Tongchuan Broadknife Noodles

Tongchuan Broadknife Noodles

　　The most famous ones are from Tongchuan.

　　The knife: two chi and two cun long, three cun wide at the front edge of the blade and four cun wide at the back edge, weighing nineteen jin on the old scale.

　　Cutting: the right hand lifts the knife while the left hand presses the dough, lifting and dropping in rhythm, the cutting board resonating with the knife’s sound as the blade follows the hand’s movement.

　　The dough: kneaded into floss, pressed with a wooden lever to form a hard block, coiled to rest and regain elasticity, then rolled out to one millimeter thick before being folded into a semi-circle with the rolling pin lifted.

　　Skilled artisans work boldly, wielding the knife with ease to slice noodles as fine as silk. Once the water boils, the noodles cook in just two rounds. Topped with dry [fire-view] meat sauce, diners swallow one bite before eagerly chewing the next. After finishing a bowl, they can hardly wait for the second, and after three bowls, their faces are flushed with sweat, noses and ears clear—but they still crave more, though their stomachs can take no more. They linger for a moment, then leave reluctantly.

　　Tongchuan is rich in coal, and going down the mine shaft is like setting sail. A local custom calls for eating long noodles before heading underground, symbolizing the “pulling of the soul.” As a result, many broadknife noodle shops are concentrated in mining areas. Outsiders spread tales: those who sell broadknife noodles mostly have the surname Guan, descendants of Guan Yu, or the surname Bao, descendants of Bao Zheng. This is utterly false. At one vendor’s shop in Tongchuan’s East Gate, the husband is surnamed Hua and the wife Chen—both surnames belonging to people executed by Guan Yu and Bao Zheng in ancient times. Asked about their craft, they say it is inherited from ancestors. Pressed further—who were their forebears?—they reply: mere hay-cutters at the horse stables.