Chapter 60: A Clash of Passions

I once watched a documentary explaining that young sturgeon require three years of growth before their sex can be determined; only females produce caviar, and depending on the variety, it takes seven to ten years for a sturgeon to reach maturity, weighing eight to ten kilograms. Each female yields only about ten percent of her body weight in eggs. In other words, before harvesting caviar, one must invest at least a decade of time and money.

The precise weight of the eggs determines the ratio of salt to be added, a secret at the heart of every brand, defining its flavor and texture. An experienced fisherman, making his ceremonial entrance, decides the exact amount of salt to cure the roe—not too much to overpower the taste, yet enough to bring out its freshness.

Salt is gently mixed in, ensuring even curing and allowing the flavors to settle. The purer the salt used, the better the resulting caviar. High-quality roe requires less salt, not exceeding five percent of the eggs’ weight to be considered low-salt caviar.

When it comes to caviar, every chef treats it as a priceless treasure.

To sum up, the most exquisite moment to enjoy it should be just before lunch at eleven o’clock: scoop a spoonful of caviar, pair it with a delicate champagne, and savor them together—perfection.

Digging up a small spoonful, it glistens under the light, resembling the tiniest yellow gemstones. Before entering the mouth, good caviar must retain its shape—no broken grains, plump and unblemished, the color clear and bright.

Placed on the tongue, a subtle salty taste spreads, accompanied by the sound of waves crashing in one’s mind.

As the upper palate crushes the plump beads, they explode like tiny bombs, their intense, savory juices swirling through the mouth like a tornado, wave after wave of flavor surging forth…

Between lips and teeth lingers the faint briny scent of the sea, as myriad aquatic creatures collide with the taste buds—a complexity so profound that even Johnson cannot distinguish it all. He closes his eyes, surrendering fully to nature’s baptism.

After a long while, the sea calms, leaving behind the sound of its waves. If there is no lingering hint of sweetness, one might doubt whether the experience was real or merely a dream.

Just as a traveler receives news in autumn, events pass like a spring dream, leaving no trace!

Johnson opened his eyes. This was indeed a top-tier ingredient—impossible to describe in words, its mystery revealed only upon tasting.

For centuries, the unchanging secret to savoring caviar has been simplicity: avoid luxury, let it enter the mouth directly, and experience its ultimate flavor.

Russians love pairing caviar with chilled vodka, but vodka’s strength can clash with and even overshadow the elegance of caviar.

The most classic pairing remains a bottle of high-acidity champagne. The acidity cuts through the rich, fatty taste, and when bubbles and roe burst on the tongue, they trigger an unmatched pleasure.

An idea flashed through his mind—he took out his phone and sent a few photos to Ding Mengyao. Two minutes later, her call came: “Wait for me, I’ll bring champagne and catch a flight right away!”

Johnson laughed, realizing that culinary delights captivate everyone, regardless of gender. He sent her the address and preserved the remainder on crushed ice, awaiting her arrival.

“Hmph, at least you have some conscience—not eating it all yourself!” Ding Mengyao arrived, windswept, handing Johnson two bottles of champagne. “Quick, put them in the fridge—they must be thoroughly chilled to match the caviar.”

She shrugged off her trench coat, came to the table, studied the caviar, and exclaimed with excitement, “I once tried this at its origin; who’d have thought we’d find it here, too?”

Concerned Johnson might mishandle it, she placed the champagne herself in the ice bucket, explaining, “Eisfey Vineyard, single-estate Sauvignon Champagne, handpicked and cold-fermented in stainless steel tanks, retaining the grape’s unique character.”

“Full of fresh nectarine, passionfruit, and herbal notes—powerful yet elegant. The region’s special terroir gives it higher, more focused acidity than other Chardonnay estates, making it perfect for caviar.”

“And this one, from Mahi Vineyard, carries the aroma of currants, peaches, red apples, and guava, with hints of cedar and toasted bread. It’s smooth, medium-bodied, well-structured, with a lingering finish.”

She smiled at Johnson, “Both are from the best vintages—my private collection. If not for meeting Almas, you wouldn’t even dare to dream of tasting them!”

Johnson burst out laughing, produced the king of cheeses, paired it with Bordeaux, and chatted while patiently waiting for the perfect flavor collision.

Ding Mengyao took a bite of apple, her eyes lighting up. “It’s quite special—Shanghai never disappoints, money really does buy the best.”

Johnson gazed at the elegant lady. She was wealthy, holding seven or eight wine distribution rights, purely out of passion, always a delight to converse with.

When the champagne was icy cold, they chilled the plates as well. The caviar was divided into two portions, with the lady receiving the larger share.

Scooping a spoonful, placing the caviar on the tongue, he gently pressed each bead against the roof of his mouth, letting the aroma fill the palate.

As they burst, saltiness, acidity, brininess, yeast, bitterness—all unfolded…

A sip of champagne, its fragrance blossoming alongside the caviar’s richness, was nothing short of a symphonic performance on the taste buds.

Finally, all flavors converged into a lingering sweetness, weaving endlessly between lips and teeth…

After a long, silent moment, both were deeply entranced. They opened their eyes, smiled knowingly, joy flooding their hearts.

Pleasure always passes quickly. Watching the last spoonful of caviar disappear, Johnson felt a pang of loss, raised his champagne, and finished it in one gulp.

Ding Mengyao shot him a dissatisfied look, “What a waste! Is caviar the only delicacy you have?”

“Whole grape clusters gently pressed to preserve their sweet aroma. Green apple dominates, with subtle white flower notes—lively, dry, full-bodied, delicate acidity, a sweet lingering finish.”

“You’re only a bottle of good sparkling wine away from a refreshing holiday!”

Johnson hurried to apologize, peeled an orange, and offered it to her with both hands, “My fault. Who says wine and champagne aren’t good things? I drink them every day!”

“Hmph, at least you know your place!” Ding Mengyao laughed, a little smug. “Since you’re my loyal customer, I’ll let it slide.”

Johnson checked his watch—it was already late. He tested the waters, “It’s getting late, shall I open a suite for you?”

Ding Mengyao stood, surveyed the room, and replied casually, “No need to waste money. There’s a spare room next to the presidential suite. It’ll do for one night.”

Johnson was helpless, nodded, “Alright, my lady. Tomorrow, I’ll treat you to a grand feast, how about that?”

Ding Mengyao waved elegantly, turning away, “Of course—Michelin three stars, Tang Court!”

With a beautiful companion, Johnson could not wish for more. After a shower, he reflected that the meal, though small in quantity, was of exceptional quality—a true delight.