Tofu Kung-Fu

A village girl helps her mother in the garden

Harvesting rice and preparing it for drying

We had many wonderful moments in China! Chris and I spent a fantastic day learning to make tofu in the traditional way on an organic farm, where the family has been growing and raising practically everything they consume for generations.  Their farm is very impressive - most of the energy comes from solar or methane from pig manure which is pumped into their house - they even use it to power their stoves.

Most Chinese people buy their tofu in the market but Peter and his family make tofu using home-grown soy beans, crushing them into paste in an antique stone mill, then draining the paste through cheesecloth.  The milk is then heated and mixed with a powder and the curds separate from the whey. The curds are then pressed into tofu. The process takes 2-3 hours.

Making paste from soybeans in a ratio of 2 parts soy to 1 part water
 

A real workout - Tofu KungFu!

Leftover soy solids go to the happy pigs!

Thank you...I'm so happy! 

  Forming trays ready for the curds

Pressing the curds to solidify the tofu

 

 

Cutting the tofu

 

  Landscape Tofu - a local Yangshuo dish 

The majority of Chinese are Buddists, but we were told us that most people are not very religious these days, but they are quite superstitious. The Chinese government is hostile against Christians and they can be severely punished for their beliefs.  After meeting several Christians, Chris and I attended their Bible study. I had nightmares that night of being thrown into a Chinese prison! From the church members we were told that in spite of the persecution they face, and the secrecy in which they must conduct their meetings, the Church there is growing. Although I can't speak Chinese, I understood the fervent prayers they prayed were serious - they depended on God for everything.  It's so easy to say that I trust Him, and I do try to, but it just seemed more palpable for them. When one's life is at stake, it must take great courage and faith to be a believer. I was inspired and humbled by their witness.

After a full day of exhausting travel out of China, we arrived at a lovely little hotel in Bangkok. Having only 3 rooms, this hotel was more like a B&B.  The traditional Thai decor somehow reminded me of the 'Old South': gracious, lovely, inviting. The narrow mahogany stairs going up to our room are the steepest I've ever seen, and I hoped we wouldn't have to attempt a fire escape on them during the night!  There are only a handful of tourists in this area, an old Bangkok neighborhood very near the King's palace. The buildings are two stories high and together they create a park-like quadrangle around which they form the neighborhood. Our hotel has been renovated with careful attention to the historic architecture. It is simple and charming. In our room we have original flooring, old rattan benches and an antique armoire, yet all the modern conveniences one could need. I wrote the following after a restful night's sleep:

It's 5 a.m. and I've just been awakened by loud clanging outside our window. To keep their street stall restaurants secure, vendors thread chain link through anything that might be carried off in the night, and our hotel is located just across the street from such a vendor.  He must serve a popular breakfast because he is moving a lot of seating. Bright orange and blue chairs stacked shoulder high are twirled around and around across the street and over the curb until they reach their destination on a brick patio in a park, next to some type of game court. It's a pretty efficient way to move furniture as he has no trolley. In five short minutes he manages to set up what looks like will be a hopping eatery. He's cleared off his 'kitchen' and wiped down the stainless steel worksurface. He keeps his condiments hidden in the hole where the wok will later lay. He pulls things out of the hole: bowls, containers, steamers, rice flour, and a bin full of what looks like silverware. He's arranging everything now. He opens a basket which is filled with smaller jars of condiments and places them on the tables. A stack of 3 or four plastic stools has been topped with a large water cooler. A lady has just begun to help him and a man on a moto just stopped by, chatting, hoping for some early breakfast, but leaves unfed. 

Deliveries are made on cycles that have been stabilized by two large front wheels, spaced about two feet apart, topped with a very large basket. I can see them all over the neighborhood making their morning rounds. One cycle stops across the street, its basket laden with large sacks of rice, fresh bean sprouts, scallions, and rice noodles of various sizes. On the back of the cycle is a tall stack of fresh white kitchen towels, which is tied tightly to the bike to prevent the towels from flying away as he rides through the streets.  He hands over a small bag to the woman, then moves along. She begins to chop the newly delivered fresh rice sheets into fat noodles, stacking and rolling them and hacking away without precision. When that job is done she begins to slice the scallions. He is lighting the aluminum firebox next to his stall which has a six foot chimney that curves away from his awning at the top. I think the smoke will attract the neighbors, and perhaps Chris will wake up and we will have some breakfast in the courtyard.

Dear Violet,
Tarantulas are a favorite Cambodian snack.  These spiders live in holes, and there are spider hunters who make lots of money catching them.  They they cut off the fangs so the spiders can't bite the cook.  Then the cooks fry them in hot oil until the spider becomes golden brown and crunchy.  Sometimes they are sprinkled with a special condiment like salty fried garlic.  Doesn't it sound delicious?   The snack is sold at bus stops so the hungry people on the bus can have a quick little snack.  Do you think this sounds yummy?
Love,
Uncle Chris