In olden days in China, when people were poor and couldn’t afford meat, they would substitute tofu instead. Tofu was a cost-free alternative since they didn’t need to spend money on growing beans and processing them into tofu. Scientists have since proven that tofu is rich in nutrients and even healthier than meat.

When I was young, my mom would always prepare a large dish of tofu on festival days or when we had guests visiting. It was a skill known by all the women in the village. Making tofu was considered an important event during significant ceremonies such as weddings, housewarmings, birthdays of the elderly, and funerals. Prior to the ceremonies, at the village meeting, the village leader would assign the task of making tofu to at least four women and two men, who, in the absence of tap water, would need to fill the water tanks.

The first step in making tofu is soaking the beans. Then, two or three people would grind the beans using a stone grinder made by the village craftsmen. The grinder consists of two round stones, one stationary and the other rotating around a wooden core. Each family owns two pairs of grinders, one for grinding dry powder and the other for liquid substances. During the grinding process, one person stands beside the grinder and pours water-mixed bean particles into the hole of the upper grinder, while two (or one) people hold and pull the wooden handle to rotate the upper grinder. The soybean milk is squeezed out of the grinders, flows along a wooden channel, and drips into a pan. Once the grinding is complete, the raw milk is poured into a large iron pan placed on a stove fueled by charcoal, dry tree branches, corn cobs, and bean tree wood.

When the milk reaches boiling point, the chefs strain it through gauze to remove the bean dregs, then return the pure milk to the pan and bring it to another boil. At this stage, the tofu-making expert adds melted brine to the milk until it solidifies. From what I’ve observed and heard from my mom and other women in the village—I myself have never made tofu—they usually add the brine to the milk three times. During the solidification process, the heat is kept low. If people prefer firm tofu, they can boil it for a longer time once the entire pot of tofu has solidified.

Once all the dishes are ready, tofu is always served last and placed in the center of the table, appearing white, vaporous, and delicately trembling. A special spicy sauce is prepared specifically for tofu. It involves heating rapeseed oil until it boils, then pouring it into a bowl of chili powder and adding soybean sauce, salt, chopped green onions, chopped coriander, and cordate houttuynia. When a piece of tofu is dipped into this spicy sauce and placed in the mouth, a tender, trembling, hot, and spicy combination of flavors instantly awakens the senses.

Apart from the plain tofu dish, there are variations such as stinky tofu, tofu with mildew, and tofu with blood. Additionally, Chinese cabbage leaves can be added to the unsolidified soybean milk to create “leaf tofu,” which offers a different taste and is lower in fat content.

Tofu is available in Asian and American supermarkets here, but it tastes different from the tofu in my hometown. Even within the same village, different people make tofu with distinct flavors. I am most familiar with my mom’s tofu, which has left a deep imprint on my taste memory. I believe that is what is often referred to as “mom’s taste,” and all the tofu I have consumed should embody the essence of “hometown taste.”

While tofu used to be an affordable and easily accessible food, for me, it feels distant and expensive to obtain now.