Addictive Snail Noodles: Strolling in Liuzhou (Part 2)
After returning to the hotel, thinking about tomorrow's breakfast, I couldn't help but turn on my computer and start my research on "snail noodles." Sure enough, just as expected, in the small streets and alleys near the hotel, shops selling snail noodles were everywhere, like stars in the sky. After searching for a while, I found a local noodle shop called "Jubao" that was quite popular, and it wasn't far from the hotel—about 300 meters away. On foot, it would probably take about five minutes.
The next morning, I got up at 6:30 and rushed to Jubao eagerly. The business there was booming, often with long lines snaking around. Although the environment was a bit rough, it made everyone who loved snail noodles happy and tireless, especially young people out shopping. It can be considered one of the classic examples of Liuzhou snail noodles.
At Jubao, the thing most worth praising about the snail noodles is the water spinach side dish. Blanched quickly in boiling water, it was incredibly tender. Paired with the rich and fresh snail soup, and then a small spoonful of chili oil added to taste—one mouthful, and if you were a bit too hasty, you'd choke, but it was so satisfying! The peanuts were fragrant, the pickled green beans and black fungus were crunchy and refreshing, and the noodles blanched in boiling water were smooth and chewy. A gentle slurp filled your mouth with a tangy delight, leaving a lingering aroma. My favorite was the pickled bamboo shoots. Pickled bamboo shoots are the soul of snail noodles; without them, snail noodles are incomplete. But not everyone can accept the taste of pickled bamboo shoots, because both the stink and the fragrance of snail noodles come from the original flavor of the bamboo shoots. If you add a braised duck foot or a pig trotter that has been deep-fried and then braised in old soy sauce, it becomes even more perfect and complete. Overall, Jubao snail noodles are really worth trying. Unforgettable after one bite, truly addictive... In my personal opinion, snail noodles are a wonderful thing. Besides filling your stomach, whether you are happy or sad, eating a bowl of "stinky snail noodles" will immediately lift your spirits and cast all your grievances and worries to the winds. Snail noodles originate from the real taste of life and are an indispensable seasoning in life.
Actually, besides the common soup noodles, there is another common way to eat snail noodles: dry-mixed. On the way back to the hotel, I accidentally spotted a nameless shop with a sign that read "Dry-Mixed Noodles." The shop was very small, with few customers, but standing at the door, I could smell a distinctive aroma wafting from inside. Involuntarily, I stepped in and ordered two liang (about 100 grams) of dry-mixed noodles. Soon, the auntie in the kitchen swiftly "slapped" a bowl of prepared dry-mixed noodles in front of me. The tables in the shop were cluttered with unwashed dishes, so I imitated the locals: holding the bowl, I walked to the shop entrance, squatted by the roadside, and kept mixing the noodles with chopsticks while swallowing my saliva. Once thoroughly mixed, I picked up a chopstickful and put it into my mouth... Oh! The texture was completely different from soup noodles. It had the snail noodle soup base but also a hint of something else I couldn't quite describe—a touch of sweetness, perhaps. The crispy pork and snail meat inside were especially aromatic and crunchy. The various mix-ins elevated the experience, making it feel upgraded. It was amazing. I didn't want to slurp bite by bite; I wanted to take big mouthfuls, scooping up all the ingredients at once, chewing slowly, savoring every bit... It was absolutely incredible, so enjoyable, so perfect! "I'd rather not be an immortal, just be a native of Liuzhou"—because Liuzhou has snail noodles, because Liuzhou has dry-mixed noodles. Because Liuzhou has the clear Liujiang River, because Liuzhou also has Ma'an Mountain. (End of Part 2)
