Chapter 6: The Gourmet?

"Hao Baoli, National Special Grade Chef."
"Executive Head Chef of the State Guesthouse, overseeing two hundred chefs across eighteen buildings."
Housekeeper Hu straightened with respect. "Master Hao, already in his sixties, shuttles between all the VIP buildings daily. Each building has its own team, and every banquet features a different menu. He coordinates the work of two hundred chefs every day, reviewing each banquet's menu."
"He is both the chief steward and the master of all the chefs!"
Zhuang Chen nodded. The executive chef of the Diaoyutai State Guesthouse was akin to the minister in charge of the imperial kitchens—a confidant of the emperor.
Housekeeper Hu glanced at the carefully arranged tableware and said confidently, "Beyond his exquisite culinary skills, Master Hao pays great attention to tableware, the dining environment, and atmosphere—striving to combine gourmet food with beautiful vessels in perfect harmony."
"He often says that guests who choose Diaoyutai are not here merely to be fed, but to enjoy the treatment reserved for state guests. For every distinguished guest who visits, we establish a personal dining archive. The next time you return, your experience will be even more satisfying."
Zhuang Chen smiled without replying. As far as service went, he was quite pleased—polite, measured, attentive to detail, leaving not a trace of pressure, but instead a feeling of ease and naturalness. Very good.
"This is steamed fish with gastrodia..." Housekeeper Hu took the plate from the waiter himself and set it before Zhuang Chen, explaining, "Gastrodia dispels wind, nourishes the brain, lowers blood pressure, and helps the liver. Fish is considered earth in the five elements, strengthening the spleen and stomach—ideal for health in spring and autumn."
Zhuang Chen picked up his chopsticks and went straight for the flesh below the fish's head, about two inches down—the most succulent part of the whole fish. He brought it to his nose, inhaled, and smiled, "Besides gastrodia, did you also add Szechuan lovage?"
Housekeeper Hu's eyes lit up, and he praised, "You have a keen palate indeed. Gastrodia is a bit pungent, but with Szechuan lovage, the flavor becomes fragrant and sweet, and the medicinal benefit is enhanced."
Zhuang Chen placed the fish in his mouth—it was tender, juicy, melting instantly, like a river thawing in early spring, granting the fish new life.
Lively fish swam joyfully between clear springs and brooks; the pungency of gastrodia and the bitterness of Szechuan lovage, like the harshness of winter, transformed the fish into something reborn, even silkier and softer, with distinct layers.
A vibrant fisher girl appeared in his mind, standing on a small boat, pulling up nets with steady hands—one lively fish after another, her face blossoming with satisfaction.
Scenes danced in Zhuang Chen’s mind as his taste buds rejoiced, colliding and mingling, myriad sensations gathering like trickling streams.
He set his chopsticks down, newfound confidence and poise radiating from him, and said offhandedly, "Hmm, the gastrodia flavor is still a bit strong, though the quantity seems right. If you soak it in rice-washing water first, it not only removes the pungency but also amplifies the aroma."
He looked up with a slight smile. "Just a small suggestion."
Housekeeper Hu quickly took out a notebook, jotting it down earnestly. "Thank you for your advice. I’ll relay this to the chef right away and hope to satisfy you even more next time."
Zhuang Chen nodded. For his second bite, he picked out the fish cheek. As the saying goes: eat the head in winter, the tail in summer, yellow croaker in spring, crab in autumn. In summer, fish swim more, making the tail tastier; in early spring, the nutrients concentrate in the head, so the flesh near the mouth is the choicest.
Indeed, the flavor was distinct—if the first bite was meltingly smooth, the cheek was livelier, with a delightful chew.
The fibers danced in his mouth, as if fish leaping from the water, celebrating the end of winter and the arrival of spring, a subtle joy that Zhuang Chen relished.
Housekeeper Hu watched the young guest’s expressions, a thought flitting through his mind: Could this truly be a gourmet?
In the past, when bandits kidnapped hostages for ransom, they’d starve them for three days, then serve fish—judging a man’s wealth by where his chopsticks landed first.
If they reached for the cheek, the man was a rich one—treat him well and ransom high. If he went for the belly, there was some fat to be had—keep him a few more days.
But those who first picked the tail were always paupers—dispose of them early, lest they waste your rice.
This guest’s choices mirrored those of Master Hao himself!
Of course, one must never pry into a guest’s background—especially those who know their way around the table. As the second dish arrived, Housekeeper Hu hurried to present it. "Fresh abalone with braised Liaoning sea cucumber—a classic Cantonese dish, improved by us for a more elegant flavor. Please give us your thoughts."
Seeing Housekeeper Hu’s cautious demeanor, Zhuang Chen smiled inwardly. In other respects, perhaps he was penniless, but when it came to food—
Even as a child, his nose and palate were unusually sharp. He could instantly detect flavors others missed, discerning subtle notes even in a simple bowl of rice.
He later realized this was a gift, and so became a chef. His culinary skills advanced rapidly, especially in seasoning, to the point that even seasoned masters admitted inferiority.
The culinary arts are a vast and profound craft; with the same basic ingredients, some achieve greatness, others stumble.
It comes down to two things: heat control and seasoning. Nothing more.
In just four years he completed his apprenticeship—his orphan’s greatest secret weapon when he boldly came to the capital seeking a living.
With just one taste of a dish, he could deduce almost everything.
Thus, at the table, Zhuang Chen was at his most confident. He’d only ever planned to be a chef, but now, unexpectedly, he found himself regarded as a connoisseur.
He picked up a piece of sea cucumber and placed it in his mouth—firm and springy, the Liaoning sea cucumber soaked in abalone sauce, absorbing it like a deep-sea bomb, exploding with flavor, a storm sweeping through his palate.
Melodious singing rang in his ears—like a mermaid languidly reclining on a reef, her tail gently rippling the water.
Her plump, enticing form, a faint smile on crimson lips, dazzled the mind and awakened primal desire.
"This is indeed a Dalian sea cucumber, likely from the waters near Tieshan—its sweet aroma far surpasses that of Shandong varieties."
Zhuang Chen nodded, picking up another piece with satisfaction. "True Liaoning sea cucumber has fewer irregular spikes. The rarest is the three-angled and a half—if you find the flower inside when cleaning, it’s a supreme tonic for the heart and blood."
"Prickly, beche-de-mer, plum blossom, square-spiked, and bald—everyone says prickly is best, but it depends on the dish..."
"For this abalone-braised sea cucumber, I’d personally recommend plum blossom. Its large spikes and densely packed tube feet give stronger absorption."
"With rich abalone sauce, the flavor is even fuller. After all, your abalone sauce isn’t cheap—duck, old hen, pork hock, pork bone, pork skin, Jinhua ham, dried scallop..."
He glanced at Housekeeper Hu and joked, "Simmered for twelve hours over low heat—the cost rivals that of the sea cucumber itself!"