Old Street Dried Tofu

Old Street Dried Tofu

　　Old Street Dried Tofu

　　One day while wandering around Gaochun Old Street, I accidentally spotted, behind a gauze-covered window on the street side, a group of women dressed in indigo floral-print clothes, all hunched over in quiet diligence. Working in pairs, they carefully untied square, soft cloth bundles — inside of which was an entire massive block of tofu, white and delicate, looking absolutely delicious. Next, each woman picked up a knife, and with swift, uninterrupted movements, the enormous tofu was quickly “dismembered” into thousands of smaller pieces. Their knife skills were so masterful, it was almost intimidating. What followed seemed to be the “packaging” process: they spread out a handkerchief-sized piece of cloth, placed a small chunk of tofu on it, used their thumbs to nudge it forward, their pinkies to lift it slightly to the sides, then applied wrist strength to flick it forward — and with a neat somersault, a perfectly square little cloth package landed neatly on the table. The little packages on the wooden board piled up higher and higher, drawing louder and louder cheers from the onlookers outside the window.

　　What kind of craftsmanship is this? As I wondered, my eyes widened in curiosity. Above me hung a large red lantern emblazoned with the golden characters “Xue Ji,” and just a few steps ahead, the wooden door was wide open. A young man dressed in a traditional red Tang suit stood smiling as he greeted customers, holding exquisitely packaged dried tofu. It turned out to be the historic Xue Ji brand from Gaochun. It’s said that the dried tofu here is made from premium soybeans, which are ground into pulp, filtered three times to remove residue, pressed, and finally cooked using the Xue family’s secret ancestral recipe. Xue Lianshou, the inheritor of the Xue family legacy, told us that the Xue family shop begins soaking the soybeans at 2 a.m. every day. After dozens of manual processes, the freshly cooked dried tofu is ready by 5 p.m., immediately vacuum-packed, and contains absolutely no preservatives or other chemicals. His sincerity convinced me, and on a whim, I bought a pack to try. It was tender, fragrant, and delicate, leaving a lingering aroma in the mouth. Who knew dried tofu could taste this good? Suddenly, it felt almost luxurious.

　　Once again, a rich bean fragrance wafted through the air, accompanied by wisps of thin steam — it was the final filtered soy milk being ladled out. Xue Lianshou’s mother, Madam Xu Xiaotou, who is also the proprietress of “Xue Ji,” quietly poured a cup for us and warmly invited us to step inside. The taste of this soy milk was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. The host explained, “A cup like this is usually enough to make four or five cups at those breakfast stalls outside!” She then led us into the inner workshop, and sure enough, several large bags of soy milk were hanging over the big stove, wrapped only in ordinary gauze — yet not a single drop leaked out. Its purity and richness were truly astounding, leaving us full of admiration and complete conviction.

　　Locals on the old street told me that Old Street Dried Tofu comes in two varieties: fragrant tofu and stinky tofu. The fragrant tofu has a well-balanced saltiness, sweet but not cloying, with a pure fragrance. When chewed slowly, it offers layers of freshness, sweetness, oiliness, and saltiness — a flavor-packed experience. The stinky tofu is light green in color, and its taste is a peculiarly fragrant kind of “stink.” Though infamous for its smell, it is actually delicious, boasting a uniquely savory flavor that is hard to put into words.

　　A tiny soybean, starting from the hazy hours of midnight, undergoes countless rounds of grinding, filtering, pressing, steaming, and boiling — infused with boundless care — until, as the sun sets in the dusky sky, it is transformed into a part of the dried tofu. This whole process moved me in a way I can hardly describe. To this day, I still remember the exquisite flavors of the dried tofu and soy milk from Xue Ji — a taste that, for some reason, has been engraved in my memory.