North Family Letters

A secret recipe turned into nothing (Northeastern Restaurant Edition) - The first incense burner

The train rolled along the tracks, heading north, leaving the bustling city of Guangzhou far behind. As the train pulled into the northeastern station, the humid warm wind gave way to crisp, clear air. Qiu Ju stood on the platform, taking a deep breath of the wind carrying the scent of the black earth, her eyes slightly moist—this was her homeland, which she had left for more than ten years.

Back in her hometown, Qiuju first visited relatives and old friends, and then immediately began investigating the local restaurant market. Northeasterners love to eat and know how to eat well; stews, sweet and sour pork, sauerkraut and pork hot pot… every dish exudes the warmth of home cooking. But after looking around, she found that the restaurants on the street were either inconsistent in quality, or had outdated decor and questionable hygiene; few served authentic, clean, and hearty Northeastern cuisine. What comforted her even more was that many Northeasterners working away from home, upon returning, always expressed their longing for a taste of their hometown, which gave Qiuju even more confidence.

She eventually chose a bustling commercial street in the county town and rented a two-story storefront. The storefront wasn't luxurious, but it was bright and airy. The first floor had eight solid wood round tables, and the walls were painted a refreshing off-white, adorned with landscape paintings of the Northeast forest. The second floor was divided into six private rooms, named "Pine Breeze," "Wheat Waves," and "Black Soil"—simple yet exuding a rustic warmth. During the renovation, Qiuju didn't go for any fancy designs; she only asked the workers to polish the tables and chairs to a shine, lay non-slip tiles in the kitchen, and wipe the stove spotless—every corner exuded cleanliness.

For the two weeks leading up to the opening, Qiuju practically lived in the shop. She scoured vegetable fields and farms around the county, personally selecting ingredients: the pork had to be free-range black pigs, the sauerkraut had to be pickled in cellars for three months, the rice had to be new rice transported directly from Wuchang, and even the scallions and cilantro had to be fresh with dew on them. She even went to a neighboring county to consult a master chef who had been making Northeastern cuisine for thirty years, apprenticing herself to learn the craft. From the batter ratio for sweet and sour pork to the stewing time in an iron pot, and the seasoning ratio for pork stew, she wrote everything down in a notebook, repeatedly trying to recreate it until the taste was exactly the same as the taste of her hometown in her memory.

The second sister, Xia He, also rushed back from Guangzhou to help, managing the front-of-house service and accounts. The two sisters, one a shrewd cook and the other meticulous in management, handled every aspect of the small shop perfectly.

On opening day, Qiu Ju didn't hold a lavish celebration. She simply hung a red sign with gold lettering at the entrance—"Qiu Ji Northeastern Cuisine"—and displayed two baskets of fresh frozen pears and persimmons from Northeast China, offering them free samples to passersby. At eight o'clock in the morning, the shop opened on time. The first customers were Qiu Ju's relatives and neighbors. They sat together and ordered a table full of signature dishes: crispy and golden sweet and sour pork, steaming hot pot of sauerkraut and pork belly, tender and flavorful stewed goose in an iron pot, and refreshing and palate-cleansing cold noodles.

One bite of the sweet and sour pork reveals a crispy exterior and tender interior, perfectly balanced between sweet and sour, neither too cloying nor greasy; a sip of the sauerkraut and pork soup is refreshing and warming, leaving you feeling completely comfortable. Relatives ate with gusto, praising, "Qiuju, this tastes so authentic! A hundred times better than those restaurants in our county!"

In the first few days after opening, the restaurant was packed with customers thanks to word-of-mouth and the gimmick of free samples. Many locals left their bills after eating there and brought their family and friends back later. Qiuju still adheres to its original rules: generous portions, fair prices, and no adulteration. The slices of pork in the sweet and sour sauce are thickly cut, the goose stewed in an iron pot is served in large portions, and even a bowl of rice is served full, never skimping on portions just because it's a small serving.

Trouble still arrived as expected, just like in Guangzhou, where the bigger the tree, the more the wind blows.

Mr. Li, the owner of a Northeastern Chinese restaurant next door, became envious of Qiu Ji's booming business. He first tried to imitate Qiu Ji by offering discounts, but the ingredients he used were far inferior, and the taste was also much worse. Within a few days, he had no customers. Undeterred, he started spreading rumors that Qiu Ji used "fast-grown meat" and that the sauerkraut was "chemically pickled." He even deliberately sent shills to the restaurant during mealtimes to find fault, saying that there was hair in the food or that the taste was wrong.

That noon, several shills banged on the table and shouted that the sauerkraut and pork hot pot had an off smell and demanded a refund. Qiuju walked over, didn't argue, and directly lifted the lid of the pot to show them: "Brother, look at this sauerkraut, I had someone dig it up from the cellar in my hometown, and it's been stewed for two hours. Try it, if there's a problem, I'll not only refund your money, but I'll also compensate you with a whole meal."

The men were taken aback by Qiu Ju's frankness. After taking a bite, their faces instantly changed, and they stammered, unable to speak. Qiu Ju then slammed the bill, entrusted to her by Boss Li, onto the table in front of all the customers: "My Qiu Ji restaurant is here because of its taste and integrity, not because of underhanded tactics. If anyone tries to cause trouble again, I'll go directly to the market supervision department and let everyone judge!"

The customers, already aware of the situation, became even more convinced of Qiu Ji's integrity after this incident. They scoffed at Boss Li's underhanded tactics, and even more people started dining at Qiu Ji. Boss Li, realizing his attempt to disrupt things had backfired and he had only ruined his own business, finally slunk away and closed his restaurant.

After this incident, Qiu Ji Northeastern Cuisine became famous throughout the county. Not only did locals come often, but people from surrounding towns and villages would also drive here specifically to eat; many Northeasterners who worked away from home would also make a special trip to Qiu Ji when they returned, saying, "One bite and I tasted the flavor of home."

Qiuju remains true to her original aspirations. Every morning, she goes to the kitchen to oversee the preparation of ingredients, and at lunchtime, she stays in the front hall, serving dishes and chatting with customers. She listens to their comments, such as "This dish would be better if it were a little saltier" or "The stew would be more fragrant if it were a little more tender." She writes them down and makes adjustments the next day. She never pursues high table turnover rates; she only hopes that every customer can eat comfortably and with peace of mind.

Once, a fellow villager who had just returned from Guangzhou was eating sweet and sour pork when his eyes suddenly welled up with tears: "Qiuju, I've eaten countless Northeastern dishes in Guangzhou, and none of them can compare to yours! In Guangzhou, you relied on your hard work in the daily chemical industry; back in the Northeast, you rely on your hard work in opening a restaurant. No matter where you are, you can succeed!"

Qiuju smiled as she added rice to her fellow villager's plate, then touched the worn-out note with the word "Reassuring" in her pocket, feeling a warm glow in her heart. From a daily necessities stall in Guangzhou to a restaurant kitchen in Northeast China, the business has changed, but her original intention remains the same.

As the days went by, Qiu Ji Northeastern Cuisine's signboard shone brighter and brighter. Qiu Ju also rented a storefront next door, expanding the restaurant, adding seating and private rooms, and launching Northeastern-style New Year's Eve dinner sets and team-building sets. She also hired two local aunties to help, teaching them to cook authentic Northeastern dishes, and instilling the principles of "honesty and integrity" in everyone in the restaurant.

As evening fell, the lights of Qiu Ji's restaurant came on, and the stew in the pot bubbled and steamed. The laughter of the customers and the clinking of bowls and chopsticks blended into the most touching symphony of life. Qiu Ju stood in front of the stove, stirring the vegetables in the pot, and the aroma filled the entire street.

She knows there are no shortcuts to getting rich overnight. Whether selling daily necessities or running a restaurant, it all comes down to taking one step at a time. What she gained through perseverance was a sense of security in her hometown, and the simple joys of life built from the humble bowls, pots, tables, and chairs.

Outside the window, the black earth is gently swaying in the evening breeze, carrying the aroma of food and Qiu Ju's most reassuring confidence—that by working diligently and treating people sincerely, she can bloom steadily and beautifully no matter which city or land she is in.