Chapter 461: Chapter 459: The Zhang Guanghang and Gu Li Chapters (4,000 words)

Reading “Taste” is a tiring thing.

Even though Xu Cheng had a romance novelist living in his heart, the articles he actually wrote were fairly normal, except for the one about Jiang Feng, which completely deviated from the norm, the rest were standard food critiques. For example, the article about Zhang Guanghang was very normal, and it even somewhat returned to Xu Cheng’s earlier style of critiquing food, just the food without discussing the people.

Jiang Feng thought it might be because Zhang Guanghang became famous too early, and everything that could be written had already been covered by other magazines. As for the part about Xia Mushi that couldn’t be written, even Xu Cheng didn’t dare to speculate wantonly.

While Xia Mushi was still alive, he consistently ranked at the top among famous chefs, was of high seniority, and had a notorious temper, known for respecting nobody’s face. Now that he had passed away, he was still regarded as a respected elder, even if he wasn’t particularly virtuous or esteemed in his lifetime, and nobody dared to criticize him openly.

In the culinary world where inheritance is valued and mentor-apprentice relationships can be as close as father and son, to recklessly discuss elders is a grave sin that even Tong Deyan, known for his explosive temper, wouldn’t dare to touch.

Perhaps it was for this reason that the article on Zhang Guanghang seemed a bit bland. Aside from the memorable photographs, there wasn’t much about the article that was memorable, not even the final summary and critique that should have been spectacular.

‘Mr. Zhang Guanghang is a bit different from the traditional image of a genius chef we all have. In my conversation with him, I found that he has a wide variety of hobbies that are unrelated to his culinary skills—instead, he is more like an artist. He doesn’t spend all day in the kitchen meticulously studying dishes like other chefs; on the contrary, he prefers to enrich his life in his free time.

He has two masters: one is the late Master of Lu Cuisine, Mr. Xia Mushi, who taught him cooking for 10 years, and the other is his father, a famous French chef who is also the head chef at a Michelin three-star restaurant. Both masters are incredibly stubborn and conservative, giving the impression that they could shut themselves away and work on a single dish for months on end like a culinary maniac. Mr. Zhang Guanghang, on the other hand, does the exact opposite and lives in a very modern and unrestrained way, which truly surprised me.

Perhaps it is for this reason that his dishes are also very modern and unrestrained. As I wrote above, I was fortunate enough to have tasted his rosemary-grilled lamb chop, which had a Sino-French fusion feel to it. This young genius chef is trying to change the culinary world with his bold ideas and experiments, attempting to incorporate various techniques from Lu cuisine into traditional French dishes. This is undoubtedly a bold innovation, and I believe that this genius chef, meticulously taught by two masters, will surprise us expectant diners and bring a surprise to the long-calm culinary scene.’

Although Xu Cheng’s praise for Zhang Guanghang was high, Jiang Feng believed that most people, especially ordinary diners, wouldn’t feel too impressed after reading it.

French magazines praised Zhang Guanghang way more intensely than Xu Cheng did, using unrealistic terms. Phrases like ‘the most talented young chef in a century’ and ‘a genius chef that comes once in a millennium’ were used generously. If you’re bold enough, you can write anything.

Jiang Feng remembered that when he was searching for information about Zhang Guanghang online, he even saw reports calling him the new hope of the French culinary world, a genius who could lead French cuisine to a new pinnacle of glory—practically killing him with praise.

Jiang Feng also wanted to be killed with such praise just once.

After finishing the article on Zhang Guanghang, Jiang Feng silently flipped to the one about Gu Li. Compared to Zhang Guanghang’s article, Jiang Feng noticed Xu Cheng didn’t seem to think highly of Gu Li. Even though Gu Li had won the championship, Xu Cheng still didn’t think he could surpass his master, Tan Wenyan.

At the end of the day, it’s talent that culinary arts compete for. Everyone works hard, but the hard work of those with talent often proves more effective than that of ordinary people.

Jiang Feng even felt a bit indignant on behalf of Gu Li for Xu Cheng’s lack of optimism. He had a unique and complex feeling for every chef that appeared in the recipes or his memory, probably because he had personally witnessed their past, witnessed a part of their lives, witnessed the dishes they made with so much emotion.

Jiang Feng knew about their past and present, even though he wasn’t sure what had happened in between, he always found himself instinctively wanting to protect them.

If he had to explain this complex emotion, it might be—protectiveness from an old father?

Ever since Ji Xia became his apprentice, Jiang Feng had increasingly felt like a father, he always had the feeling that Xiaxia was sneaking carbonated drinks behind his back recently.

Jiang Feng read through the piece that Xu Cheng wrote about Gu Li again, and still felt it was somewhat lacking.

‘Gu Li was the biggest dark horse in this culinary arts competition, from being underrated to overcoming numerous obstacles and advancing to the ultimate victory, everything seemed accidental yet logical, giving me the sensation of reading a martial arts novel when I was younger.

Mr. Gu also fits the image of some martial arts novel protagonists, inheriting skills from masters, with deep family roots in cooking, his own father was also a notable chef of Su cuisine, but due to his average natural talent, he never became famous, even after working in the renowned Taste House for decades, he was just an ordinary White Chef.

Among the four interviewees, Mr. Gu was the most reserved and taciturn. Even though his story was the most fascinating and his experiences were the richest, I still needed to keep prompting with questions to extract bits and pieces of information from him, which truly made me experience the agonies of being an interviewer.

Since the age of six, Mr. Gu had been apprenticed to Master Tan Wenyan, and continued learning from him until the master passed away from illness, for more than ten years. Because Mr. Gu is so reserved, I had to ask many of his colleagues who had worked with him for years, who viewed Mr. Gu as an awkward, solitary, silent but very kind and amicable person.

He arrived in the kitchen first every day and left last, through wind and frost, exerting a level of effort hard for ordinary people to imagine. Those who have seen him make pastries must be clear that he is a slow yet steady chef, calm and composed, doing his utmost to perfect each step.

Due to personal interest, I’ve seen many excellent White Chefs working on pastries over the years, and Mr. Gu is the one that makes it most comfortable to watch. He doesn’t seem to be preparing a fine dish for you, but rather presenting a commonplace little thing from everyday life, naturally, fluidly, unconsciously capturing your gaze. This doesn’t feel like watching someone cook, but more like listening to a soft, gentle piece of music.

Mr. Gu was the first chef I interviewed, and also the most willful. This willfulness is not a pejorative; on the contrary, I admire his willfulness. The other three chefs cooked the dishes I ordered first, then made their specialties. Only Mr. Gu refused my order, agreeing to make only two small snacks for me, which are the Ruyi Rolls and Golden Thread Shumai I am about to write about.

Ruyi Rolls and Golden Thread Shumai would be familiar to readers who have seen my previous food critiques, as they were Master Tan Wenyan’s signature pastries. When Master Tan was alive, these snacks were not rare and were quite affordable, though in small quantities, one could always taste them for a little money. For this reason, I might seem somewhat harsh in my critique of these two pastries.

On a hundred-point scale, I could just barely give the Ruyi Rolls an 80. To be fair, the difficulty of making Ruyi Rolls isn’t very high. Only the horizontal cloud-like patterns and the fire control during frying require skill. The rarity of Mr. Gu’s Ruyi Rolls lies in the fact that they remind me of Master Tan Wenyan’s from the days of yore, something the other White Chefs haven’t been able to achieve. Especially the crispy feeling the moment you bite into it really captures Master Tan’s true essence. If customers wish to relive the taste from those years, they should make a special trip to try this dish. I believe it will not disappoint.

If Ruyi Rolls are medium-difficulty ordinary snacks, then the Golden Thread Shumai is a dish that can be called…’

Xu Cheng’s writing on the Ruyi Rolls was relatively simple, possibly because he hadn’t yet broken free from the previous detached narrative tone, as if writing someone else’s biography.

By the time he wrote about the Golden Thread Shumai, Xu Cheng had begun to let loose, with a strong personal flare—long passages that seemed opulent but were essentially useless. Jiang Feng even thought it was not as good as Jiang Junlian’s composition, which at least seemed quite appetizing to read.

Jiang Feng, while observing, even had the peculiar notion that the gold-threaded shumai must be selling at a steep price.

After glancing at the photo of the gold-threaded shumai on the side, Jiang Feng read Xu Cheng’s critique of Gu Li once more.

‘My evaluation of the two desserts made by Mr. Gu Li is similar to that of his colleagues—steadfast, solid, unexceptional. As a White Chef, he possesses a very solid foundation and extraordinary patience. This ensures that his desserts will not disappoint any guests, but at the same time, they fail to astonish.

I have a fondness and appreciation for chefs who bring a personal touch to their work, as I believe dishes are alive and each person’s creations are distinct. However, I did not see much personal style in Mr. Gu Li’s dishes, but rather an imitation of his mentor, Tan Wenyan.

I believe if it were an ardent fan of Master Tan Wenyan tasting Mr. Gu Li’s desserts, they would be ecstatic. These desserts could certainly evoke some beautiful memories for the guests, but if we look at the desserts themselves, minus the sentimental bonus, they seem rather unremarkable, lacking the potential of a master’s work.

Regarding this issue, I earnestly asked Mr. Gu Li himself, and he does not seem to have any intention to forge his own path in culinary arts. Mr. Gu Li said he aspires to be like his master, attempting to revive ancient but lost desserts recorded in old texts—a path destined to be lonely and challenging. I can only wish him well in his endeavors.

I also hope that in the future, he can produce dishes that break free from the shadow of Master Tan Wenyan’s teachings.’

After reading for a second time, Jiang Feng seemed to realize something: …

Although Xu Cheng’s appraisal of Gu Li wasn’t very positive, he sure wrote a lot!

If we set aside the description of the dishes and some irrelevant ramblings, the beginning and end of Xu Cheng’s piece are mostly focused on Gu Li himself. One could say that he doesn’t deviate from ‘Mr. Gu Li,” leaving readers with a lasting impression of these four words.

Jiang Feng’s article, though seemingly lengthy, might leave careless readers unable to remember whom Xu Cheng interviewed—was it Li Mingyi, Jiang Huiqin, or Mrs. Chen?

Suddenly, Jiang Feng felt he had no right to feel indignant on Gu Li’s behalf.

Merely being featured in ‘Taste’ is a recognition of a chef’s skill, and most chefs wouldn’t mind even if the feedback wasn’t highly favorable.

Being included was enough, regardless of what Xu Cheng thought of them.

Whether one’s skills were strong would soon be evident in the list of renowned chefs.

The other three had genuine full-length interviews, while only Jiang Feng ended up with a brilliant short story.

Upon realizing the truth, Jiang Feng nearly shed tears.

Jiang Feng silently closed ‘Taste.’

At the back, there seemed to be a concluding article about Taifeng Building written by Xu Cheng, but he no longer felt like reading it. After all, it certainly wouldn’t contain the four words ‘Mr. Jiang Feng.’

Jiang Jiankang, who had already begun working, saw that Jiang Feng had closed the magazine and thought his son had finished reading, so he called him over to join in the loafing.

Although they had come to the back kitchen early and it wasn’t yet working hours, they still had to seize the opportunity to slack off.

Jiang Jiankang sat on a small stool, happily sipping an ice-cold cola facing the cabinet.

“Son, finished reading?” Jiang Jiankang asked.

“Finished,” Jiang Feng replied, a touch melancholic.

It was supposed to be a story about four people, yet he didn’t warrant a name.

“When your grandpa and Granduncle Weiming arrive, you must read that last piece to them. Both are getting on in years and can hardly see the text in this book without their reading glasses. Your grandpa refuses to wear them, and I inherited his dislike for reading. He doesn’t read books either! I’m not sure if Granduncle Weiming wears glasses; I haven’t seen them with any, uh, Feng, have you ever seen Granduncle Weiming reading a newspaper?” Jiang Jiankang started veering off into another subject as he talked.

“The last article? Dad, my piece is rather long; wouldn’t it take more than half an hour to read it all?” Jiang Feng felt it wasn’t feasible.

“Not yours, the very last one, about your grandpa and Granduncle Weiming. If you want to recite your own article, you can read it to your grandma back home—she enjoys these stories.” Jiang Jiankang tilted his head back, draining the last few drops of cola from the can.

“About grandpa and Granduncle Weiming?” Jiang Feng was taken aback but quickly realized which article Jiang Jiankang meant, and flipped the magazine open again, leaning against the cabinet.

He quickly located the last article he had thought was a supplementary overall summary of Taifeng Building courtesy of Xu Cheng.

‘In fact, this article isn’t closely related to the previous four interviews, but interestingly enough, the individuals who prepared several of the dishes I want to introduce in this article happen to be the two head chefs of the same building where Mr. Jiang Feng, Mr. Zhang Guanghang, and Miss Wu Minqi work. This building is this issue’s cover feature, and it is none other than the Taifeng Building, which reopened last July in Beiping.

…’