片多多影视

Ever since Jiang Feng’s fire control and seasoning had escalated to master level, many cooking methods that he had been somewhat clumsy at or unfamiliar with became effortlessly skillful, such as deep-frying.

This cooking method, which immerses food in high-temperature fat to rapidly cook and become fragrant and crunchy, is extremely challenging to achieve the critical point where food retains its moisture and yet becomes crispy. The difference between success, excellence, and perfection is just a matter of moments.

Once, Jiang Feng could at best achieve success and was quite far from excellence, but after his fire control and seasoning reached master level, not only did excellence become within reach, but even perfection seemed just a tiptoe and stretch away.

The more he practiced, the more he attempted, the clearer Jiang Feng could discern the vast gap between the advanced and master-level ratings in the system.

For example, in a percentage-based math exam, the beginner level just requires the student to pass, intermediate demands a score of 80, advanced expects above 90. But at master level, not only is a score of 95 required, the questions shift from high school to higher mathematics.

The enormous gap can only be understood by those who experience it.

With sizzling noises and splattering oil, the unique aroma of food deep-fried in hot oil began to emanate from the pot. Apples, eggs, flour—the alluring scent from the Maillard reaction took Jiang Feng back to the eve of Chinese New Year’s dinner, to the moment when Mrs. Jiang brought out the crispy apple fritters.

It also brought to mind how Jiang Shoucheng’s stand-up caused him to miss out on this year’s crispy apple fritters.

The once-a-year crispy apple fritters hand-made by Sir were exclusive to the New Year’s dinner, a winter specialty.

And all that was lost with Jiang Shoucheng’s hefty bump.

Just thinking about it, Jiang Feng couldn’t help but scoop up the apple fritters from the frying pot with a trace of indelible resentment.

They’re done!

[A serving of exceptionally tasty crispy apple fritters]

The evaluations Jiang Feng now received for his cookery were generally “exceptionally tasty,” with the occasional slip resulting in “quality par excellence.”

Looking at the crispy apple fritters in front of him, Jiang Feng felt a hint of pride.

He must now be the best at making crispy apple fritters in the entire Jiang Family aside from Sir.

Mr. Jiang Jiankang, who is at the same culinary level as him but has over twenty years more experience, has been selectively ignored by him.

“Try them, crispy apple fritters are best when they’ve just come out of the fryer,” Jiang Feng said to Zhang Guanghang.

Zhang Guanghang reached for some chopsticks.

“You’re sure you’ve never had this dish before?” Jiang Feng pressed.

Now with the crispy apple fritters plainly displayed in front of Zhang Guanghang, Xia Mushi’s culinary skills would surely make them crispy, sweet, and crunchy, beloved by children. It was inconceivable that such a dish, bound to become a synonym for deliciousness and happiness in a child’s memory, left no impression on Zhang Guanghang.

“I’ve never had it,” Zhang Guanghang said with certainty, “I’ve never eaten a dish like this.”

With that, Zhang Guanghang picked up a piece of crispy apple fritter with his chopsticks.

He took a bite.

Jiang Feng stood beside him, clearly sensing the burst of surprise from Zhang Guanghang as he tasted the apple fritter.

It was the sort of surprise that a child feels upon finding a long-lost toy, that an adult feels recalling the sweet memories of childhood, that an elder experiences remembering the good old days.

Chewing.

“Crunch, crunch.”

Zhang Guanghang said nothing, grabbed another piece of crispy apple fritter.

“Crunch, crunch.”

He remained silent like that, one piece after another, one bite following the next, his face devoid of extra expressions, only allowing the constant chewing motion of his mouth to be observed. His eyes glittered as he looked at the crispy apple slices in front of him as if he were gazing upon a dish of rare treasure.

“Crunch, crunch.”

“Crunch, crunch.”

Just like that, in a short time, half a plate of crispy apples had been devoured by Zhang Guanghang.

He took a deep breath, as if to savor the taste he had just experienced, or perhaps he couldn’t believe that what he had tasted was real. When the flavors of childhood hidden deep in one’s memory once again surfaced on one’s taste buds, everyone would feel an unreal sense of hope, even suspecting that something might be wrong with their tongue.

“How did you know?” Zhang Guanghang’s face was a mix of shock, delight, confusion, relief, and a hint of satisfaction—an expression so complex it could inspire a short essay or reading comprehension passage.

Zhang Guanghang was no fool; he didn’t believe for a second that Jiang Feng had impulsively or serendipitously decided to make him crispy apples. He was convinced that Jiang Feng must have guessed that the key to the Chinese Shafu Roast Chicken he wanted to recreate was the crispy apples.

But he couldn’t figure out how Jiang Feng knew all this, seeing as he, the person involved, didn’t even know—so how could Jiang Feng, an outsider without mind-reading abilities or the power to peer into his memories, know that the key to the Shafu Roast Chicken was actually the crispy apples?

“The other day, after I saw you make the Shafu Roast Chicken, I looked up how to make it. These past few days, I’ve watched how you make it and tasted the chicken you made. Although I don’t know the exact taste of the Shafu Roast Chicken you’re after, you’ve been saying you feel like you’re missing something, not that the flavor is wrong. So I started thinking, maybe the focus of the flavor you’re looking for isn’t on the chicken itself but on the side dishes,” Jiang Feng began to exercise his charm of spinning advanced lies, blatantly saying nonsense with a straight face.

“The side dishes for Shafu Roast Chicken are actually quite simple: just some vegetables and apples mixed with butter. I couldn’t think of any way those vegetables could make anything special, but I knew that apples can be used to make fruit salads or crispy apples. Every year, my family has this dish on our New Year’s Eve dinner table.” Jiang Feng spoke slowly, “Crispy apples are a dish from the imperial kitchen, once part of the Manchu Han Imperial Feast’s desserts. My grandfather knew how to make it, so I guessed Old Sir Xia must have known how to make it too.”

“Actually, this morning I just wanted to ask you, or rather, remind you, but you told me you’ve never eaten crispy apples and you’ve never heard the name. I found that strange at the time. Crispy apples are a distinctive dessert and part of the imperial cuisine; Sir Xia would not have failed to teach you. Just recently, a friend told me, when he wanted to eat something fancy as a kid, his grandmother would make some dishes that looked similar using Chinese methods to deceive him.”

“So… I just think, and of course this is just what I think, perhaps Old Sir Xia made Shafu Roast Chicken using Chinese methods back in the day and casually used the method for making crispy apples for the dish’s apples to fool you. Sir Xia didn’t want you to find out that he was deceiving you, so he never taught you how to cook it or told you that the apples were actually crispy apples.”

A crack appeared on Zhang Guanghang’s face.

If there had to be one word to describe his feeling at that moment, it would probably be disillusionment.

The truth behind the seemingly wonderful childhood memories turned out to be his master deceiving him.

Zhang Guanghang fell into silence.

After a long time, he finally said, “Jiang Feng, can you teach me how to make crispy apples?”

“Of course! It’s a simple dish. As long as you’ve mastered fire control, you’ll be able to learn it right away.” Jiang Feng had been waiting for this moment.

If Zhang Guanghang didn’t learn it, he wouldn’t be able to recreate the Shafu Roast Chicken from his memory, and without that, he wouldn’t be able to complete his quest.

It was a vicious cycle.

And so, Jiang Feng began the joyful teaching process.

Teaching a true 1.92 meters tall, Franco-Chinese mixed-race, handsome, wealthy young prodigy chef how to cook was an experience only those who have done it could understand. Jiang Feng even felt an illusion that he had reached the pinnacle of his life.

Indeed, this was the correct way to play out a protagonist’s story: with just a few words, geniuses across the world would bow their heads in fealty, happy to become minions, exuding an aura of regality in every gesture.

Jiang Feng looked somewhat smugly at the plate of crispy apples that had enlightened Zhang Guanghang.

[A serving of crispy apples with slightly poor quality flour, a bit too thick egg batter, a slightly low frying temperature, and a slightly prolonged frying time, which, despite all that, tastes excellent]

Jiang Feng: …

Stupid game, please fold up your overly long appraisal result, thank you.

Two hours later—

“Ding, side quest [Childhood Memory] completed, reward received: A segment of Zhang Guanghang’s memory.”

Success!