Chapter 161 Incredible Ancient Cooking Method, Nuclear-Level Aroma
As dusk settled, the sky above the courtyard house was tinged with a dark gray-blue.
The clock hands quietly pointed to 7:30 p.m.
In front of the sink, the faucet was turned on, and cool tap water washed over her slender hands.
I grabbed a clean white towel and wiped the water stains dry.
Lin Mo skillfully took the apron off the wall and tied it in a tight knot at the back of his waist.
The moment the knot tightened, his entire aura changed.
The signature languid nonchalance in his eyes, the kind that seemed to say, "If the sky falls, I'll just cover it with a blanket," faded away like the tide.
Instead, there is absolute focus and reverence for the ingredients on the cutting board.
This small kitchen has now become his personal sanctuary.
The incredible traditional cooking method officially began under the lights of an autumn night.
On the cutting board are two large, yellowish-brown oranges, each still bearing a few green leaves.
Lin Mo pulled a kitchen knife as thin as a cicada's wing from the knife rack.
With a slight dip of his wrist, the blade flashed like a pool of autumn water.
Without any hesitation or delay.
The tops of the two oranges were neatly peeled off, leaving the cross-sections smooth as a mirror.
A faint citrus scent instantly spreads through the cool air.
He put down the knife and replaced it with a delicate sterling silver spoon.
Following the inner wall of the orange peel, with a deft twist of the wrist, one can scoop it out.
Large chunks of orange pulp were completely peeled out and placed into a porcelain bowl on the side.
Lin Mo's movements carried an indescribable sense of rhythm, as if he were sculpting a fine work of art.
He didn't scoop out all the fruit pulp.
Instead, a perfectly placed piece of fruit pulp is deliberately left at the bottom of the orange cup.
This touch of sweet and sour fruit juice is the soul of the dish, cutting through the richness and enhancing its freshness.
Having prepared the hollow orange cups, Lin Mo turned his gaze to the two large lake crabs.
At this time of year, autumn crabs are at their fattest and most aggressive.
With a green back, white belly, golden claws, and yellow fur, it waved its thick, powerful claws restlessly in the bamboo basket.
Lin Mo did not use any modern crab-disassembling tools.
He threw all the crab-eating tools, scissors, and hammers aside.
The only thing he picked up was a boning knife with a gleaming handle and a sharp blade.
The tip of the knife gleamed with a chilling light under the warm yellow lamp.
Lin Mo firmly pressed down on the struggling crab's back with his left hand, and with his right hand holding the knife, he gently pried along the seam of the crab's shell.
With a crisp "thud," the thick crab shell opened.
The plump crab roe was instantly exposed to the air, resembling flowing red gold, exuding an alluring oily sheen.
The knife tip continued to move, as smoothly as a skilled butcher carving up an ox.
Removing the gills, removing the stomach, and cutting off the navel—the series of movements were fluid and fast, almost dazzling.
Without any brute force, it relies entirely on muscle memory of the crab's skeletal structure.
The blade cut through the intricate crab skeleton, producing a subtle and rhythmic scraping sound.
Divide it in no time.
Golden crab roe, orange-red crab fat, and snow-white crab meat.
They were sorted out and neatly arranged in clean celadon bowls.
And the empty crab shell, after the meat had been removed, could be perfectly pieced together to form a complete crab.
This isn't just preparing food in the kitchen; it's clearly showcasing a long-lost art of fingertip technique.
Throughout the entire crab-disassembling process, Lin Mo didn't even flinch.
His breathing was as steady as that of an old monk in deep meditation, so focused that one couldn't bear to disturb him.
The flames on the stove suddenly shot up with a "whoosh".
The eerie blue flames licked the bottom of the cast iron pot frantically.
The iron pot heated up quickly, and a faint bluish-brown tinge appeared on its surface.
Lin Mo used a spatula to pick up a piece of golden-yellow, finely textured pork fat.
It slid down the scalding hot pot wall.
With a loud "sizzle," the quiet kitchen was instantly awakened.
The lard melts rapidly at high temperatures, turning into a pool of crystal-clear, fragrant lard.
The oil has reached the required temperature.
Lin Mo picked up the bowl of peeled, top-quality crab roe and flipped his wrist.
The golden and white crab roe, like an inverted waterfall, precisely plunges into the boiling lard.
"Whoosh—"
A cloud of white steam instantly rose from the iron pot.
Lin Mo held the long handle of the iron pot, exerting force with his forearm, making the heavy pot feel as light as a feather in his hands.
Toss and stir-fry.
The plump crab meat tumbled in mid-air, evenly coated with a layer of bright, hot oil.
The high temperature, within a fraction of a second, rapidly brought out the unique, domineering freshness and aroma of the seafood.
Just at that critical point when the crab roe slightly curls up and is about to age.
Lin Mo picked up a bottle of ten-year-old Shaoxing wine from the side, pressed his thumb against the bottle opening, and poured it around the edge of the red-hot pot.
Next came a few drops of clear rose liqueur.
The alcohol evaporates instantly upon contact with heat, taking away even the slightest trace of fishy smell from the crab.
Only the rich aroma of wine and the faint fragrance of roses remain, locked tightly within the fibers of the crab meat.
Before taking it off the heat, add a little bit of Zhenjiang aged vinegar.
The aroma of vinegar brings out a deeper level of sweetness.
The cooking time is perfectly controlled; a second too long and it's overcooked, a second too short and it's too fishy.
Lin Mo turned off the heat and took the pot out of the pan.
The crab roe, shimmering with an enticing golden light, was carefully placed into a pre-prepared hollow orange cup.
The rich juice swirls around the edges of the orange peel, adorned with plump crab roe.
Replace the original orange cap that was cut off earlier.
Lin Mo carefully placed the two bowls of crab-stuffed oranges, which looked like works of art, into the old bamboo steamer.
Place the pot of boiling water on the stove and cover it with a thick bamboo lid.
The intense fire fueled the boiling water at the bottom.
This requires a slow steaming time of twenty minutes; the timer will officially begin then.
For Jiang Jianguo, who was sitting in the courtyard, those twenty minutes felt like an endless life sentence.
A gust of wind blew in from the alley entrance, and Jiang Jianguo, huddled in his tattered military overcoat, shivered violently.
But what he feels cold about now is not his body.
It was not his own pride, but his reason, which was about to completely spiral out of control.
As steam continued to rise from the kitchen.
White steam began to billow out from the gaps in the bamboo drawer.
A complex aroma, impossible to describe in conventional language, forcefully wafted out from the half-closed wooden window of the kitchen.
Carried by the chilly autumn wind, this fragrance spreads like an invisible net.
It swept through every corner of the entire courtyard in an instant.
The flavor has the pure freshness of late autumn citrus fruits brought out by the heat.
It has the rich and lingering flavor of ten-year-aged Shaoxing wine, with a hint of warm, slightly intoxicating aroma.
It also possesses an ultimate sweetness that belongs only to the finest seafood, a sweetness that strikes straight to the soul.
These distinctly different scents do not clash or conflict with each other.
Instead, they blend together perfectly under the gentle balance of fruit acidity.
It has created a deadly temptation that can awaken all the cravings in a person's very being.
Jiang Jianguo was still pretending to be something while holding the chipped enamel mug.
The moment the fragrance entered his nostrils, his entire body stiffened abruptly.
It felt like a huge, tangible hand was gripping my neck tightly, and I couldn't even breathe for a second.
His cloudy eyes widened instantly.
A hint of shock and bewilderment, which he could not conceal, flashed in his eyes.
His Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably up and down violently.
With a "thud".
He swallowed a mouthful of his rapidly secreting saliva in terror.
The sound of swallowing was exceptionally clear in the quiet courtyard, where you could hear a pin drop.
Jiang Jianguo blushed and quickly glanced around nervously.
He breathed a slight sigh of relief when he realized that everyone's attention was focused on the kitchen and no one was looking at him.
"Damn it! How could this lousy place possibly have such an alluring scent?"
"They must have added some kind of banned spices! This is definitely high-tech and ruthless!"
Jiang Jianguo frantically tried to find excuses for himself, desperately engaging in ridiculous mental preparation.
But his rumbling stomach betrayed his dignity as the richest man.
Having spent most of my life navigating the business world, I've tasted all sorts of rare and exotic delicacies.
His family's Michelin-starred chef cooks him different dishes every day, but he's too lazy to even glance at them.
But now, all I can smell is the odor wafting out through the window.
He felt his stomach acid churning wildly, and his vision blurred with hunger.
That smell was like it had countless invisible little hands.
It was relentlessly scratching at his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys, making him restless and unable to sit still.
Jiang Jianguo reached into the pocket of his tattered military coat and, through the rough fabric, gripped his inner thigh tightly.
He tried to force himself to stay mentally alert by experiencing physical pain.
"Jiang Jianguo! Hang in there! You're the richest man in Beijing, a man worth hundreds of billions!"
He screamed wildly in his heart, his voice trembling slightly.
"It's just a lousy dish, what's so special about it!"
"No matter how delicious it smells, it will definitely taste terrible; it's all a scam!"
"When it's served, I have to ruthlessly nitpick!"
"We have to flip that table! Let him know his place!"
He clenched his teeth so tightly that he felt like he was sitting on pins and needles on the long bench.
His body would occasionally twitch, as if there were thorns growing on the stool.
Every minute and every second, he was torn between rational persistence and instinctive desire.
Cold sweat trickled down his forehead and down his temples, hidden in the shadow of his tattered hat brim; he didn't even dare to wipe it away.
The others in the courtyard were also having a hard time right now.
Zhou Yang had stopped writing calligraphy long ago; he tossed his brush aside and stared intently at the kitchen, swallowing hard.
The expression on this master of traditional Chinese painting looks just like that of a refugee who has been starving for three days and three nights.
Wang Cuncun's hand holding the rag froze in mid-air, his eyes behind his thick-rimmed glasses staring intently.
The remaining diners stared longingly out the window, barely daring to breathe.
The entire courtyard was completely stunned by this nuclear-level aroma.
This is pure craftsmanship, an absolute devastating blow to the taste buds.
Jiang Jianguo felt that his rational defenses were being peeled away layer by layer.
Like an onion, it was completely stripped bare by this increasingly intense aroma.
His fingers, which were gripping his thigh, had turned white from excessive force, and his knuckles were aching.
"I can't take it...it smells so good...this aroma just keeps getting into my head..."
"So alike, so incredibly alike..."
An extremely dangerous thought flashed through his chaotic mind.
"How about... we don't flip the table later, just flip a bowl instead?"
"Or... just take a bite and then criticize?"
Jiang Jianguo realized with despair that his seemingly unbreakable bottom line was constantly retreating in the face of this fragrance.
He was being driven crazy by the smell.
Just as Jiang Jianguo's eyes were glazed over and he was struggling to hold on.
The last second before my mental defenses completely collapsed.
A soft creaking sound.
The slightly worn curtain in the kitchen was lifted by a hand with distinct knuckles.
Lin Mo slowly emerged from the billowing white steam, carrying an elegant celadon tray.