So, I kept hearing about this thing called “joyous cuisine 蘭亭序”. Sounds kinda fancy, right? Like something from an old scroll painting, but with food. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if it was a real place or just a vibe someone was talking about. But the name stuck in my head – joyous, elegant food. I liked the sound of that.
I got this idea that I wanted to bring that feeling into my own kitchen. Not aiming for some Michelin star complexity, just… capturing that spirit. You know, making the process of cooking and eating feel a bit special, a bit more intentional, maybe a bit like that calm, flowing calligraphy vibe from “Lanting Xu”.
Getting Started – What Did I Even Want?
First off, I had to figure out what “joyous cuisine” meant to me in this context. My first thought? Fancy, intricate dishes. I actually wasted a whole afternoon trying to carve a radish into a flower or something equally fiddly. What a mistake. It looked terrible, like something a dog chewed on, and prepping it just made me stressed, not joyous.
That failure made me rethink. Maybe the elegance wasn’t in complexity, but simplicity? Like the Lanting Xu preface itself – flowing, natural, not forced. So, I scrapped the fancy plans. I decided to focus on simple, fresh ingredients and the feeling of the whole process.
The Actual Process – Making it Happen
Okay, plan B. Here’s what I actually did:
- Shopping Trip: I went to the market myself. Didn’t just grab stuff, I actually looked around. Found some really fresh greens, a nice piece of fish that looked good. Just taking the time to pick things out felt… deliberate. Grounding.
- Prep Time: Back home, I put on some music I like, something calm. I wasn’t rushing. Washed the vegetables carefully, chopped them neatly. Nothing fancy, just basic knife work, but I tried to be present. Focused on the task. It was kinda meditative, actually.
- Cooking: I decided on simple methods. Steamed the fish with just ginger and scallions. Stir-fried the greens quickly to keep them bright. The goal wasn’t complex flavors, but clean, fresh tastes. It wasn’t about showing off skills, just making honest food.
- Setting the Table: This felt important for the “vibe”. I don’t own super fancy dishes, but I picked out my cleanest, nicest plates. Cleared the clutter off the table. Put a single flower from the garden in a small glass. Dimmed the lights slightly. Small touches, but they made a difference. Felt less like just another meal.
Eating and Thinking About It
Then I sat down to eat. Didn’t turn on the TV. Just ate the food. Tasted the fish, the greens. It was simple, yes. But it was also really good because it was fresh and made with care. And the whole atmosphere… it felt calm. Peaceful.
Did I achieve “joyous cuisine 蘭亭序”? Who knows? It wasn’t some grand banquet. But the whole experience – thinking about it, ditching the complicated mess, choosing ingredients carefully, cooking mindfully, setting a nice space, and then just enjoying the simple food – it felt joyous. It felt restorative. Not just filling my stomach, but maybe feeding the soul a little bit too, if that doesn’t sound too cheesy.
Turns out, for me, the “practice” wasn’t about replicating some impossible standard. It was about finding joy in the simple process of making and eating food with a little bit of intention and care. That was my version of it, anyway. And it felt pretty good.
