A Bellyful of Warmth香于唇齒，暖于心間

China is divided into as many culinary regions as there are different ethnic groups. Its geographical diversity and kaleidoscopic cultural profiles contribute to the unending banquet of flavors. Soup in Chinese cuisine is a major category on the menu and ranges from the lightest consomme1 to hearty rich broths that are thick with meat and vegetables. Of course， no one places more emphasis on soups than the Cantonese， so I will tap into that aspect of my culinary heritage for the classic recipes.

The wok is an important piece of equipment in every Chinese kitchen， but in the Cantonese home， another item holds equal importance： the soup pot. Normally made of earthenware for its heat-conducting properties， this should be a tall pot with a raised lip that closely cradles the tight-fitting lid. It should comfortably hold at least four liters of liquid so the soup can slowly reduce. The raised lip helps to keep the lid from rattling and holds in the air pressure that builds up in the long， slow brewing. Sometimes， more than one soup pot are found in the same kitchen， with a smaller one reserved for a different kind of brews—the medicinal soups so beloved by the Cantonese matriarch.

Not all soups are made in the clay pot. Some of the lighter everyday soups are quickly made， often in the wok. These are the light soups， made with a few slices of meat for flavor and plenty of vegetables， mustard greens and lean pork， for example， or even an egg drop soup with coriander2 added at the last minute.

But the art of making soup reaches its pinnacle with those that are simmered long and slow. I remember trotters and peanut soup. The broth was rich and milky and scented with the unmistakable aroma of the nuts. The nuts are thrown into the soup with the skins on， and these tinge the soup slightly pink. The trotters， reduced to a gelatinous tenderness， would be plated and served as part of the meal， together with a little saucer of soy sauce. I remember draining the bowl and happily picking at the soft， soft nuts. Funnily enough， the alchemy3 of peanuts and trotters means that you hardly taste the porkiness of the pig’s feet， only a nutty fragrance that is accentuated by the addition of a handful of dried Chinese jujubes.

And here you have the classic anatomy of a Cantonese soup. First， you have the meat， which can be pork， beef， mutton or fish. Then you have the complementary ingredients， which can be root vegetables such as radishes， carrots or lotus root， or beans or dried leafy vegetables. And finally， there will always be dried jujubes， dates， ginger， dried citrus peel or any of a vast variety of Chinese herbs.

Every ingredient has a purpose. The meat will either strengthen or cool the body. The root or leafy vegetables will play supporting roles for flavor or for health. Herbs or aromatics will neutralize certain undesirable effects—like ginger taking away the pungency of fish or pork， and dried jujubes adding sweetness where it is needed. The long， slow simmering melds the flavors of the various ingredients and allows them to come together in the soup bowl. Unlike Western soups， the treasured end product is the liquid， the soup， and not the ingredients that first went into the pot. These soup dregs， or tangzha as we call them， are often discarded. In fact， after three hours of simmering， almost all of the flavor has already been extracted.

And there are soups for every purpose. The Cantonese grandmother’s idea of chicken soup is to double boil a minced chicken breast. The result is a clear consomme that will tempt even the most recalcitrant4 invalid. There are soups that will make you bright-eyed and clear-brained for those examination days， soups to revive flagging appetites， broths to boost energy after a hard day’s workout， and a whole cookbook of soups for the new mother recovering from childbirth.

Soups are flash-boiled， simmered， steamed and double-boiled. There are also soups that resemble the stews of other provinces， but the Cantonese differentiate them by calling these geng， or thick broths. A vegetable called shark’s fin melon is now very popular. This is very much like spaghetti squash5 and takes well to cooking with shredded chicken， crabs and mushrooms to produce a tasty soup. In Shunde county， the Cantonese chefs like producing a thick broth that features the local fish， which is first fried and then deboned before being added to the broth with aromatic mushrooms.

The importance of soup to the Cantonese can be seen in the description of their daily meals. For an average family， sancai yitang， three dishes and a soup， sums it up.

中國是個多民族國家，每個民族所在的區域都有各自的食物烹飪特點。中國的地域多元化和多姿多彩的文化形態造就了餐桌上數不勝數的美味。中式菜肴里的湯通常是菜單上一個主要分類，從爽口的清湯，到用肉和蔬菜熬成的料足味濃的濃湯，品種繁多。當然，對湯最重視的要數廣東人了，湯是傳統粵菜的重要組成部分，下面就來看看經典的湯汁是如何制作而成的。

鍋是中國家庭廚房里一件重要的烹飪工具，而在廣東人家里，還有件東西同樣必不可少，那就是湯罐。這種罐子一般是陶質的，導熱性好，罐身高，罐口突起，剛好能扣住不大不小的蓋子，里面至少可以輕松裝下四升水，足夠湯水細燉慢熬。在漫長的煲制過程中，突起的罐口有助于緩和漸漸升高的罐內氣壓，使得上面的蓋子不會乒乒乓乓跳個不停。有時候同一間廚房里不止有一個熬湯的罐子，還會備上一個比較小的，專門用于熬另一種湯，即藥湯，這種湯深受廣東媽媽們的喜愛。

并不是所有湯都得用陶罐慢慢熬，一些日常食用的較清淡的湯只需用普通鍋短時間內就能煮好。放入幾片用來調味的肉，再放入大量蔬菜，比如通常會用芥菜和瘦豬肉;要么來個蛋花湯，起鍋時撒上一點香菜，這些都是制作簡單的清湯。

但只有那些經過文火慢燉的湯才能把煮湯這門藝術推向極致。我印象最深刻的是豬蹄花生湯，湯汁濃郁，呈乳白色，散發著花生特有的香氣。煮制的時候，花生不用剝皮，直接放入，這讓湯汁染上了淡淡的粉色。豬蹄變得香糯軟爛，會單獨作為一道菜盛出來裝盤，配上一小碟醬汁蘸著吃。記得當時自己把湯喝了個精光，夾起一顆顆軟軟的花生吃著，心情愉快。有趣的是，花生和豬蹄兩者在一起經過長時間燉煮后，豬蹄本身的肉腥味幾乎就吃不出來了，而是帶有一股花生的清香，一把干棗的放入更是進一步提升了香味。

下面來看看一碗粵式湯里一般都會有些什么。首先要有肉，豬肉、牛肉、羊肉或魚肉都行;其次是作為補充的配菜，可以是根莖類蔬菜，比如小蘿卜、胡蘿卜、蓮藕，也可以是豆子或脫水的葉類蔬菜;最后，必不可少的是干棗、椰棗、姜、干橘皮，或者從種類繁多的中草藥中挑選一二加入。

每種食材在湯里都發揮著作用。肉類能增強體質，可敗火;根莖類和葉類蔬菜用來輔助調味，同時也有益健康;草藥和香料對一些不足之處起到調和作用，比如姜可以去掉魚肉或豬肉的腥味，干棗則增添適度甜味。漫長的燉煮過程使各種食材的味道相融合，匯入一碗湯里。與西式湯不同，粵式湯的精華在于湯汁本身，而不是一開始放入罐內用來熬湯的食材，湯內已經煮爛的食材我們叫湯渣，常常是棄之不食的。其實經過三小時的慢燉，所有食材的味道幾乎都已經被提煉出來了。

此外，不同的湯有不同的功效。廣東阿婆們煮雞湯一般用雞胸肉，將其剁碎，經過兩次熬制煮沸，最后便熬出清澈的雞湯，一碗喝下，甚至能讓最桀驁不馴的人也順從起來。另外，有在考試期間明目醒腦的湯，有促進食欲的湯，有經過一天勞累工作后恢復體力的湯，還有一系列幫助剛生完寶寶的新媽媽恢復元氣的湯。

有的湯快速就能做好，有的要慢慢燉，有的要蒸，有的要二次上火煮制，還有的湯看上去很像中國其他省的燉菜，而廣東人習慣把這種湯叫作“羹”，即濃湯的意思，以示區別。如今有一種叫魚翅瓜的蔬菜，非常受歡迎，外形與意面瓜相似，很適合與雞絲、蟹肉和蘑菇一起煮，熬好的湯美味可口。在廣東佛山的順德縣，粵菜廚師們喜歡煮一種以當地魚為主料的濃湯，做法是先把魚煎一下，然后去骨，再放入湯里和清香的蘑菇慢慢熬。

湯對廣東人有多重要，在他們關于日常飯食的描述中就能看出，對于普通家庭來說，餐桌上只要有三菜一湯，便足矣。