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Given the level of Chinese that Zhang Guanghang exhibited while shopping, it was impossible for him not to know the Chinese names for grouper, coral trout, and matsutake mushrooms.

Jiang Feng had reason to suspect that Zhang Guanghang’s occasional outbursts of French were purely an excuse to call Xia Mushi “grandpa.”

With a standard European face, speaking fluent Beijing dialect, every vendor, whether they recognized Zhang Guanghang or not, was enthusiastic. Thinking he was too young to pick vegetables, they volunteered to help, giving and delivering along the way, showing the warmth of the Beiping people to a foreign friend.

By the time Zhang Guanghang was carrying a load of vegetables in both hands to look for Xia Mushi at the meat stall, Xia Mushi was still carefully choosing and had yet to find the preferred cut of Wuhua pork.

Imperial Palace Ten Thousand Fortune Meat hasn’t been around for too long—it was a dish created by an Imperial Chef at the end of the Qing Dynasty to win the favor of the Empress Dowager on her birthday. It required a complicated process involving steaming, boiling, frying, stir-frying, and flipping to create a dish that was pleasing in name and appealing in appearance. Once introduced, it quickly gained the Empress Dowager’s and the concubines’ favor, and as it spread, it was modified by various chefs, leading to quite differences in preparation.

As it was an imperial dish, the choice of ingredients naturally came first—all had to be of the highest quality, even the green onion sprinkles used for decoration had to be the tender tips of premium scallions.

“Master Xia, don’t give me such a hard time. These two cuts of Wuhua meat are already the best in our section. You usually order meat from us, and you have never had such high standards. Who is visiting today that even you have to come to pick meat and vegetables personally?” The butcher speaking to Xia Mushi was his regular meat supplier.

“How could it be the same when it’s my apprentice’s birthday today?” Xia Mushi glanced over and saw Zhang Guanghang, motioning him over. He skillfully took the bag with the whole chicken from his hands, “All right then, I’ll take these two cuts. I want them both.”

“Got it!” The butcher quickly weighed the meat, calculated the price, and packed it for Xia Mushi.

Xia Mushi led Zhang Guanghang back the way they came, stopping at the shrimp stall Zhang Guanghang had taken an interest in earlier to buy several pounds of shrimp, and finally taking him to the old man who sold candied hawthorns daily at the entrance to the vegetable market.

So why sell candied hawthorns at the entrance to the vegetable market?

Generally speaking, the candied hawthorn season ends in early spring, around late March or early April. Winter is the best time to enjoy them. Judging by the attire of the pedestrians on the street, Jiang Feng estimated that it was around March, with temperatures gradually warming and candied hawthorns becoming harder to keep.

Genuine candied hawthorns have a sugar coating that will melt in high temperatures, and those sold outside in 30-degree summer heat without melting are likely mixed with other substances.

The candied hawthorns sold by the old man at the market entrance looked quite appealing. Large hawthorns were strung together, varying in size, but all were coated in sugar. The sugar on the outer layer of the topmost hawthorns had already begun to melt, slowly collapsing like a melting iceberg.

“I’ll take this one!” Zhang Guanghang pointed to a skewer of candied hawthorns whose sugar was not too obviously melted.

The old man handed the candied hawthorn to Zhang Guanghang, and Xia Mushi took care of the payment, also taking over the remaining bags from Zhang Guanghang’s hands.

“Master Xia, this is my last day selling these, I won’t be selling them after tomorrow. Would you like one too?” The seller of candied hawthorns clearly recognized Xia Mushi.

“I don’t fancy that stuff. It’s too sweet, sour, and a hassle to pick out the pits. At this time, you can easily end up with sticky syrup dripping all over you,” Xia Mushi said disdainfully, “Xiaohang, be careful when you eat, don’t drip it on yourself.”

“I know, Master,” said Zhang Guanghang, who indeed did not drip any on himself—he smeared it all over his face instead.

Xia Mushi thus led a child, whose face was covered in syrup, back home, completely unaware that Zhang Guanghang’s face was smeared with syrup—a testament to Xia Mushi’s caretaking skills and how Zhang Guanghang’s healthy survival to this day was no small feat.

Zhang Guanghang managed to eat his way through a skewer of candied hawthorns while walking, ending up with half his face a sticky mess. It wasn’t until they returned to Fen Garden and entered the kitchen to put down the groceries that Xia Mushi noticed something on Zhang Guanghang’s face.

“What’s that on your face? Go wash up later; I’ll borrow a bowl of beef soup and be right back,” Xia Mushi said as casually as if he were borrowing a bowl of vinegar from a neighbor before leaving.

Zhang Guanghang went to the sink to wash his face, scrubbing it vigorously as one might scrub mud off in a bathhouse.

After washing his face, he started to wash the vegetables conscientiously.

Since Master Xia’s private kitchen was so expensive, he generally didn’t serve many tables in a day, so he didn’t hire other staff and did all the work himself. After taking Zhang Guanghang as his apprentice, tasks like washing vegetables, chopping, scrubbing pots, and taking out the trash all fell to Zhang Guanghang.

It wasn’t long before Xia Mushi returned, carrying a white porcelain bowl. Seeing Zhang Guanghang washing vegetables, he called out, “Xiaohang, stop washing and go enjoy yourself. It’s your birthday today; you’re the birthday star. Just sit and wait for the meal.”

The best birthday gift Xia Mushi could think of was not having to work and being able to enjoy a feast without lifting a finger.

Zhang Guanghang brought a small chair from outside into the kitchen and sat down, watching Xia Mushi cook.

Xia Mushi took the pork belly he had just bought out of the plastic bag, washed it, cut it, and then added spring onions, ginger, and star anise to the water before setting it to simmer on a low heat.

To make the Ten Thousand Fortune Meat, the pork belly needs to be cooked for at least 40 minutes, and that requires some waiting.

“Master, the chicken needs to be marinated in advance,” Zhang Guanghang reminded as he sat on a small stool.

With an expressionless nod, Xia Mushi seemed as steady as an old dog but was actually freaking out.

Great, the Shafu Roast Chicken needed to be marinated in advance, and he had learned something new.

Xia Mushi began to check the ingredients that Zhang Guanghang had bought.

A whole chicken, pepper, butter, turnips, baby carrots, silk gourd, broccoli, apples, lemons.

Xia Mushi: …

What the hell are these ingredients, and how could they possibly be mixed to make a single dish?

Since he didn’t know how to cook Shafu Roast Chicken, Xia Mushi could only rely on intuition to debone and marinate the chicken, and surprisingly, the steps were almost no different from the correct ones. Jiang Feng could only marvel at how terrifying a chef’s intuition could be.

“Xiaohang, why did you suddenly want to eat this dish?” Xia Mushi asked casually.

“Mrs. Grace said it was my dad’s signature dish, but I’ve never tasted my dad’s version. I’ve only had the one Mrs. Grace made. She said my dad was too busy usually, and he would make it for me on my birthday or when he was free, but my dad has always been busy on my birthdays, so I wanted to taste the one made by Master,” Zhang Guanghang said.

The hand Xia Mushi held the knife with paused.

“This dish must be a specialty from your place, right?” Xia Mushi inquired.

“Hmm.”

“Did your grandfather ever teach you the saying ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do’?”

“He did.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“I do. It means that when you go somewhere, you should follow the customs of that place.” Zhang Guanghang was puzzled, not understanding why the cooking lesson had turned into a Chinese language class.

“You should ‘When in Rome.’ Since you’re here, you should speak Chinese, and the dish should also adapt. That chicken, when in your place, should be cooked the way you do it, but when it’s in my territory, it should be cooked the Chinese way. Just wait, today, Master will make you a Chinese-style Sha… Shafu Roast Chicken,” Xia Mushi eventually managed to remember what the dish was called.

Jiang Feng: ???

Is that how you use ‘When in Rome’? Xia was playing this smart!

“Okay.” Zhang Guanghang looked at the cooking station with anticipation.

Xia Mushi sighed.

What’s wrong with the way French people cook? It was bad enough to have a dish with chicken, kohlrabi, carrots, and cauliflower, but to include lemon and apple as well?

Whatever, just cook however. As long as it’s edible, that’s fine.

After all, ‘When in Rome.’