Chapter 173 Diu Lei Lou Mu

← Chapter 171 Chapter 173 →

At this moment, the lobby on the first floor of the Cantonese restaurant was completely different from the quiet atmosphere in the private rooms on the second floor; it was a bustling and lively scene of everyday life.

It was lunchtime, and the hall was bustling with people, with dozens of round and square tables packed full.

An elderly woman selling dim sum from a cart shouted in Cantonese, "Shrimp dumplings, siu mai, char siu bao!"

The kitchen was filled with the clattering of iron woks and the sizzling of stir-frying. The air was filled with the rich aroma of star anise, the fat from roasted meat, and the sizzling fragrance of steaming hot pastries that wafted out when the bamboo steamer was first opened.

The language environment here is extremely chaotic.

The waiters, carrying trays, weaved through the narrow aisles like eels, shouting loudly in both Chinese and English:

"Excuse me! Boiling water is scalding my feet! Please excuse me!"

At a table in the left corner, several Chinese programmers wearing plaid shirts were having a heated discussion in standard Mandarin about the layoff rates in Silicon Valley.

On the right, by the window, two white foreigners were clumsily holding chopsticks, shouting "Amazing!" at a plate of General Tso's Chicken.

In the best spot directly opposite the roast meat stall sat a gaunt old Chinese man.

The old man looked to be in his sixties, but he was in excellent spirits. His eyes darted around the lobby, occasionally glancing at the private rooms on the second floor, and he was always acting strangely.

He was wearing a gray Tang-style vest, had a full head of silver hair, and wore an old-fashioned melon-shaped hat.

He was twirling two glossy walnuts in his hands, squinting at the oil-dripping roasted meats in the glass display case.

This is Uncle Chen, an old neighbor in Chinatown.

"Old Liang!"

Uncle Chen shouted at the shopkeeper, who was behind the counter fiddling with an abacus, in a thick Cantonese accent:

"Is today's roast goose alright? Give me the bottom half!"

"I want leg meat! Don't try to fool this old man with that dry, tough breast meat!"

Mr. Liang, the owner of the Cantonese restaurant, came running over with a greasy plastic menu in his hand, his belly protruding.

He casually placed a pot of freshly brewed Pu'er tea heavily in front of Uncle Chen and retorted in Mandarin with a Cantonese accent:

"Old Chen! Here to mooch off my free tea again today?"

"Don't worry! You're a gourmand, coming here every day. Would I dare to cheat you? Freshly roasted goose from the oven, the skin is so crispy it could break your dentures!"

"Damn! These teeth of mine are all real!"

"The tea in your shop is all broken tea leaves (cheap jasmine tea powder), I wouldn't even drink it for free and it would hurt my throat."

Uncle Chen laughed and cursed, then stuffed the walnuts into his pocket.

"Another plate of stir-fried beef noodles, and a bowl of watercress and pork rib soup. Hurry up, I'm starving."

Not long after, the waitress Xiaomei came over with a tray.

"Uncle Chen, enjoy your crispy roast goose while it's hot."

On the white porcelain plate, the neatly sliced roast goose gleamed with an amber luster.

The skin was roasted to an extremely crispy perfection, with visible bubbling oil at the edges. The thin layer of fat beneath the skin had completely melted and seeped into the goose meat underneath.

Uncle Chen picked up a piece of goose leg meat with crispy skin, dipped it lightly in the sweet and sour plum sauce on the side, and put it directly into his mouth.

"Click."

The moment the teeth pierced the goose skin, a crisp popping sound rang out in the mouth.

The piping hot and fragrant goose broth, mixed with the rich and complex aroma of star anise, cinnamon, and five-spice powder, explodes on the tip of your tongue.

The goose meat is fatty but not greasy, lean but not dry, and the sweet and sour plum sauce perfectly balances the greasiness of the roasted meat.

"Um!"

Uncle Chen closed his eyes, shook his head with satisfaction, and took a sip of strong tea from his small teacup.

"Uncle Chen! Are you eating?"

A young Chinese man in a jacket pushed open the restaurant door and walked in, stopping as he passed Uncle Chen's table.

This is A-Qiang, who runs a mobile phone repair shop on the street.

Looking at Uncle Chen, whose mouth was dripping with oil, Ah Qiang chuckled and teased:

"Why are you so free today, sir? Is the Jubaozhai antique shop on that street corner closed today?"

"Just now, a foreigner was loitering in front of your shop, saying he wanted to see that big blue and white porcelain vase in your window."

"Make him wait!"

Uncle Chen swallowed the goose meat in his mouth and waved his hand dismissively:

"Buying antiques is all about fate."

"That broken bottle... cough, that Ming Dynasty heirloom, those who understand it will naturally wait. For those who don't, it's no use opening the door."

Uncle Chen curled his lip and said matter-of-factly:

"Besides, the world is vast, but my food is the most important thing. How can I explain our 5,000-year-old history to those foreigners on an empty stomach?"

Ah Qiang was amused by the old man's twisted logic and gave him a thumbs up:

"Okay, please enjoy your meal. I'll go order."

As soon as A-Qiang left, Lao Liang from the kitchen personally brought out a plate of stir-fried beef noodles.

"Uncle Chen, try today's beef noodles; the wok hei (wok aroma) is absolutely perfect!"

Old Liang put the plate down.

Stir-fried beef noodles is a dish that truly tests a Cantonese chef's control of heat.

As soon as the beef noodles were served, a slightly charred aroma of soy sauce wafted up.

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Stir-fried beef noodles is a dish that truly tests a Cantonese chef's control of heat.

As soon as the beef noodles were served, a slightly charred aroma of soy sauce wafted up.

The rice noodles were stir-fried until each strand was distinct, without a single one breaking, and evenly coated with a layer of dark brown soy sauce.

The beef slices on top are cut into even slices, glistening with oil, and paired with crisp mung bean sprouts and chives, the colors are very appetizing.

The most amazing thing is that the bottom of the plate is completely clean, with not a single drop of excess oil seeping out.

Uncle Chen couldn't wait to pick up a large chopstick and stuff it into his mouth.

The beef was marinated in advance with cornstarch and light soy sauce, making it so tender that it hardly needed any chewing.

The rice noodles absorb all the essence of the sauce when stir-fried over high heat, making them both elastic and flavorful. The crispness of the bean sprouts further enriches the texture of the dish.

"Phew... It's so hot..."

While exhaling from the heat, Uncle Chen kept stuffing the food into his mouth.

Just then, the white foreigner at the next table picked up a piece of General Tso's chicken covered in a thick layer of sweet and sour batter with his fork and loudly praised it to his companion in English:

"My God, bro, this is the most authentic Eastern food I've ever had!"

Uncle Chen, who was chewing on beef noodles, paused.

He glanced sideways at the foreigner; the bright red, sweet General Tso's Chicken actually didn't belong to any of the eight major cuisines of the East.

This is Americanized Chinese food with tons of sugar added, made entirely to cater to foreign tastes.

Uncle Chen rolled his eyes in disgust and muttered something.

"What a waste! Coming to a Cantonese restaurant to eat General Tso's Chicken!"

Hearing Uncle Chen's grumbling, Boss Liang, who was passing by with a plate of blanched bok choy, pulled out a chair next to him and plopped down.

He picked up the white towel draped around his neck and wiped the sweat from his forehead, complaining with a hint of helplessness:

"Hey, Lao Chen, you think I want to make those sticky, sweet and sour chicken nuggets? Those foreigners just love that kind of sweet stuff!"

Boss Liang shrugged and pointed to the bustling Chinatown streets outside:

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do; cater to the market!"

There's nothing we can do about it.

"If I only sell steamed fish and poached chicken every day, those foreigners won't understand the food. How am I supposed to pay the exorbitant dollar rent in Chinatown?"

"Moreover, the rent here is going up every year, and I have five employees in the kitchen who need to be paid. If I don't sell this stuff, I won't even be able to pay the water and electricity bills for this floor by the end of the month."

Uncle Chen scoffed and pointed to the next table with his chopsticks.

"You just throw half a pound of sugar and tomato sauce into a pot and dare to call it Eastern cuisine?"

"These foreigners will eat hamburgers and fries their whole lives, and they'll never understand the ins and outs of life, even if they're reincarnated."

The old man picked up a tender leek and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it with relish.

After swallowing the food in his mouth, Uncle Chen suddenly paused with his chopsticks.

His seemingly cloudy but actually shrewd old eyes glanced casually toward the stairwell leading to the second-floor private rooms. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Boss Liang, his expression gossipy:

"Speaking of which, Lao Liang."

"When I came in just now, I saw a chubby Chinese guy leading a big white man, swaggering up to your private room on the second floor."

Uncle Chen gestured an exaggerated width in the air with his chopsticks:

"That white man had shoulders as broad as two door panels, walked with heavy steps, and his eyes scanned the surroundings. He was clearly not an ordinary foreigner; he exuded a menacing aura."

At this point, Uncle Chen deliberately put on a stern face, nudged Boss Liang's arm with his elbow, and said in a teasing tone:

"What's going on, Lao Liang?"

"You stingy miser, you wouldn't be secretly hooking up with those foreign gangsters behind our backs, would you?"

"Hey! Don't talk nonsense, Old Chen!"

"If word gets out, how am I supposed to do business in the neighborhood!"

Mr. Liang was startled and quickly waved his hands to distance himself from the situation:

"What hookup?! I don't know that bear-like white guy!"

He pointed upstairs and recalled for a moment:

"I know that chubby kid quite well."

"He's an international student who often comes to my place to order boxed meals. He always orders double portions of preserved duck, and sometimes he also wants an extra packet of chili sauce."

"As for that big white man..."

Boss Liang frowned, thought for a moment, and then shook his head:

"Even if he came before, it would have been only once or twice at most, I really don't remember him."

"You know, all those foreigners look pretty much the same to us, all blond, blue-eyed, and tall. How am I supposed to tell them apart?"

"Oh—I don't know him."

Uncle Chen drawled, stroked the few sparse whiskers on his chin, and glanced again in the direction of the stairwell:

"That's good. I thought they were here to cause trouble."

"But Lao Liang, look at that foreigner, he looks like a bear, his arms are thicker than your thighs."