I Froze Dumplings Outside in Minus 11 Degrees and Asked My Mom About Fillings

Dumplings Freezing Outside the Window

It is minus eleven degrees Celsius in Harbin today.

Frost clings to the iron railing outside the balcony. Mom carries the bamboo tray out and lines dumplings in rows. They look like small white geese sitting in snow. After a while she turns them. They freeze a little longer, then go into bags. The outdoor air works as a freezer. No electricity. No space inside. Open a window and use it.

Today we made three fillings.

Celery and pork. Chop the celery, sprinkle on salt, squeeze out the water. Mom bought the pork at the morning market, three parts fat, seven parts lean. She works scallion and ginger water into the meat, stirring with chopsticks in one direction until it turns sticky. Then she folds in the celery. I stand beside her and watch. She says, "Don't just watch. If your hand gets tired, take over." I stir twice. My wrist aches. She takes the bowl back and keeps stirring.

Wood ear, cabbage, garlic sprout, and pork. The wood ear soaked last night. After it opens, chop it fine. Mince the cabbage, salt it, squeeze it dry. Chop the garlic sprouts very fine, just a small handful. Mom says garlic sprouts lift the flavor. Too much and they bite. Too little and they cannot tame the green smell of the cabbage. Once it is mixed, the filling looks good: black, green, white. I taste a little with chopsticks. The salt is right.

My favorite is still suancai and pork.

The suancai was pickled in autumn. When Mom fishes it out, it still has ice crystals. She cuts it fine, squeezes it dry, and mixes it with pork. The meat needs some fat. Suancai absorbs oil. She adds a spoonful of lard and says that is what makes it moist. Boil the dumplings, dip them in garlic paste, soy sauce, vinegar, and a little chili oil. Bite in and soup fills your mouth. It is so hot you keep blowing on it. You still do not put down your chopsticks.

I have loved dumplings since I was little.

I have eaten many meat fillings and many vegetarian fillings. If you ask me which is best, I cannot choose. In spring I want shepherd's purse. In summer, zucchini and egg. In autumn, lotus root. In winter, only suancai and pork. But what Mom makes always comes first.

In our hometown in Anhui, there is a vegetarian dumpling. Locals call it cai jiaozi. Some call it juezi. There is no meat in it.

In the past, meat was expensive. People wanted dumplings, so they used vegetables. But a vegetarian filling needs a little animal fat to taste rich. The mothers of that generation found a workaround. They used sanzi.

Sanzi is usually a snack. It is crisp and crumbles when you bite it. Put it in dumplings and it changes. The filling has sanzi, soaked glass noodles, fresh chives, cilantro, and scrambled egg. Chives lift the freshness. Cilantro adds aroma. Glass noodles are soft. Egg brings its own fragrance. The crushed sanzi does the heavy lifting. When you bite in, there is still a little crunch hidden in the filling.

After I married, I tried making cai jiaozi at home. They never tasted as good as Mom's. Today I asked her again. The key is how the sanzi is chopped. You have to roll it crushed. I used to cut it with a knife. Mom says knife-cut sanzi is not as fine and not as fragrant. Roll it into crumbs. Grind some into powder. Leave a few small bits. That gives the best texture.

Soak glass noodles in warm water until soft. Cut them short. Pour on a little soy sauce and mix first. Beat eggs, scramble them, let them cool, then chop them. Wash chives and cilantro. Drain them well before chopping. That keeps the filling from getting wet. Put everything in a big bowl. Add salt, MSG, oyster sauce, and sesame oil. Mix. Wrap. The wrappers can be rolled a circle larger. Cai jiaozi are bigger than ordinary boiled dumplings.

Mom's cai jiaozi have thin wrappers and a lot of filling. Break one open and you see green chives, green cilantro, yellow egg, bits of sanzi, and glass noodles. I took a few to my husband. He is a chef and usually picky. He took a bite. He said nothing. Then he asked, "Are there more?" I said yes. He said, "Get me two more. I'll dip them in vinegar." Then, in front of Mom, he said, "Mom, you roll wrappers thinner than I do." Mom said, "Stop it. Eat." She laughed without looking up.

Mom's back is not good. After housework, it aches. Today she made so many dumplings. I asked why she was willing to put in the work. Mom said my older brother wanted cai jiaozi.

She went to the cupboard to look for sanzi. She had a medicinal patch on her lower back. When she bent over, she braced a hand on the cutting board. I told her to rest. She said, "Your brother rarely wants it." Then she kept rolling wrappers.

My older brother and older sister live in the same neighborhood, close by. After Mom finished, she took some to the shop for me and my younger sister. When she left, her scarf was loose. Wind went in at her collar. She pulled her neck in and tucked the bag of dumplings against her chest.

I asked, "Mom, doesn't your back hurt?"

She said, "It hurts. Your brother wants it."

I said, "Then why are you still making them?"

She said, "He rarely wants it."

She left. When she came back, her ears were red from the cold. The bag was empty.

I pan-fried the cai jiaozi she left. I poured a little oil into a flat pan and set the dumplings in. They sizzled. When the bottoms turned golden, I added half a bowl of water and covered the pan. When the water was gone, I drizzled in a little more oil. They came out crisp on the bottom, soft on top. My husband ate two. He said, "This filling is good. Not bland."

Mom said, "There is no meat. It is just for fun."

I said, "It is better than meat."

She said, "You said that when you were little too. You stole sanzi. I slapped your hand."

I remembered. When I was little, during New Year, Mom mixed cai jiaozi filling. I reached for the sanzi. She slapped the back of my hand and said, "Eat after we finish wrapping." So I stood beside her and watched. She rolled the sanzi. The rolling pin went back and forth on the cutting board. Sanzi broke into little bits. Some flew out. I picked them up and put them in my mouth. She saw me. She did not slap my hand again. She only said, "Don't drop them on the floor."

Later I left home. I went to Harbin to study, work, and marry. In winter, when it snowed, I called home. Mom asked, "Did you eat dumplings?" I said yes, frozen ones. She said, "Frozen ones are fine too. Don't go hungry." I hung up and boiled a bag. When they came out, the wrapper was the wrapper and the filling was the filling. With vinegar, they were edible. After I ate, I thought: if only they were cai jiaozi.

Today at home in Harbin we made frozen dumplings. Three fillings in one day. Celery and pork. Wood ear, cabbage, garlic sprout, and pork. Suancai and pork. Mom made the cai jiaozi. Vegetarian. No meat. After wrapping, we took them outside to freeze. Outside is a natural freezer.

I want to ask everyone what kind of dumpling filling you like.

Northeasterners will probably say suancai and pork, pork and cabbage, celery and pork, chive and pork, beef and scallion. Northern Chinese will say fennel and pork, zucchini and egg, cabbage and glass noodles, pork and scallion. People on the coast love Spanish mackerel and chive, shrimp three-delicacy, sea intestine and chive, cuttlefish dumplings. Northwesterners like lamb and carrot, beef and onion, with Sichuan peppercorn water worked into the filling. People in Jiangnan long for shepherd's purse and pork, greens and shiitake, shrimp and corn. People who skip meat will mention chive and egg, shiitake and greens, tofu and glass noodles, eggplant and green pepper, spinach and glass noodles. Some also love lotus root and pork, green bean and pork, shiitake and corn and chicken, tomato and egg, even suancai and glass noodles and cracklings.

I want to tell Mom all these fillings. Let her try something new next time. Maybe fennel and pork. Maybe zucchini and egg and shrimp. Maybe lamb and carrot. Maybe shiitake and corn and chicken. She might say, "Oh, what a hassle." But if someone says they want to eat it, she will probably still go knead dough.

I took out my phone to write them down. Mom was rolling wrappers beside me. She said, "Don't write down too many. If there are too many, I won't remember."

I said, "You don't need to remember. I will. If you want to make them, make them. If not, rest."

She said, "Then tell me, who wants to eat them?"

I said, "People online."

She laughed and said, "Can people online eat what I make?"

I said, "I will tell them you make them well."

She finished the last wrapper and patted the flour off her hands. Outside, the dumplings had frozen hard. She carried them out. When she came back, she rubbed her hands and said, "We'll boil the suancai and pork tomorrow morning."

Garlic paste is in the bowl. Vinegar is in the bottle. Outside it is minus eleven degrees. The dumplings are freezing.