LianDoumei Cloth-Wrapped Dried Tofu." Whether on regular days or during festivals, every household often fries up a dish of it—great for personal enjoyment or pairing with alcohol. Its fragrance, elasticity, and chewiness make it the most distinctive local snack. Returning overseas Chinese always take some "LianDoumei Cloth-Wrapped Dried Tofu" with them when leaving. This local specialty is cheap, easy to store, and convenient to carry; it can be grilled, baked, used in soups, served as a dish, or given as a gift. But what they find even harder to leave behind is probably the familial affection of their hometown.

　　The reason this "LianDoumei Cloth-Wrapped Dried Tofu" can be so fragrant and beloved far and wide is likely due not just to its low price, but also to its unique "nature" and craftsmanship, which differ greatly from ordinary tofu.

　　First, one must select full, freshly harvested soybeans from that year, wash off the sand and dirt, and soak them in warm water overnight— at least 10 hours—until they absorb enough moisture and swell plumply. Then, the soaked soybeans are finely ground into a thick slurry. The slurry and three times the amount of warm water are poured into an iron pot and slowly simmered over low heat. When it boils, a little cold water is added to prevent it from overflowing. Continue cooking for about twenty minutes until the soy milk is thoroughly cooked and slightly thickened. Then, pour the soy milk into a white bag made of fine gauze to filter out the soybean dregs. Next, the filtered soy milk is placed in a large wooden barrel, and an appropriate amount of brine is added to coagulate it into tofu curds, which are then divided and packed into small white cloth bags, tied tightly, and lightly pressed with wooden boards. While fermenting, most of the moisture is also drained out. When it’s about 50% dry, each piece is turned over and placed in a wooden mold; on top of the wooden mold, stones are gradually added to squeeze out as much moisture as possible. Once the small cloth packages are untied, the tender, snow-white cloth-wrapped tofu emerges, like a young girl from next door just coming of age—adorable and endearing.

　　In the early days, the cloth-wrapped tofu was dyed yellow with gardenia juice, giving it a bright, golden-yellow hue that was very appealing. Later, some people “substituted materials,” using yellow construction dye instead of gardenia, which made people afraid to buy the yellow tofu. Now, it’s all white. Along National Highway 205 between Anxi and Xiamen, in the section of Guanqiao Town’s LianDoumei Village, rows of stalls line both sides, all selling cloth-wrapped tofu. Travelers coming from north and south often ask the driver to stop briefly here, so they can buy a few strings of cloth-wrapped tofu, taking along a string of joy and a string of fragrance, savoring it as they head toward distant places.