Chapter 21

Listening... (I'm the fourth, I have the three major rivers, but I still have to keep running naked. Please collect, recommend, and comfort me, sniff sniff...)

---

"Can't be, right?" The young man looked at Sanlang again, "Would this young brother like to try?"

Chen Ke then raised his chopsticks, hesitating among the dishes.

"Try this 'Red Lotus Braised Lamb' first," the young man seemed to place all his confidence in him, with a look of anticipation, "This is one of the three signature dishes of our restaurant."

Chen Ke took a bite, then made a face as if he had eaten a fly, and said sarcastically, "Red lotus isn't about boiling the lotus root to turn it red; it's the red lotus flower. Its purpose is to use the lotus's fragrance to neutralize the mutton's gamey smell. Your family treats the flower as a lotus root, so the dish is full of sheep odor..." He paused, then picked up a small piece of flower leaf from the plate, "You actually used red flowers to dye the lotus root. What imagination! I eat your dish, and my mouth turns red, making others think I've been poisoned. Who would dare come to your place again!"

Chen Ke's words were not only harsh but also reasonable, crushing the young man's confidence. He wiped his sweat with the apron around his waist and said softly, "Try this 'Secret Recipe Pheasant Soup.' This is also one of the three... signature dishes of our restaurant."

Chen Ke took a bite and shook his head, sighing, "What a fresh pheasant, but you've ruined it like this. You didn't blanch it in boiling water before cooking, so it's full of earthy flavors. The cooking time was too short, making the chicken meat tough and stuck in your teeth. It's terrible! The most infuriating thing is that there's even chicken droppings in the giblets. Not being able to cook well is a matter of skill, but not cleaning the ingredients properly is a matter of attitude. I suspect your chef has a grudge against the boss!"

"No, no..." The young man's face turned red, and he was almost in tears, "Try this 'Amita Tofu.' This is the third signature dish of our restaurant."

Chen Ke looked at the dish, a yellow, mushy lump, and asked with wide eyes, "What is this thing?"

"This dish depicts the Buddha's Holy Mountain. First, the whole block of tofu is carved into a mountain. The large figure on the mountain top is the Buddha, the smaller ones beside it are the four bodhisattvas, and the tiny ones below are the eight hundred arhats." The young man was relying on this dish to maintain his last bit of dignity.

"The chef is quite bold, to carve the hardest-to-carve tofu," Chen Ke asked, "Did it take a long time to carve such a complex pattern?"

"A whole day..." The young man thought, this time he would finally get some praise.

"A whole day! It's already rotten, can't you smell it?" Chen Ke pinched his nose, "So you added cloves, star anise, tangerine peel, and bay leaves, trying to cover the smell with spices. Not only did you turn the tofu brown, but it also makes people want to vomit, brother!"

"The taste is a bit strong. But this dish mainly showcases the chef's carving skills," the young man struggled to defend.

"The chef could have used the leftover tofu to commit suicide. Poor knife skills aren't his fault, but scaring people with it is wrong." Chen Ke patted Liulang's head, "Liulang, what does this lump look like to you?"

"..." Liulang looked with wide eyes and said loudly, "Cow dung..."

"Ah..." The young man finally couldn't take it anymore, crouched down, and cried, "Sniff, it seems I'm not cut out to be a chef..."

"You're the chef?" Erlang suddenly became uneasy, stood up, and bowed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know, brother..."

"Because you didn't know, you told the truth..." The young man cried bitterly, wiping his nose and tears, "They say 'where there's a will, there's a way,' but it's all a lie. I've been self-studying cooking for half a year, but I haven't made any progress. I might as well die, sniff..."

"This isn't a matter of talent," Sanlang finally spoke.

"Oh?" The young man lifted his tearful eyes and looked at Sanlang, "Then what is it?"

"There's a saying, 'the master leads you to the door, but cultivation is up to the individual.'" Sanlang, though looking like a child, spoke with an old man's wisdom, "Without a master to guide you, you'll fumble around outside and never learn cooking."

"Right..." The young man's eyes lit up, then dimmed, "It's all my fault. When my father was alive, I was idle and never stepped into the kitchen. After he suddenly passed away, I had nowhere to learn."

"Was your father the former owner of this Fulai Hotel?" Sanlang asked knowingly.

"Yes..." The young man wiped his tears, "My father was also the head chef. At the time, Fulai wasn't the best among the three hotels in the county, but it wasn't the worst either."

"Just say it was second," Sanlang rolled his eyes, "So how did it come to this?"

"At the time, my mother was the manager, and the hotel had two apprentices and three helpers. Business was quite good," the young man sighed, "But last winter, my father suddenly fell ill and passed away. My mother was so heartbroken that she fell ill too. The other two hotel owners, who had long complained about too many hotels in Qingshen County, saw this as an opportunity to bring us down. They offered high prices to poach my father's two apprentices, leaving the hotel without a head chef. Business naturally plummeted."

"Out of necessity, you had to step in, but you knew nothing, and all your efforts were in vain!" Chen Ke sighed, "Why didn't you find a master to teach you?"

"Where could I find one?" The young man smiled bitterly, "Even if I wanted to be an apprentice, they wouldn't take me!" In this era, skills were like a bowl of rice, and craftsmen cherished them. Except for their own children, outsiders had to serve as apprentices for five to eight years to learn a skill. Even then, they wouldn't be taught directly, just given a chance to learn by observation.

But someone of the young man's status couldn't expect any hotel in the county to teach him.

"Let's not talk about the past," Sanlang waved his hand, "Just now, do you want to learn cooking?"

"Of course, I dream about it."

"Then why not offer tea and bow to a master?" Sanlang said boldly.

"Master, who?" The young man widened his eyes, "You?"

"Um." Sanlang nodded, trying to look mature but still appearing childish.

"You... I... that..." The young man was confused, not knowing how to phrase his thoughts.

"Think I'm too young to teach you, right?" Sanlang sneered, "I won't waste words. Just let me use the kitchen, and I'll show you what cooking is all about!"

"My brother, though young, has a natural talent for cooking," Erlang chimed in, "Getting his guidance is a great fortune."

"Ah, okay." The young man originally wanted to say, "Kid, don't joke," but thinking about the child's incisive comments on the dishes, he realized the child had a deep understanding of cooking. With no other options, he decided to give it a try, "I'll help you."

"No need." Sanlang refused outright.

The young man thought about it and realized that helping might make him look like he was trying to steal skills, so he led the four brothers downstairs to the kitchen.

---

Once the young man left, Sanlang started working. He didn't start with the ingredients but fiddled with his wooden box, taking a lot of effort to connect it to the stove.

By the time he stood up, Erlang had already prepared the ingredients as instructed. After working together for a few days, Erlang had become a competent assistant. Curiously, he asked, "What's this wooden box?"

"It's a blacksmith's bellows," Sanlang didn't hide it from his brothers, "To increase the stove's temperature." He and Wulang moved the old pot from the stove and replaced it with a new, thin one, "A thick pot affects heat conduction."

"Why so hot?" Liulang asked with wide eyes.

"Stir-frying requires high heat and quick cooking," Sanlang said calmly, "This preserves the freshness of the ingredients and creates a perfect dish!"

There was already a fire in the stove, and with the addition of high-quality bamboo charcoal, Wulang started pulling the bellows, making the fire roar and quickly evaporating the water in the pot.

Sanlang called out, "Good," and poured oil into the pot. Once the oil was hot, he added scallions, ginger, and sliced meat, stir-frying quickly. When the meat turned white, he scooped it out with a strainer and called, "More fire!"

Wulang, using all his strength, made the bellows roar.

When the oil was hot again, Sanlang added bean sauce, soybean paste, and brown sugar, calling, "Stop!"

Wulang released the bellows, panting heavily.

With the bellows stopped, the fire died down. Sanlang used a spatula to stir-fry until the sauce was fragrant and bubbled. He then called, "More fire!"

"Okay..." Wulang quickly pulled the bellows again.

With the high heat, Sanlang added the meat and stir-fried until it was well-flavored, then drizzled with sesame oil and served.

Erlang arranged the scallion threads and bean curd sheets, and Liulang carried the dish out.

Liulang carefully brought the dish to the door, where the young owner and the helper were eagerly waiting. Seeing the fragrant, uniquely shaped dish, the two, who had been skeptical, were immediately impressed.

They quickly placed it on the table and looked at each other in amazement. They had never seen such a dish before, "What is this dish?"

"Beijing-style stir-fried shredded pork," Liulang, remembering his brother's words, said, "Eat it wrapped in bean curd sheets."

The two followed Liulang's example, picking up a sheet of bean curd, adding shredded pork and scallions, and taking a cautious bite. Instantly, the tenderness of the pork, the crispness of the scallions, and the chewiness of the bean curd sheets combined, filling their mouths with a delicious aroma, leaving a lasting aftertaste!

"Delicious, so delicious, I've never eaten anything this good..." The helper, stuffing his mouth, said excitedly, "Sniff, what if we can't eat it again?"

The young man was even more moved to tears. Compared to this dish, his cooking was worse than dog droppings. He suddenly remembered a legend his father had told him, shuddering, and cried out, "Could this be the legendary stir-fried dish?!"

---

---

We are looking for a supporting character, the young man who cooks, with a significant role. If interested, please leave a message in the comments. Uh, the name shouldn't be too unconventional or too modern...

Please recommend, collect, and comfort me, cough cough...

<a href="