Chapter 379 - 196: Great! I can hug it to sleep every day

Chapter 379: Chapter 196: Great! I can hug it to sleep every day

From preparing the chicken paste, to mixing the slurry, to the final soft stir-fry, a dish of Snowflake Chicken Porridge was finished with a sprinkle of "mengzi".

The ingredients were simple, just the breast meat of a free-range chicken. The method wasn’t too complex either; if you followed the steps, it was actually quite easy.

’So why can’t so many chefs get it right?’

The answer lies in the details.

You have to choose a tender chicken. Older meat results in a much poorer texture.

The Knife Skills have to be precise to pound the chicken into a fine paste. Otherwise, a single bite would be full of stringy fibers—a complete disaster.

And getting the final slurry right is also crucial.

The ratio of water to cornstarch is extremely particular. Too much water and it turns into a soupy mush; too little and it becomes a stiff, inedible block.

Making the Snowflake Chicken Porridge smooth, delicate, and springy, with a rich, lingering aftertaste—that is the true test of a Chef’s ability.

Otherwise, the result is all form and no substance; it can’t be called Snowflake Chicken Porridge at all.

Zhou Yan opened his eyes, his gaze now clear and focused.

’Snowflake Chicken Porridge. Nailed it!’

’But for now, there’s really no practical use for this dish in my hands.’

’If I use the choice breast meat of a tender chicken for just one serving of Snowflake Chicken Porridge, what do I do with the leftover carcass, legs, and wings?’

’The key issue is, if this dish were to actually go on the menu, I’d need to keep one or two tender chickens on hand at all times. You need fresh, just-butchered ingredients to make a truly delicious Snowflake Chicken Porridge.’

’After all that effort, what would be a suitable price for one serving?’

’I could eat the rest of the chicken myself, but the cost would have to be factored into this one dish, right? And I’d have to account for labor, too.’

’Sell it for three yuan a serving?’

’Zhao Minghui’s sweet-skin ducks are only three yuan each.’

’In a small town, it doesn’t matter if you hype it up to the heavens.’

’Fine dining can’t beat down-to-earth fare.’

’People here only care about getting their money’s worth.’

’A single sweet-skin duck can make a wonderful meal for a whole family. The kids can gnaw on a big leg until their faces are shiny with grease, and the men can nibble on the head with some liquor—the more you drink, the better it tastes.’

’But serve up a plate of Snowflake Chicken Porridge...’

’Everyone gets one spoonful, and it’s gone.’

’It melts in your mouth instantly. Before you can even really taste it, all that’s left is a faint aroma.’

’The customers would jump up and start cursing me!’

’This dish belongs in a grand restaurant in Rongcheng. Customers would be sitting in an exquisitely decorated dining room, flipping through a lavish menu to order a serving. They would then elegantly lift it to their lips and savor that beautiful moment as the delicacy melts on their tongue.’

’If they got inspired enough, they might even compose a poem...’

’Though that’s not strictly required.’

It sounded wonderful. Zhou Yan had to fight the urge to go steal a chicken and stay up all night making a batch just to taste it.

While dishes themselves may have no class, they are suited for different occasions and people.

’In the future, when I have guests, serving a portion of Snowflake Chicken Porridge between a series of simple, pan-fried dishes would be an excellent way to transition between courses and add a touch of elegance.’

’It would make me look even more skilled.’

Zhou Yan mused on it. ’Once I save up enough money by the beginning of next month, I’ll buy the Qiu Family’s Old Mansion. Then I can invite Mrs. Qiu and Duan Yu Yan over for a meal. I could make them some Snowflake Chicken Porridge to show my gratitude. I bet they’d like it.’

CLANG!

Just then, the sound of an enamel basin crashing to the floor echoed from downstairs.

"What was that?" Zhou Yan sat bolt upright in bed, grabbed the flashlight from his nightstand, and opened the door to go out.

The door to the room at the other end of the living room opened at almost the same moment. Comrade Zhou emerged, flashlight in hand, and quietly closed the door behind him. "Did you hear that too?" he whispered. "Something fell downstairs."

"I’ll go check. As long as the lard cracklings weren’t knocked over, it’s fine," Zhou Yan replied, clattering down the stairs.

’Comrade Zhou is as sharp as ever,’ Zhou Yan thought. ’He hears the slightest noise and gets right up to check.’

’The last time their old house collapsed, it was this very cautiousness that allowed him to get Mrs. Zhao and Zhou Momo out safely in time.’

When Zhou Yan reached the kitchen, his flashlight beam fell upon pork cracklings scattered all over the floor. He gritted his teeth. "SON OF A BITCH! Damn rats!"