Delicious Yellow Eel from Xiantao

Delicious Yellow Eel from Xiantao

　　Delicious Yellow Eel from Xiantao

　　 I’ve always loved Xiantao, not only because it’s my hometown, but more importantly because its water-town culture carries an unpretentious charm. That latter part is something I came to realize after visiting many other places.

　　 Some friends think it’s the “Three Steamed Dishes of Mianyang” that captivated me, making me unafraid to show favoritism among the vast landscapes of our 9.6 million square kilometer country.

　　 I love eating “Three Steamed Dishes of Mianyang,” especially the steamed yellow eel with rice flour. This has nothing to do with being a picky eater. It’s just the unflattering reputation of being a “foodie.” In truth, eel is actually one of the most down-to-earth dishes on the dining tables of Xiantao folks.

　　 The eel is cooked fresh, whether stir-fried, sautéed, deep-fried, or braised. In Xiantao, besides steaming with rice flour, there’s also braised eel spine, shredded eel stir-fry, and cucumber stewed eel soup. The people of Xiantao are clever and capable, brimming with imagination, showcasing their local culture vividly.

　　 The yellow eels of Xiantao grow in the calm, misty waters of the Jianghan Plain. People here love to eat them not only for their tender meat but also for their high nutritional value, rich in essential amino acids and vitamins needed by the human body.

　　 When friends travel to Xiantao, visit the hometown of Chen Youliang the King of Han, admire the lotus fairyland, then head to the Shahu Wetland Park to gaze at endless reeds and watch various water birds soaring in the sky... After a long day, they might step into a farmhouse courtyard, spot plump yellow eels in the water tank, and casually order a variety of eel dishes.

　　 In early summer, the Jianghan Plain basks in mild sunshine and ample rainfall. The vegetable plots of local households sprout crisp, fresh greens. The restaurant owner picks a few garlic shoots from the garden, some cucumbers, green peppers too, washes them, and tosses them into the wok. With a sizzle and pop of quick stir-frying, soon the aroma of the eel spine dish wafts through the room, lifted by the garlic shoots.

　　 The owner serves you a plate of garlic shoot eel spine, and you leisurely sip your beer as you devour it. Then another plate of shredded eel with green pepper arrives. Soon after, a plate of fragrant steamed rice is served.

　　 The cucumber eel soup is simmering over a wood fire. The beauty of the local cooking method lies in how the cucumber absorbs the umami of the eel. Without the cucumber’s crisp tenderness, how could the eel in the clay pot be so oil-rich, fragrant, tender, and soothing to the stomach?

　　 Guests’ faces flush with pleasure; with rice as the base, each is served a steaming bowl of cucumber eel soup. The soup mellows the beer, complements the rice, and leaves no thirst behind. Only then do you feel truly well-fed and content. At this moment, you might think: I haven’t seen enough of Xiantao’s beauty—why not come back to enjoy delicious yellow eel amid such scenic splendor? The winding streams and paths of the farmhouse courtyard offer a rare touch of elegance in life.

　　 Amidst such contentment, savoring these green foods—the fine dishes of Xiantao yellow eel—you’ll truly understand the scene described in the line, “Don’t laugh at the farmer’s cloudy home-brewed wine.”

　　 My love for steamed yellow eel with rice flour started in childhood. Around the Dragon Boat Festival, as the weather gradually warms, some families choose to host guests during this holiday. In the days before refrigerators, it was hard to keep fish with scales fresh, so people often opted for scale-less fish like loach and eel for meals.

　　 The cleaned and prepared eel is pounded into slices, cut into sections, mixed with rice flour, and steamed in a bamboo steamer over a wood-fired stove until half-cooked, then scooped out into a bowl. When the guests have all arrived, the bowl is flipped over onto a plate, returned briefly to the steamer to reheat, then served with a drizzle of thickened sauce and sprinkled with chopped scallions. The rice flour clings to the eel without making it greasy—the color, aroma, and taste are all perfect, tender and delicious. This dish even replaces the mandatory steamed fish in the “Three Steamed Dishes of Mianyang.”

　　 Back then, the economy wasn’t developed, and such dishes were rarely enjoyed at home…

　　 Beautiful and fertile Xiantao has eels wherever there’s water. With advances in science, eels are now mostly farmed, forming a large industry that’s exported both domestically and internationally. There’s no need anymore to wander the fields with a fishing basket, as I did in my childhood, trying to catch them. Getting a taste of eel is much easier now.

　　 Friends, there are more than just these few ways to enjoy Xiantao’s yellow eel. If you’re planning a trip to Xiantao someday, please let me know in advance—I might just be able to serve as your savvy guide to exploring Xiantao and savoring its eel dishes. But truthfully, being your guide is just a nice excuse; what I really want is an opportunity to return to my hometown and enjoy a plate of steamed yellow eel with rice flour.