Lamb Soup

Lamb Soup

　　    Once the fame of beef and lamb pita bread soaked in lamb soup (yangrou paomo) spread, some delved into ancient texts to trace its origins. Some claimed it was invented by Zhao Kuangyin—the man who would become Emperor Taizu of Song, clad in yellow imperial robes—during his days as a wandering beggar. Others said it was introduced to the Tang Dynasty by nomadic peoples from the West, while some even argued it existed as early as the Zhou Dynasty... Though these tales are colorful, they lack solid evidence. The author has also consulted some experts on the matter and offers a modest opinion: this dish is actually a fusion. It originated when the Central Plains’ age-old lamb stew (yanggeng) met the flatbreads brought by merchants from the Western Regions. Its cooking method, meanwhile, evolved by absorbing the stewing techniques of Guanzhong’s earliest renowned snacks, gradually taking shape in the early Qing Dynasty. Initially, it was the food of peddlers and commoners—refined ladies and well-off young women would never touch it. Perhaps due to its “mixed heritage,” it has exceptional vitality and charm, making it today the most popular among Xi’an’s famed snacks.

　　This uniquely flavorful dish, like a much-loved ancient poem, is something one never forgets. Xi’an’s beef and lamb paomo has been repeatedly praised by countless people—from alleyways to the movie “The Xi’an Incident,” from Chen Zhongshi’s novel “White Deer Plain,” all the way to state banquets in Zhongnanhai. This delicacy originates from Xi’an, but nowadays, it is often the dish that makes the city itself famous.

　　A good bowl of paomo must start with a pot of well-made broth, and the method for preparing such broth is naturally a trade secret. As for the meat, experts say even the washing process matters—some use water from old wells, others use flowing water. Before slicing, it used to be customary for customers to choose their preferred cuts. I once heard about the scene in pre-liberation paomo restaurants: after the customer broke up the bread, the waiter would bring over a cutting board laden with meat. Options included lean meat from the hindquarters (“rear seat”), flank with eye of round (“belly beam with eye bubble”), or brisket (“chest meat”) for those wanting a mix of lean and fat to clear the lungs. Back then, the meat and the bread were priced separately. Customers would order, then wait while sipping tea, as the waiters sang out the orders in sequence, for example: “Three guests upstairs, first bowl with thin broth, ribs with eye bubble...” After the meal, when settling the bill, they would sing out the price of each bowl, the total, and the tip. And once the tip amount was announced, all the waiters in the restaurant would bow toward the customers and chorus: “Thank you!”

　　Nowadays, Xi’an residents feel something’s missing if they go a few days without paomo. As for women, they’ve gone from avoiding it altogether to considering it a true delight. In paomo joints large and small, it’s common to see elderly men with pocket radios squeezed at the same table as stylish girls with earphones tucked into their hair. The old men listen to heartfelt, soul-stirring Shaanxi opera, while the girls enjoy soft Hong Kong and Taiwan pop songs. Though the sounds differ, and their thoughts may be worlds apart, everyone’s hands are doing the same thing: breaking apart the flatbread (tuotuo mo)! These days, when visitors from other provinces come to Shaanxi, locals always treat them to the proud specialty of beef and lamb paomo. For leisure travelers, it’s a perfect choice. Because from simmering the broth to breaking the bread, it’s all a slow process—and breaking the bread, in particular, carries a deeper meaning: in the old days, food connoisseurs insisted the bread pieces should resemble bee heads—too big and the flavors wouldn’t penetrate, too small and they’d overcook easily. As a result, many would sit at home in the morning, carefully breaking the bread while listening to opera or even entertaining guests, then bring it to the restaurant when it was time. There are also certain ways to eat paomo. One is “dan zou” (single serving), where the bread and soup are served separately—the bread (preferably leavened) is broken into the soup. Another is “gan pao” (dry stew), where no soup remains in the bowl. Then there’s “shui wei cheng” (water besieging the city) and “kou tang” (mouthful of soup): the former has more soup surrounding the bread, while the latter leaves just a sip of soup at the bottom of the bowl. Locals usually prefer “gan pao” and then drink a separate bowl of clear soup, saying “each to its own flavor.” Even the eating order matters—it’s not like eating youpo cushi noodles, where you stir everything with chopsticks first. Instead, you eat it bite by bite from one side, as veteran eaters say this keeps the aroma and heat from dissipating. Once, while accompanying a writer to eat paomo, after watching the preparation, he joked upon tasting it: “Who says northerners can’t put on a show? Here, the meat in your paomo sinks to the bottom during cooking but floats to the top when served. Too bad the vermicelli insists on being arranged in a net pattern—pretty, yes, but also a bit restrictive...” Though said in jest, it gave food for thought. I also met a gentleman who, while eating, solemnly asked why paomo is always eaten with pickles. Some say it’s to cut greasiness and remove gamey flavors. He shook his head: not entirely. Back in the harsh old days of the West, eating paomo was first and foremost about filling one’s belly, while portable, preserved pickles met travelers’ need for vegetables. When someone takes their love of paomo this seriously, it’s hard not to feel deep respect. Xi’an’s lamb paomo has hosted President Jiang Zemin and dignitaries from all walks of life, giving rise to two tales of the “World’s Number One Bowl.” First, the late master painter Huang Zhou, after enjoying paomo at Tongshengxiang, was so pleased he offered to write a commemorative calligraphy piece—and thus inscribed “World’s Number One Bowl.” Why not say he “painted it boldly”? Because Mr. Huang was already ill at the time. When writing the central stroke of the character “天” (heaven), a drop of ink fell, which he cleverly incorporated, earning gasps of admiration from onlookers—thus it’s hailed as fine craftsmanship. Later, Comrade Liu Huaqing, after savoring paomo at Lao Sunjia, also enthusiastically wrote “World’s Number One Bowl” with care. And so, the tale of Xi’an’s two “World’s Number One Bowls” of beef and lamb paomo was born. But anyone nitpicking to rank Lao Sunjia and Tongshengxiang’s paomo is being petty. In truth, for diners both Chinese and foreign, these “Number One Bowl” stories have become the most amusing conversation starters when visiting either spot for authentic paomo. Legends of Lamb Paomo: Beef and lamb paomo is a signature snack unique to Xi’an. Lao Sunjia Restaurant has been serving it since 1898, boasting a century-long history. Legend says the dish evolved from the ancient “beef and lamb stew” of the 11th century BCE. During the Western Zhou Dynasty, “beef and lamb stew” was listed as a “ceremonial dish” for kings and feudal lords. According to the Book of Song, during the Southern and Northern Dynasties, Mao Xiuzhi was granted the title of Grand Master of Ceremonies for presenting Emperor Wu of Song with this exquisite dish, later rising to the rank of Minister of Imperial Kitchens. There’s also a humorous tale: before becoming emperor, Zhao Kuangyin of the Song Dynasty was trapped in Chang’an, living day-to-day in hunger. One day, he came upon a shop boiling beef and lamb. Seeing his plight, the owner let him break up his own dried flatbread, then poured hot meat broth over it and cooked it by the fire. Zhao devoured it ravenously, declaring it the most delicious food he’d ever tasted. Later, after ascending the throne, he passed through Chang’an again and couldn’t forget that long-ago meal. He returned with his ministers to that very shop, ate the beef and lamb paomo once more, found it even more delicious than delicacies, and generously rewarded the owner. Once word of the emperor eating paomo spread, it became a famous snack on the streets of Chang’an. The great Northern Song poet Su Dongpo once praised it in verse: “In Long, there’s bear jerky; in Qin, only lamb stew.” (Xi’an)