From Dinner Tables to Poetry Books: The Curious Case of Forgotten Foods

When we leaf through the ancient Book of Songs today, we encounter beautiful names of plants like xingcai (water snowflake) and juan’er (cocklebur) without realizing these were once dietary staples for our ancestors. Countless ingredients that appear frequently in classical texts have mysteriously disappeared from modern Chinese cuisine. Their journey from essential sustenance to poetic symbolism reveals fascinating chapters in China’s culinary evolution.

Water Snowflake: A Love Story Floating on the Surface

The very first poem in the Book of Songs features the water snowflake plant in its famous opening lines: “Guan guan cry the ospreys, on the islet in the river. The beautiful and good young lady is a fine mate for the lord.” This aquatic plant with edible roots once commonly appeared in soups but survives today primarily as a poetic metaphor for unattainable beauty.

Historical texts describe the water snowflake’s physical characteristics in detail – white stems, purple-red leaves about an inch wide floating on water, with roots anchored below. While still found in ponds nationwide, few consider eating it today due to its inferior taste and nutritional value compared to similar water plants like water shield. The plant’s transformation from food to literary device demonstrates how cultural meanings can outlast practical uses.

Cocklebur: From Survival Food to Symbol of Longing

Another Book of Songs plant, cocklebur, grows abundantly across China’s plains and roadsides. Ancient peasants consumed its young leaves during food shortages, though the taste was reportedly unpleasant. The poem “Gathering Cocklebur” immortalized the plant by connecting it to emotional longing, as a distracted woman picking vegetables thinks of her absent lover.

While cocklebur sustained people during lean times, its poetic legacy proved more enduring. The image of half-filled baskets abandoned by lovesick gatherers created an emotional resonance that outlasted the plant’s culinary relevance, showing how necessity can transform into art.

The Fall of the Mallow King

For two millennia, mallow reigned as China’s “king of vegetables,” prized for its mucilaginous texture that compensated for scarce cooking oils. Ancient texts from the Book of Songs to Han dynasty poetry celebrate this leafy green, distinct from modern sunflowers. Mallow’s year-round availability and slippery quality (valuable in an era of limited fat sources) made it indispensable.

Mallow’s decline began when cabbage migrated north from the Yangtze region during the Tang-Song period. Cabbage’s superior taste, cold resistance, and storage potential made it ideal for the Little Ice Age (14th-19th centuries), eventually dethroning mallow. This botanical succession illustrates how climate change and agricultural innovation reshape diets.

Water Shield: A Delicacy Wrapped in Nostalgia

Resembling water snowflake, water shield appears in the Book of Songs’ “Ode to Lu” section. While still eaten in Jiangnan regions today, its status has diminished from ancient times when the “Water Shield and Perch” story symbolized homesickness. The Jin dynasty official Zhang Han famously resigned his post to return home for this delicacy, creating an enduring cultural trope.

Modern writer Ye Shengtao captured water shield’s appeal: “The plant itself has no flavor, relying entirely on good broth. But its tender green color and poetic richness create a tasteless taste that intoxicates the heart.” This transformation from sustenance to cultural symbol shows how foods acquire meanings beyond nutrition.

The Shifting Grains of Chinese Civilization

China’s legendary “Five Grains” have undergone dramatic changes in status. Hemp, once crucial for food, fiber and oil, faded as irrigation improved rice yields. The mysterious “ji” grain (possibly millet or sorghum) that gave its name to the state (“sheji”) became less vital as wheat and rice production increased.

Millet remains in regional cuisines but lost its central position. These grain shifts reflect agricultural advancements that made hardier, more productive crops available, changing the foundations of Chinese civilization bite by bite.

Before Chili Peppers: China’s Lost Spices

Modern Sichuan cuisine seems unimaginable without chili peppers, but these New World arrivals only entered Chinese kitchens in the 16th century. Ancient Chinese relied on alternatives like smartweed and zanthoxylum (prickly ash) for heat. Smartweed, once essential for removing meat odors, now mainly flavors liquor. Zanthoxylum, a key Sichuan pepper ancestor, required labor-intensive processing that chili peppers rendered obsolete.

The Tang-Song poet Su Shi praised smartweed in his “spring plate” of five pungent vegetables, a tradition welcoming spring that has largely disappeared. These forgotten spices remind us that culinary landscapes constantly evolve, with each era having its own distinctive flavors.

Cultural Preservation Through Culinary Memory

While these ingredients faded from daily meals, they gained immortality in literature and tradition. What we’ve lost in practical use, we’ve gained in cultural richness – the water snowflake forever floating in love poetry, the cocklebur eternally half-gathered by longing lovers, the water shield perpetually evoking homesickness.

These botanical survivors of China’s culinary past continue to nourish us, not through our stomachs but through our collective imagination. They remind us that food is never just sustenance, but a living archive of human experience, preserving flavors of history that still linger on the tongue of culture.