Chapter Thirty-Six: A Chef’s Weapon Is Exquisite Cuisine (Part Two)

Bamboo tube rice is a delicacy of certain ethnic minorities. Ming Tian, accustomed to cooking at home and always eager to try new foods, is skilled in both Eastern and Western cuisines. Although his culinary abilities might be considered modest by modern standards, in ancient times, his skills would undoubtedly place him among the very best.

“What is this…” Yin Chan, busy preparing bamboo and marinating the meat, watched as Ming Tian began to sort through the various seasonings.

Despite the dilapidated state of the kitchen, it was still the residence of a high-ranking official. The variety of seasonings available was likely second only to imperial tributes—perhaps the most complete one could find in the world. Beyond the basics of salt and syrup, Ming Tian was astonished to discover a jar containing vinegar! Yes, vinegar. It had a slight aroma of rice powder, possibly due to crude production methods, but it was unmistakably vinegar.

The earliest records of vinegar date back to the Northern Wei’s “Essential Techniques for the Welfare of the People.” At this point in history, only rice vinegar existed. Its manufacture was simple, preservation easy, and it had many advantages over more common seasonings. Yet vinegar remained a rarity in ordinary households, because rice yield in ancient times was so low. In the modern world, high-yield fields, aided by technology and genetic modification, can produce thirteen to fourteen hundred jin per mu in a year without disaster—a normal thing. But in ancient times, a yield of four to five hundred jin per mu was already a bumper crop.

Moreover, rice had always been a strategic resource for the people of Huaxia. Ordinary families could scarcely afford to use even lard, let alone purchase such luxurious condiments as vinegar. Only Ming Tian’s own home in Sumen Town, Prefect Yu’s residence, and this place might have rice vinegar.

Opening another jar, Ming Tian’s eyebrows began to dance with delight. The aromatic scent, tinged with a hint of fishiness, was one he knew intimately. It was fermented fish-pork paste! When he was a child, his family was poor and lived far from the county town. They seldom bought soy sauce, so they often brewed this fish-pork paste at home. Ming Tian practically grew up eating it.

Soy sauce is made from fermented soybeans, while fish-pork paste is brewed from pork and fish. Its flavor is pungent and slightly fishy, but it combines the freshness of light soy with the richness of dark soy. In these backward times, fish-pork paste was a perfect substitute for soy sauce.

As for soy sauce itself—there was none. Yin Chan explained that soy sauce was invented during the Shang and Zhou dynasties, but until the Song dynasty, it remained an exclusive palace condiment, akin to a state secret. Unauthorized possession could result in execution or even the extermination of one's entire clan.

Ming Tian also found some leftover ginger and rice wine. Other seasonings, such as Sichuan peppercorn, black pepper, scallions, and garlic, were all present. Perfect!

Because Qi Guli, as the Duke of Lanling, had the right to eat beef, Ming Tian naturally chose to use the ideal ingredient for Brazilian-style grilled meat: beef tenderloin!

Grilled meat must be marinated; otherwise, it’s no different from the primitive fare of cavemen. Placing the tenderloin on the chopping board, Ming Tian tenderized it with a wooden mallet, crushing the fibers, then scored it with a knife to allow the marinade to penetrate.

With no wok available, he used a bronze cauldron to heat oil, sautéed scallions, garlic, and Sichuan peppercorn, strained out the excess oil, then simmered the fish-pork paste and vinegar together for a minute to create the basic sauce.

Marinating was simple: he mixed the sauce with minced ginger and rice wine to remove any gaminess, smeared it generously over the meat, sealed it in a jar, and placed the jar in warm water to speed up the process—one hour was all it would take.

For vegetables, since there were no green peppers, Ming Tian chose carrots and water bamboo, both of which were highly refreshing and could cut through the greasiness of the meat.

While the meat marinated, Ming Tian prepared the bamboo tube rice. He had enlisted Yin Chan’s help precisely for her skillful hands; each bamboo tube she split seemed to have come from a mold, their openings and dimensions almost identical.

Bamboo tube rice is simple: just stuff the rice inside, add water, and since there were no banana leaves, Ming Tian substituted lotus leaves, which worked just as well. Then he set them over the fire, directly into the pit.

The challenge of bamboo tube rice lies in controlling the heat: you can’t lift the lid to check as you would with a pot, and most bamboo contains bamboo oil. The right amount of this oil imparts a fragrant aroma to the rice, but if overcooked, the oil is depleted and the rice becomes as greasy and unpalatable as pig slop.

But for a seasoned home cook like Ming Tian, this was a trivial matter.

Finally, with the marinated beef ready, he skewered the meat and vegetables—two parts meat to one part vegetables—onto a longsword borrowed from the soldiers, grilling them over the fire and spreading the sauce evenly by hand, as there were no barbecue brushes in this era.

…In the main hall…

After an hour, the three guests were visibly impatient. “Brother Jingze, it’s been an hour. Why hasn’t the food arrived yet?” Chen Xianda, usually the picture of poise, could not hide his fatigue. As midnight struck, he yawned repeatedly.

Qi Guli, rubbing his aging back and coughing, complained, “Ah, my old bones! I get back pain if I stay up too late. I really can’t take much more of this. Do you think he’s stumped in the kitchen, unable to make anything?”

With these remarks, Wang Jingze pursed his lips and glanced at An Luo, who was curled up at the corner of the table like a giant chick. “General An Luo, does Ming Tian always take this long to cook?”

Feeling the imposing presence of Wang Jingze, An Luo became flustered. “Y-yes, when he cooked for the Princess, it also took about an hour.”

“Oh?” This piqued Qi Guli’s interest. “And what did you think of the food he made? Speak honestly, don’t try to fool me.”

Qi Guli was the eldest and most experienced among them. An Luo, honest to a fault, felt nervous under such scrutiny. Yet remembering the hardships he and Ming Tian had faced together, and that unforgettable sandwich, trust and truth compelled him to answer.

“Sirs, though Brother Ming Tian was appointed Prince Consort by the Princess, I’ve risked my life alongside him on the journey to Jiankang. He’s as close to me as a real brother, and I’ve eaten his cooking.”

He stood, straight as a statue, and declared, “When it comes to culinary skill, Ming Tian is a god among chefs. I would stake my head on it: none of you will find the slightest fault with his food!”

At this, the three well-traveled gentlemen all let out a surprised exclamation. Their impatience vanished. Qi Guli, especially, stroked his beard, which hung down to his navel, and nodded repeatedly.

“I’ve lived sixty-five years and tasted every delicacy under the sun. I am eager to see what makes this young man worthy of being called a god of cookery.”

Yu Nizi, the only woman present, had remained silent, but her eyes betrayed a trace of jealousy at An Luo’s praise, secretly hoping Ming Tian would embarrass himself before these three luminaries.

Yet An Luo made a confident bow to the trio. “With all due respect, Lord Qi, I’m afraid you truly will be amazed this time.”

“Oh? Well, let’s—wait, what’s that smell?”

Qi Guli was about to speak when his nose, large and bristling with black hairs, twitched. His long eyebrows shot up in surprise.

A rich, extraordinary aroma filled the air. Not just Qi Guli—Wang Jingze and Chen Xianda also caught the scent. It was unmistakably meat, but none of them had ever encountered such an intense fragrance.

After a few sniffs, all three began to swallow involuntarily. The aroma was so potent, it seemed to reach into their souls, thick and intoxicating enough to make them feel as though they were hallucinating. It was as if fairy maidens descended from the heavens, ribbons of fragrance swirling through the room.

“Thank you for waiting, honored guests!” Ming Tian’s voice rang out as he strode in, carrying a longsword laden with meat and vegetables. With a decisive thrust, he planted the sword in the table with a resounding thud.

It was as if a divine weapon—no, a divine feast—had descended. The sword-skewered roast was as thick as a calf’s leg, like King Arthur’s sword in the stone, embedded in the table.

The three gentlemen and Yu Nizi fixed their eyes on it, noses twitching as they inhaled.

Boom!

It was as if thunder exploded in their minds. What was this aroma? Why was it so enchanting? Was this roasted meat? Why did roast meat smell so divine?

The four of them felt as though they might faint from the intoxicating fragrance.

At the same time, Yin Chan entered carrying a large platter of charred bamboo tubes. Though their appearance was unremarkable, they emitted a fragrance that rivaled the grilled meat—enough to satisfy four people.

If the meat’s aroma was like fairy maidens descending, deep and resonant, then the scent from the bamboo tubes transported their souls to a secluded utopia, a place of peace and contentment.

The mere fragrance left the three gentlemen and Yu Nizi utterly speechless with amazement.

Seeing their reactions, Ming Tian glanced back to see An Luo smiling and nodding at him, as if to say: Brother, I knew I was right about you.

Of course you were! Who am I? In my past life, I was a nobody, but in this world, I am a man with the ambition to become a god of cookery!

Gentlemen, are you ready? Allow me to overturn everything you know about cuisine!