Even as Wuhan’s weather entered the Chushu (End of Heat) solar term, the sweltering heat remained unbearable. The cicadas in the trees, having chirped through the entire summer, now sounded faint and weary.
The scorching sun, high in the sky, was obscured by a thick blanket of mackerel-scale clouds, and the world instantly dimmed. Lin Song quickened his pace, planning to take advantage of the shade to slip under the overpass. But man proposes, God disposes. Just as he reached the middle of the road, the clouds were blown away, and the violent sun reappeared, its fiery rays beating down on the asphalt, making him feel dizzy.
Metro had posted a coupon on Douyin: five “June Yellow” crabs for 66 yuan, allegedly mitten crabs from Yangcheng Lake.
The Qiaokou branch of Metro was just under the Jianghan Bay Bridge, and its parking lot always had empty spaces.
For the few years that Lin Song had been running his own business, he was a corporate member of Metro, making regular trips to purchase spices and bread. Since his store went out of business, he rarely visited. His corporate membership had expired, so now he could no longer enjoy the discounted member prices.
Today, Lin Song was just there to redeem the crab coupon from Douyin. Without the allure of corporate pricing, he had no intention of buying anything else.
An employee at the entrance checked Lin Song’s membership information and suggested he renew his annual fee to enjoy better prices. Lin Song demurred, saying he lived too far from the store now, and declined to renew. It wasn’t just Metro, seven kilometers away; even the RT-Mart, just across the street, he now visited infrequently. His need for daily necessities was shrinking.
“June Yellow” is the name for young green crabs that have undergone their final molting before reaching maturity. Gluttons are always full of novel ideas, eager to get a taste before the crabs are fully grown. In the past, however, crab farmers were reluctant to sell these undersized crabs early, as they couldn’t fetch a good price.
Nowadays, thanks to the hype from food connoisseurs, the price of these young crabs is on the rise. The tender and juicy “June Yellow” has only recently, in the last few years, emerged as a vanguard of summer cuisine.
Metro’s “June Yellow” crabs hit the market in July. Each one is a standard size, starting from about 80 grams and now up to 125 grams. This was already the third batch. Later, when the autumn winds begin to blow, it will be time for the fully mature, roe-filled mitten crabs to take the stage.
The best companions for “June Yellow” crabs are edamame and rice cakes. The crabs are chopped in half, their cut surfaces dusted with a thin layer of starch, and then seared in a generous amount of hot oil to seal in the roe. They are then simmered with edamame and rice cakes for six or seven minutes. Served with a small cup of wine, it is the ultimate reward for the fatigue of a long summer.
As for rice cakes, they are one of those things that look and sound delicious but are often underwhelming to eat. Therefore, their role in this dish is all about texture. When the rice cakes are cooked until they are meltingly soft, they absorb the umami of the crab, creating a thick, luscious sauce that clings to the lips and tongue—a private, delicious pleasure.
For a little more kick, you can add some slivered dried chili for a touch of sweet heat. As for whether Wuhan people can handle spicy food, it really depends on the person, not the region. In any case, Lin Song himself couldn’t handle anything too spicy these days.
After a meal of scallion, ginger, edamame, and rice cakes with “June Yellow” crabs, all that remained was a large pile of crab shells.
Lin Song made it a habit to take out the household trash every night before bed. Yet, he would only replace his T-shirts when the collars were frayed and torn. Sometimes, as he tossed an old T-shirt into the bin, he even wondered if the bin itself would despise such a worn-out piece of clothing.
The trash cans for his building were located just outside the railing of the accessible ramp at the main entrance. To go north from his building, one had to pass by the four bins that were permanently stationed there.
Whether he was heading out in the morning to buy groceries, get guò zǎo (a Wuhan-style breakfast), pick up medicine, take the subway, or go to the hospital, he had to go north. On a scorching summer day, if he wanted to cut through the mall to escape the sun, he also had to go north.
The building’s janitor started his rounds at four in the morning, collecting trash from each floor and consolidating it into the bins north of the entrance. As the trash piled up, the area became a veritable garbage heap.
As things stood, for the vast majority of the time, the first thing the residents saw when they left the building was this overflowing pile of trash.
The property management office was in the southwest corner of the residential complex. Jingjing, who collected the management fees, always used the building’s south entrance, where there was only a small bin for miscellaneous litter. Every year, Jingjing would come to collect the fee, and Lin Song never paid late. But whenever he thought of the garbage heap on the north side of the entrance, he couldn’t help but feel a little reluctant as he handed over the money.
An economist once devised a pointless formula and came to a pointless conclusion: if Lin Song skipped one cup of coffee every day, in just over 200 years, he would save enough money to buy his dream house in Wuhan.