Chapter 61: Does This Deserve Three Stars?

The next morning, they rose early, though, regrettably, there was no lakeside run—only a short session in the hotel's gym before waiting for Ding Mengyao to awaken so they could share breakfast together.

Afterward, they went shopping. Though Tang Hong wasn't there, Ding Mengyao had a keen eye, and they picked up a few clothes to settle into their new home that evening after checking out—making things more convenient for the days ahead.

At noon, they headed straight for T'ang Court, celebrated as the only Michelin three-star restaurant on the mainland in 2016, basking in its glory and renown. In truth, the original T'ang Court was on Hong Kong Island, and this was the first branch in the mainland, located within the Langham Hotel. Arriving early, they found the place quiet and were shown to the southern Olive Tree private room, where the window overlooked the thronging crowds of Xintiandi.

The waiter handed the menu to the lady. As Ding Mengyao perused it, she remarked, "I came here twice the year before last—the food was decent. But I heard your head chef Tan was lured away by Bulgari for a million-dollar salary?"

The waiter smiled politely. "That was the chef's personal choice, which we can't comment on. However, T'ang Court remains a Michelin three-star this year."

Ding Mengyao nodded, and after ordering, she waited for the waiter to leave before saying with a smile, "The Langham started preparing for Michelin stars as early as 2015, sending Tan Shiye all the way to Hong Kong Island to learn from Master Chef Kuang Weiqiang at the flagship. They were determined to win."

Zhuang Chen paused, curiosity piqued. "Logically, with such achievement, he should be inseparable from his old employer. Why did he choose to leave?"

"Isn't it always the tall poppy that gets cut?" Ding Mengyao explained. "Less than a month after receiving the stars, Tan Shiye was probably the most anxious chef in the country. Many in the industry spoke bluntly, saying T'ang Court didn't deserve three stars."

"I heard that on the very night of the award, several seasoned food critics staged an immediate raid, declaring the food here was, in capital letters, terrible. A single online review easily racked up hundreds of thousands of clicks. If you were the head chef, could you withstand the pressure?"

"The Michelin Guide is updated annually. Any day of the year, no one knows when the anonymous reviewer might come to secretly score the restaurant. The chef must be on edge with every dish. If a star is lost, it's a disgrace beyond words."

Zhuang Chen could empathize. He'd read reports—every lost star meant a 25% drop in reservations, and many Michelin-starred chefs, unable to bear the pressure, had taken their own lives.

In 1966, Alain Zick, a Michelin three-star chef, became the first to commit suicide after his restaurant was demoted to two stars. In 2007, a 41-year-old Michelin-starred female head chef died from an overdose of sedatives, leaving a note: I can't go on—the pressure is too much…

Ding Mengyao analyzed, "Bulgari was clearly planning something major—headhunting T'ang Court's three-star chef, not just to prepare for the opening of Libaoxuan in 2017, but also to aim straight for the Michelin three-star accolade."

"A Michelin star is a free golden signboard for any restaurant, bringing endless honor and a flood of wealth. For Bulgari, it's a spotlight that serves three purposes at once."

"Michelin three-star chefs are recognized as the most valuable and prestigious in the world. Take Gordon Ramsay of Hell's Kitchen—he's said to be the highest-paid chef, worth over a hundred million pounds."

"Even a sous-chef at any three-star Michelin restaurant earns at least a million a year, and the head chef is usually also the boss—swaggeringly impressive."

Zhuang Chen picked up the menu. Prices hovered in the hundreds—by three-star standards, not particularly expensive. On Hong Kong Island, a three-star French meal at Robuchon or a kaiseki at Ryugin in Tokyo would start at over two thousand yuan per person, yet here the set menu was just 588 yuan?

The priciest signature dish was the Lobster with Three Onions at only 1,500 yuan. The waiter brought over San Pellegrino with lemon and asked whether they preferred the dishes served one at a time after finishing each course, or continuously in succession.

For guests, business events, or gatherings, it was customary to have the table filled with dishes for a lively, abundant feel. But Zhuang Chen was there to savor the cuisine, so he preferred to enjoy each dish in turn, with time to taste and discuss with the lady between courses.

He glanced around—the decor was ordinary, the furnishings unremarkable, even somewhat dated with old tables and lazy Susans. The spoons were worn silver—nothing surprising, just barely acceptable.

His first impression was not good. He recalled kaiseki meals where the tableware was worth tens of thousands each. As the first Michelin three-star on the mainland, they were not at all prepared in terms of hardware and did not live up to the reputation of a traditional restaurant.

Zhuang Chen shook his head, hoping the food would offer surprises. The first course was a roast meat duo, with three options to choose two. Ding Mengyao selected roast goose and char siu, passing on suckling pig for something fresher.

He picked up a piece—the goose skin was crisp and the meat tender, but less succulent than expected. The flavor was barely passable, nothing remarkable. For such a grand restaurant, their roast meats were nowhere near the level of Kam's Roast Goose, a century-old establishment on Hong Kong Island—at best, seventy percent as good.

A six-pound roast goose varies greatly from one part to another; getting a satisfying piece depended on luck. Out of five points, Zhuang Chen could only give three.

Next came the char siu. Zhuang Chen had never tasted such a soft char siu before—it was utterly bland, stirring no response in his taste buds. It might as well have been a generic takeaway.

He complained, "Maybe they used decent goose and pork, but the butchering and seasoning are clearly not up to par. Roast meats are supposed to be one of the core skills of Cantonese cuisine!"

Ding Mengyao frowned. "The standards have dropped so much? They must have changed head chefs!"

There was nothing to be done—it was only the beginning; perhaps a miracle would happen. Today's soup was pork rib and lotus root, simmered for four full hours, highly recommended by the waiter.

One sip—the pork was present, but then what? The lotus root, unlike its usual companion of corn or carrot, added no sweetness or aroma to the broth. In today's vernacular:

It was as if the ribs had been hollowed out, leaving them short and limp!

Seeing Zhuang Chen's growing dissatisfaction, Ding Mengyao sighed helplessly, "If I'd known, I would have ordered the Brocade Fish Soup with Fresh Grouper. The best soups are always the first extract from kelp and bonito flakes, with a touch of yuzu for a refined finish."

Zhuang Chen rinsed his mouth with water, disappointed. "Next up is the crystal shrimp dumpling, right? The signature dish of every Cantonese restaurant. I hope it doesn't disappoint me further."

Soon, it arrived. Lifting the lid of the steamer, the color was pleasing, especially the size—extra large. Through the translucent skin, two whole plump shrimp were visible—a bold statement.

The shrimp was springy and tender, with a bit of juice, and the seasoning complemented the seafood without overshadowing it—just right. Zhuang Chen finally sighed in relief. Compared to the previous watery dishes, this one offered some comfort.

The Swan Lava Puff was intricately shaped, but the filling was delightful—egg yolk, cream, and a hint of coconut. Once teeth broke the crisp pastry, the hot, sweet filling burst out like a miniature volcano.

The fifth dish was the main event: Lobster with Three Onions. Over two pounds of Australian lobster, chopped into large pieces, stir-fried with onion, scallion, and shallot in a wok for aroma, then tossed with sauce before serving.

This dish had been a signature at the flagship in Hong Kong Island for thirty-eight years, the golden banner of three-star Chef Kuang Weiqiang, with countless awards. Zhuang Chen had high expectations, and the presentation was decent.

The three onions were presumably onion, scallion, and red shallot. The lobster was cut into chunks, perfectly cooked, the meat tender and springy, with the soy sauce just barely providing a finishing touch.

Zhuang Chen put down his chopsticks, took a deep breath, and was deeply disappointed. "Is this the so-called top-quality Australian lobster? Is this all there is?"

Ding Mengyao was taken aback. "What's wrong? I think it's pretty good—tastes fine to me."

"The seasoning only touches the surface of the lobster, while the meat within is utterly bland—no depth, no complexity."

"To be fair, it's a decent dish, but as the most expensive signature at a three-star restaurant, it’s not as rich in flavor as a single piece of high-end sushi—truly disappointing!"

Taking another bite, Zhuang Chen savored it carefully. "I can guarantee this wasn't cooked in a wok!"

"Only a wok can impart wok hei, especially in Cantonese cuisine. And with these long corridors, it must take at least two or three minutes to get from the kitchen to this private room. The dish wasn't even covered to keep warm—how could there be any wok hei left?"