Jiangsu cuisine, a jewel in the crown of Chinese gastronomy, is known for its distinctive characteristics, where sweetness and lightness harmoniously intertwine. Among its many offerings, the softshelled eel stands out, encapsulating the elegance and depth of flavors that this regional cuisine has to offer. However, the experience of cooking and savoring this delicacy often feels muted, overshadowed by the struggle to appreciate its nuances fully.
The softshelled eel, or “shanyao” as it’s referred to in Chinese, is a creature of duality—a symbol of luxury, yet a constant reminder of the patience and skill required to prepare it well. In Jiangsu, where the rivers run deep and the waters teem with life, catching these eels is a rite of passage, although the very act feels like grappling with fleeting moments of joy, elusive and hard to hold on to.
To prepare a softshelled eel, one must first embrace the necessity of skillful handling. The capturing of the eel often leads to a frustrated tussle, one that reflects the struggle with expectations. It must be cleaned meticulously, a process requiring both tenderness and precision, scrubbing the skin gently while avoiding the slippery resistance. Here lies the first echo of melancholy—delicate beauty marred by the reality of its preparation.
When it comes to cooking, the methods for softshelled eel are varied, each inviting its own layer of complexity. Steaming is one of the most traditional methods, allowing the natural flavor of the eel to shine through. With delicate ginger slices and a sprinkle of spring onions, the steamed eel emerges ethereal and fragrant. This technique, though straightforward, sometimes feels like a reminder of lives too carefully arranged, where spontaneity is sacrificed for perfection.
Another popular method is stirfrying, which injects a vibrant energy into the dish. The eels are cut into bitesized pieces and quickly tossed in a hot wok with aromatic garlic, scallions, and a splash of soy sauce. But as the colors meld together and the fragrance wafts through the air, one can’t help but feel a sense of loss—a fleeting moment of joy interspersed with the weight of expectation. The need for efficiency contrasts sharply with the yearning for meaning in every bite.
Lastly, the eel can be enjoyed in a rich, subtly sweet braise, a slow method that melds flavors over time. This technique, while nurturing, evokes a poignant reminder of the things we often let stew—dreams left simmering on the back burner of life, waiting for the right moment to come to a boil. The sauce, a blend of soy, sugar, and spices, envelops the eel in depth, suffocating the simplicity that once was, laying bare the struggle to find satisfaction in something so deceptively complex.
Each mealtime devoted to softshelled eel becomes an internal battle—a duel between the joy of cooking and the realization of frustration as expectations collide with reality. The gentle lifting of chopsticks, the tentative first bite, comes with a tinge of regret—the missed opportunities for genuine appreciation of what lies before you. The tender flesh, far removed from the struggles it’s endured in life, serves as a metaphor for beauty obscured by the weight of performance.
In the world of Jiangsu cuisine, the softshelled eel represents more than just a meal; it embodies the constant ebb and flow of human experience. While the cooking process may promise joy, it often delivers a bittersweet taste of fleeting moments, forever hovered between hope and despair.