Chapter Thirty-Two: The Two Ancestral Temples

Huaiyang cuisine is renowned for its refreshing elegance and extraordinary demeanor, celebrated as the “fresh flavor of the four seasons” and the embodiment of “pure, original taste.” It stands as the standard fare of China’s national banquets, holding a prominent place in the country’s high-end culinary world for over six centuries, from the Ming dynasty to modern times, never fading in prestige.

China’s most illustrious feasts—such as the renowned Manchu-Han banquet, Empress Dowager Cixi’s birthday banquet, the Spring Banquet in the Dream of the Red Chamber, and state banquets for honored guests—have all evolved upon the foundation of Huaiyang cuisine, embracing and integrating diverse influences.

If Sichuan cuisine’s White Dragon Temple and Shandong cuisine’s Confucius Temple represent the “folk” or commoner’s flavor within China’s culinary traditions, then Huaiyang cuisine is undoubtedly the “refined and lofty art,” the epitome of sophistication.

Unlike other culinary schools, the development of Huaiyang cuisine is unique in that it was not originally a single cuisine but rather the merging of two distinct culinary traditions: Huai’an cuisine and Yangzhou cuisine, each formed in different historical periods.

Interestingly, although these two regions are geographically close, their culinary exchanges were minimal at first. They coexisted for over a millennium, occasionally intersecting and clashing but never truly blending. Each maintained its own specialties, traditions, system, and founding masters.

It was not until the early Ming dynasty, following a momentous gastronomic event that shocked the realm, that Huai’an and Yangzhou cuisines were harmonized by Zhu Yuanzhang, the dynasty’s first emperor. This unification gradually birthed the globally renowned Huaiyang culinary tradition.

This culinary amalgamation became known among chefs as the “Huaiyang Confluence.”

From that point onward, Huaiyang cuisine emerged as one of China’s four great culinary schools, admired by countless rulers and unrivaled in excellence.

Huaiyang cuisine also holds the distinction of being the culinary tradition with the longest formation period in Chinese history.

From the Spring and Autumn period through the early Ming dynasty, it took two millennia for the Huaiyang culinary system to truly take shape, finally emerging from infancy into form.

Because Huaiyang cuisine stems from two primary sources—Huai’an and Yangzhou—it is often referred to as the “Dual-Origin Cuisine,” and the culinary schools themselves are affectionately called the “Two-Ancestor Temples.”

Before me stood Zhao Shuihe, a white-table chef from this “Two-Ancestor Temple.”

Zhao was displeased when I, like Zhao Haikun, referred to her simply as “Da He,” a familiar nickname for a white-table chef.

The young lady immediately snapped at me, “You old fool! Don’t call me that!”

I chuckled softly, not offended, and continued, “You’ve already lost, yet you’re still so fierce!”

Zhao’s face flushed crimson. She quickly retorted, “I haven’t lost! You’re guessing! How do you know I’m from the ‘Su Zizuo’ faction?”

I answered smugly, “It’s simple. Listen as I explain.”

Then I went on to expound: due to its unique historical formation, Huaiyang cuisine contains far more intricate internal divisions than others. Focusing on white-table chefs alone, since the late Qing dynasty’s Mei Beauty, Huaiyang noodle and pastry arts rapidly split into three main branches based on region: Huai’an noodles, Yangzhou pastries, and Zhenjiang crisp pastries.

Among these, Huai’an noodles inherited the craftsmanship of Mei Beauty’s “Three Waters Noodles.” Yangzhou pastries boasted unique secret fillings, while Zhenjiang crisp pastries were famed for their sweet, flaky dough. Each branch had its own characteristics, and the training and demands on white-table chefs varied accordingly.

Yet, no matter how varied, the essence lay in the dexterity of Yangzhou’s white-table chefs—their delicate touch and relentless pursuit of quality.

Hearing this, Xian Hongye admired and asked, “So, which branch does ‘Su Zizuo’ belong to?”

I hesitated briefly to avoid triggering Zhao Shuihe’s sensitive nerves, then replied tactfully, “Su Zizuo is not part of these three branches; it stands alone as a newly emerging pastry school.”

This was a diplomatic way of putting it.

In truth, Su Zizuo is not strictly part of Huaiyang pastries; at best, it could be considered a knockoff.

This was not a judgment on the chefs’ origins but a lament—a sorrowful reality.

Behind Su Zizuo lies a bloody history filled with slaughter and national calamity. When a certain chairman learned of Su Zizuo’s story during the Republic era, he was moved to tears, lamenting, “Su Zizuo from the Two Huai regions, what home do wandering souls have?!”

The earliest Su Zizuo practitioners were refugees—displaced northerners fleeing war and chaos who sought refuge in the south.

These refugees were part of what is historically known as the “Southern Migration of the Gentry and Officials.” There were three such major migrations in ancient times and one in modern times.

Su Zizuo emerged from the modern wave of northerners moving south.

In ancient times, these migrants brought advanced production skills, and given the vast, sparsely populated lands of Huainan and Jiangnan, life was relatively manageable. They were welcomed by the southern regimes, which lacked productivity.

But modern migrants did not enjoy such treatment.

Since the Republic of China period, the south had long surpassed the north in wealth and productivity by orders of magnitude. Northern refugees lost their technical edge, and the south was already densely populated and struggling to sustain its own people, let alone newcomers from the north.

Thus, northern refugees fleeing during the Republic’s turbulent wars found survival immensely difficult. The Jiangsu and Zhejiang regions, once their envisioned paradise, became a living hell.

Of course, this was not the fault of the natives but the harsh realities of the times.

Su Zizuo were northern pastry chefs struggling to survive under these circumstances.

Initially, these refugee chefs believed their skills would carry them through, but upon arriving in Huaiyang, they were shocked to find their centuries-old techniques crude compared to local standards.

From dough to fillings, from pastry to steaming, northern white-table chefs could not compare to their southern counterparts.

Their “Beijing Eight Delicacies” paled in comparison even to street vendors selling simple baked cakes, and their “Donkey Rolling” was no match for the “Green Dumplings” in the hands of local kitchen girls.

Amid such drastic changes, northern pastry chefs lost their way.

They had to humble themselves, studying from scratch. Many, even in their fifties or sixties, apprenticed under younger Huaiyang chefs in their twenties and thirties to learn the craft.

Their endurance and humility were driven by nothing else but the sheer will to survive in harsh times.

The pastries they created came to be called “Su Zizuo” by locals, meaning “pastries made by wandering souls in Jiangsu.”

Thus, the Su Zizuo tradition was born.

Su Zizuo’s lineage is diverse and, due to its Republican-era origins and short time in Huaiyang, remains in a learning phase. It lacks a complete system or distinctive characteristics, and aside from occasional northern flavors, ordinary people cannot distinguish Su Zizuo from native Huaiyang pastries.

I heard that because of that shameful history, the greatest aspiration of Su Zizuo chefs today is to craft pastries indistinguishable from local ones—imitating them so vividly as to surpass the original.

At this point, Hongye asked me, “If they can imitate so perfectly, how did you tell Shuihe is Su Zizuo?”

I told her, “Precisely because her imitation is so flawless, I could guess... because Su Zizuo pursues something utterly obsessive!”