“What’s your favorite food?”
“That’s hard to say, but something that I will never get tired of is porridge.” I replied.
“But it has no flavor!”
“Plainness is a flavor in itself.”
Now I will stop being a philosophical hypocrite and admit that I also strongly favor spicy food and used to hate porridge myself. Until? Perhaps until plain porridge became a less readily accessible taste of hometown (usually not served at restaurants abroad because..well, it has no flavor). Or perhaps until the day I read a poem by Su Shi.
浣溪沙
细雨斜风作晓寒，淡烟疏柳媚晴滩。入淮清洛渐漫漫。
雪沫乳花浮午盏，蓼参蒿笋试春盘。人间有味是清欢。
To the Tune of Huàn Xī Shā
Fine rain and slanted wind on a crisp dawn,
before sunshine brightens the river shore,
scattered willows are shrouded by light fog.
Look, the incoming spring
rises up in its flow.
Foams of snow and flowers of milk,
floating atop my tea cup by noon;
as we taste the spring plates filled
with greens and shoots freshly grown.
Where there be flavor thus simple,
true content of life is shown.
This poem depicts the poet’s day trip into the mountain with his friends in early spring. To ensure the smoothness of reading, I did not translate after the original character order or grammatical structure in Chinese, nor was I able to fully account for the nuances and literary context of all the fine expressions. But worry not! We shall now take a closer look.
As I envision myself in this poem, I see traditional ink paintings with light strokes in water color. No extravagance, everything is soft, casual and almost unintentional. The fine rain are carried and tilted by the light breeze, enclosing the world in refreshing moist as they fall. The chill of a dawn in early spring, no longer the bitter coldness of winter. An omnipresent whisper, seeping into one’s breath and clothes with silky threads of rain.
What else does the poet put in this paint of early spring? No dense flowers, crowds or laughters. Simply a few scattered willows on the sun-lit river shore. Not only that, we only see them through a layer of light fog. Picture in your mind the willow shoots of early spring. Looking up close, we see not yet the new leaves. Looking from afar, nevertheless, the twigs themselves have a tender greenness from within. Now, the golden sunlight shines through the hazy fog of morning rain, and a faint stroke of greenness brightens the river shore.
How does Su Shi describe this picture? “媚”. As an adjective, it means “charming, bright, cute”. As a verb, it is “to appreciate, to love”. A lively picture, an appreciative mind.
Fine rain, soft breeze, light fog, shimmering sunshine, scattered willow…charming, tranquil, yet perhaps a bit still? As a final stroke to the picture, Su Shi adds the spring. Every spring, as snow melts, fresh spring from the mountain, named Luo Spring, would flow into the River of Huai. As more and more spring joins, the river of Huai awakens, flows and swells. The picture is no longer quiet, we now hear the spring river singing the song of life.
Now we come to the second half of the poem, where Su Shi describes the picnic with his friends at noon . Snow foam and milk flower floating in cup…what exactly was he drinking? The answer is tea. Today, in mentioning good tea, we think of the extended loose leaf and clear, transparent liquid in delicate cups. Keep in mind, however, that this poem was written in Song Dynasty — a thousand years ago. Back then, tea was brewed with tea powder, quite like matcha in today’s Japan. According to a record at the time, 《侯鲭录》(‘The Record of HouJing’): “Tea is to be the opposite of ink, good tea ought to be white, and good ink black.” (“茶与墨正相反，茶欲白，墨欲黑”）Su Shi describes the foam on their brewed tea to be white as snow, rich and thick as blooming flowers made of milk. How fresh, pleasant it must have been!
What refreshments accompanied such good tea? The Spring Plate. In ancient times, to celebrate the first day of spring, people put seasonal vegetables and fruits in a plate, the Spring Plate, to share with friends. In their picnic, Su Shi and his friends try out the spring plates with fresh buckwheat shoot and bamboo shoot in them.
As an agriculture-based civilization, traditional Chinese values the synchronization with nature in all aspects of life. For instance, one should “get up as the sun rises and rest at sunset” — “日出而作，日落而息”. (Yes I do feel a bit guilty for my disoriented circadian cycle…) The same principle applies to cuisine, it is believed that one should eat fresh, seasonal food whenever possible.
In the poem, Su Shi and his friends not only enjoy a pure taste of spring from the fresh vegetable shoots, but also derives greater joy in following and being a part of the rhythm of nature.
Of flavors in life, there could be the strong, the ardent, the bustling, the prosperous; like the cracking oil on blazing fire, or the shiny brocade adorned with blooming flowers.
Or, there could be the light, the moderate, the simple, the ordinary; like the fine rain, the soft breeze, the light fog, the scattered willows, the flowing spring, the white tea, the fresh shoots…
As Su Shi puts it, of all flavors, joys, experiences in the Realm of Men, one eventually returns to the long-lasting content in the ordinary day-to-day life. A picnic in early spring with tea and salad. What could be simpler? Should we examine our life as Su Shi does in this poem, every detail can be a source of joy, plainness is the flavor of content.
Perhaps years later, I will remember this summer of 2020. Sitting at this wooden table by myself, watching the silhouette of the Tower in the setting sun, tasting the porridge I cooked with barley and golden rice, and listening the cicadas’ first evening song. On a campus so out-worldly, in a silence so rare.