Charcoal, Friends, And A Little Drink
On the evening of Saturday, April 18, I met up with friends at "Chuanxi Huoyanshan Xichang Firepot BBQ (Xindu Green City Garden Branch)." Calling it a gathering makes it sound more formal than it was. We simply found a place to sit down, gathered around a brazier of charcoal, ordered a few things we wanted to eat, drank a little, and slowly opened up the recent bits of life.
The best part of this kind of meal is that it does not hurry you. Once the skewers are placed beside the brazier, you cannot eat them immediately. You can only wait as the charcoal slowly draws out the fat. When the mountain-raised pork, spicy tender beef, grilled pork belly, and grilled pork skin were laid out one skewer after another, the table already had a solid, smoky warmth to it.
I have always felt that firepot barbecue suits a gathering of friends better than many forms of barbecue that arrive already cooked. It naturally slows the pace down: someone watches the fire, someone turns the skewers, someone warns that a piece is about to burn, and someone takes the first bite. Before the meat is ready, the conversation has already connected; by the time it can be eaten, the table is warm as well.
What impressed me most during this meal was, unexpectedly, the seasoning plate. When eating barbecue, the most familiar seasoning is of course chili powder: fragrant, spicy, direct, and immediately present once you dip into it. But this time there was also soybean powder on the plate. I tried dipping grilled meat into it for the first time, and the result was surprisingly good.
Soybean powder does not seize the flavor the way chili powder does. It is more like placing a soft layer of aroma underneath the charcoal flavor. The grilled meat has its own fat, and the charcoal carries a little roasted bitterness. After dipping it in soybean powder, the bite becomes rounder, and the aroma grows thicker. It is not simply "heavier tasting"; it is the sudden realization that barbecue can be eaten another way: less aggressive, but very lasting.
Fenjiu was poured slowly into small cups, the measures neat and just right. A plate of crisp peanuts sat at the corner of the table. There was no need for deliberate small talk. We peeled a few casually, sipped in the warmth of the charcoal, and let the conversation drift. The night was quiet, the liquor light, and the talk wandered without an edge. An ordinary evening gained a few more gentle flavors.
Vegetables also fit this meal well when eaten slowly. Eggplant absorbs flavor, lotus root stays crisp, onion becomes sweet after grilling, and lettuce can wrap just-cooked meat. Under the slow heat of charcoal, the fresh squid gradually softened from its original firmness into something tender and elastic. Wrapped in the clean sweetness and bite of onion, the smoke entered just enough.
Two Drinks Worth Noting
We had Fenjiu at the table this time, and also Asahi beer. Putting them into the same barbecue meal was actually quite interesting: one is a representative of light-aroma Chinese baijiu, while the other is a beer built around a dry, clean finish.
Fenjiu is a classic representative of light-aroma baijiu, closely tied to Xinghua Village in Fenyang, Shanxi. The feeling of light-aroma baijiu is usually not heavy or stacked, but cleaner and sharper. At a barbecue table, drinking it slowly from small cups means it does not overpower the skewers or seasonings. Especially in a meal carrying the smell of charcoal, a baijiu that is too sweet or too thick can easily steal the scene. Fenjiu's cleaner style can meet the fat of grilled meat quite well.
Asahi beer takes another route. Super Dry was born in 1987 and centers on a Karakuchi style: dry, crisp, and quick on the finish. Its fit with barbecue is also straightforward. Skewers have fat; chili powder and soybean powder enrich the flavors in the mouth. At that moment, a sip of cold beer with a clean finish can gently carry away the oil and spice from the previous bite, making you naturally want the next skewer.
So the drinks were not there to make the night extravagant. They added ease to the table. Fenjiu suits slow, small toasts. Asahi suits cleansing the palate after grilled meat. Together, they matched two rhythms in a gathering of friends: one for slow conversation, one for continuing to eat.
An Ordinary Night
Looking back at these photos, what I remember is not only what we ate and drank. More specifically, it is the red glow in the charcoal, the roasted aroma slowly forming on the edges of the skewers, the unexpected delight of dipping into soybean powder for the first time, and the ease of sitting beside friends without having to search for a topic.
Very often, the things worth keeping in life do not need to be grand. A barbecue, a few skewers, a plate of soybean powder, a little drink, and several people willing to sit together and wait for the meat to cook are already enough to become a real footnote to an evening.