AGN -Chapter 296 Professional

Cornmeal is a type of flour that is quite difficult for ordinary chefs to handle.

For complete beginners, it’s practically nightmare-level difficulty, because cornmeal is very hard to bring together into a dough right from the kneading stage. The purer the cornmeal, the harder it is to form a cohesive dough. This can be seen from Chen Huihong’s first life, when Hui Niang used moldy cornmeal to make wotou—those buns couldn’t even hold a proper shape; being roughly pinched into an irregular lump and steamed was already good enough.

Even if a chef manages to overcome the kneading challenge with exceptional skill, an entirely new and even greater problem appears in the later stages—bad taste.

Anyone who watches TV dramas is familiar with this: characters are often portrayed as so poor that they can only eat wotou, highlighting their hardship. Cornmeal has a coarse texture. Even when finely ground—not the kind mixed with the whole corn cob like in famine times—it still tastes rough and harsh, scraping the throat.

Not only that, it’s also dry and hard, tough on the teeth.

Nowadays, most cornmeal sold on the market is mixed with wheat flour. Adding wheat flour improves the terrible texture, makes the dough fluffier and easier to shape, and gives it a sweeter taste with a rich corn aroma—often even more pleasant than pure wheat flour.

Of course, those cornmeal buns on the market that taste distinctly sweet with a single bite are most likely sweetened with added sugar.

All things considered, given the natural properties of cornmeal, the key to making good cornmeal dumplings that both retain the corn flavor and taste good lies in how much wheat flour is mixed in.

Qin Huai deliberated very carefully for seven or eight minutes before starting to knead the dough.

Thanks to his previous experience making buckwheat buns, he had developed a deep understanding of how to balance the addition of wheat flour. Cornmeal and buckwheat share similar pros and cons: both are coarse grains with poor texture, difficult to shape, and hard to swallow. Their advantages are that they’re considered healthier, have unique flavors, and appeal to certain niche tastes. Cornmeal, in particular, has a natural sweetness, making it more acceptable than buckwheat buns.

Qin Huai cautiously mixed in the wheat flour and began kneading.

Kneading required real strength—not just clever technique, but genuine force—combined with skill, working the dough thoroughly until it became soft and pliable, almost like wheat dough.

Zang Liang had already returned to assist Zang Mu. Although Zang Mu was responsible for seemingly simple vegetarian dishes, they were actually quite intricate, often simmered in rich stock and involving complex preparation.

Zang Mu was also extremely focused while cooking, barely glancing elsewhere.

In contrast, Tong Deyan—who gave off a “keep your distance” aura—glanced over at Qin Huai a few times while he was making the pastry.

Qin Huai didn’t notice any of it.

All his attention was on the pickled vegetable dumplings.

The texture of these dumplings could be greatly improved by adding wheat flour, but the flavor was much harder to adjust—it depended entirely on the pickled vegetables. The restaurant’s pickled vegetables were fairly average, nothing that would amaze anyone.

So the final taste of the dumplings would likely be… ordinary.

Soon, a pot of decent-looking pickled vegetable dumplings was ready.

Qin Huai made four, each about half the size of an adult’s fist. At Mr. Han’s request, they were made from unleavened dough and were solid inside. Originally, Han Guishan had described them as larger—closer to three-quarters of a fist—but Qin Huai didn’t dare make them too big or too many, worried that Mr. Han might overeat and end up in the hospital.

Sending your biggest client to the hospital the day before his birthday banquet would not be a good outcome.

As soon as the dumplings were done, Han Guishan—who had been sitting and playing on his phone—excitedly stood up and walked over.

He lifted the lid.

Steam billowed out.

Four neat, well-shaped dumplings lay quietly in the steamer, smooth on the surface, clearly not dry or rough.

Qin Huai felt confident.

Not to brag, but even chefs more skilled than him might not be able to make pickled vegetable dumplings look this good.

Not every chef has extensive experience with buckwheat buns. Many pastry chefs who excel at wheat flour are completely lost when it comes to pure coarse grains. Specialization matters, and this dish happened to fall right into Qin Huai’s recent area of expertise.

He looked at Han Guishan, waiting for his eyes to light up.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds…

Nothing.

Qin Huai: ?

Was the texture off?

Han Guishan chewed silently. Not only did his eyes fail to light up, his brows even began to furrow.

It was clear that while he was satisfied with all the other pastries today, he wasn’t happy with the pickled vegetable dumplings.

“Mr. Han, is there an issue with the flavor? If there’s anything that needs improvement, feel free to tell me. There’s still time—I can make another batch after tomorrow’s banquet,” Qin Huai said.

Han Guishan swallowed the dumpling, shook his head, then waved his hand. “It’s not your problem. It tastes quite good.”

“It really does. If I could’ve eaten something this good as a child, I would’ve been thrilled.”

“It’s just…” he frowned, “it’s not the flavor I’m looking for. Honestly, I don’t even remember exactly what it tasted like—it’s from when I was very young. Anyway… it’s just not this taste.”

Qin Huai: …?

So what is the taste? Say something, Mr. Han!

Is it impossible for clients everywhere to dislike a solution but offer zero useful feedback?

Han Guishan silently finished one dumpling, then sat back down in slight disappointment, leaving the rest untouched and waiting for other dishes.

Meanwhile, Zang Mu’s dishes were nearing completion.

Zang Liang, with a keen nose for gossip, abandoned his master and sneaked over to Qin Huai. In a low voice, he asked, “What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the dish?”

“The dishes are fine—we’ve already tested tomorrow’s menu,” Qin Huai pointed at the dumplings. “Mr. Han wanted pickled vegetable dumplings. I tried making them, but they don’t seem to match his taste.”

“Can you eat more? Try one for me,” Qin Huai said, momentarily doubting his own skill with coarse grains.

That shouldn’t be the case—he was practically a prince of buckwheat dough. He shouldn’t be failing with cornmeal.

Zang Liang enthusiastically grabbed one and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously.

Since the dumplings were unleavened, they were much tougher to chew than regular pastries. People who enjoy chewy textures might like them; others might find them tiring to eat.

Zang Liang clearly wasn’t used to such chewy food—he chewed for quite a while before swallowing.

Afterward, he gave a fair assessment: “Not bad.”

“Sure, it’s not amazing, but it’s just a cornmeal and pickled vegetable dumpling. For something like this, it’s already quite good. The texture isn’t rough, there’s the sweetness of cornmeal, and the salty-spicy flavor of pickles. It works fine as an everyday snack. How much better could this kind of thing get?”

Hearing this, Qin Huai felt a warmth in his heart.

“I’ll take one for my master to try.”

With Qin Huai’s approval, Zang Liang grabbed another dumpling and ran over to Zang Mu, cheerfully saying something that, judging by his lip movements, was probably along the lines of: “Master, come try this pickled vegetable dumpling for Qin Huai.”

Zang Mu couldn’t free his hands, so Zang Liang simply stuffed the pickled vegetable dumpling straight into his master’s mouth—almost choking him.

Zang Mu had no choice but to keep an eye on the heat while chewing frantically. He struggled to swallow and had to gesture for Zang Liang to bring him some water.

It wasn’t that the dumpling was too hard to swallow—Zang Mu had just taken too big a bite. After all, when food is already at your lips, it’s really hard not to take a huge bite.

After finishing the first mouthful, Zang Mu quietly said a few words to Zang Liang, signaling him to just place the dumpling on a nearby empty plate. He could eat it himself—no need to be fed.

Zang Liang set the dumpling down and happily ran back to Qin Huai. Rarely, he lowered his voice and covered his mouth as he said, “My master says your pickled vegetable dumplings are quite good. It’s already hard to make them taste any better than this.”

“He also said you don’t need to worry about what Mr. Han said. Some clients are just like that—they like to throw out all kinds of random, nitpicky demands to make things difficult. You can just ignore it.”

Qin Huai: …

It seemed that the taciturn Zang Mu was a chef with quite a story.

Just how many troublesome clients had he encountered while catering to be able to offer such experienced comfort?

Not far away, Tong Deyan—who had just finished plating his dishes—glanced over at the whispering Zang Liang and frowned slightly.

Tong Deyan’s dishes were the first to be ready.

Qin Huai vaguely remembered that tomorrow’s birthday banquet would include major dishes like braised pork knuckle. But there hadn’t been enough time for a full tasting this afternoon, and Tong Deyan had only arrived in A City that same afternoon, without prior preparation. Dishes requiring long braising or stewing simply couldn’t be made.

At lunch, Chen Gong had mentioned that after the tasting, Qin Huai and Zang Liang could leave and do their own things, but Tong Deyan would need to stay in the Imperial Kitchen workshop to continue preparing ingredients.

Tong Deyan was a chef from Beiping’s Babao Zhai. Han Guishan had tasted his cooking there and was very satisfied, fully confident in his skills. Today’s tasting was actually arranged for Qin Huai and Zang Mu; Tong Deyan’s inclusion was merely to avoid offending him—his temper was known to be difficult, and they didn’t want him to feel slighted.

It could be said that Tong Deyan’s bad temper was well-known even among diners like Han Guishan.

He had prepared four dishes: sweet-and-sour carp, braised sea cucumber with scallions, braised prawns in oil, and stir-fried double crisp. Among them, the stir-fried double crisp was a famous Shandong dish that required precise heat control—it had just been flash-fried and plated.

All four dishes were finished almost simultaneously, allowing them to be tasted together. Qin Huai suspected Tong Deyan had deliberately chosen these dishes to showcase his precise timing.

And indeed, the timing was impeccable.

In banquet cooking, mastering timing is a major plus.

One could only wonder how many banquets Tong Deyan had cooked to achieve such precision. Chen Gong had made the right choice in selecting him as head chef—the value of a gold-medal assistant was only increasing.

From a distance, Qin Huai looked at the freshly cooked dishes with an eager expression.

He truly wanted to taste them.

Back at Huang Ji, Qin Huai had eaten many elaborate dishes, but mostly Huaiyang cuisine. Huang Shengli could cook some Shandong dishes, but certainly not at the level of a specialist like Tong Deyan.

At Cao Guixiang’s home, Qin Huai had eaten authentic Tan family cuisine, but mostly everyday home-cooked meals.

Of the four dishes Tong Deyan had made, Qin Huai had only eaten the braised sea cucumber and oil-braised prawns before. As for the other two, he had not only never tasted them—he had never even seen them.

Chen Gong noticed Qin Huai’s expression from afar and immediately guessed that he wanted to try the dishes. Just as he was about to inform Han Guishan and tactfully invite Qin Huai over, Tong Deyan moved first.

Ignoring his own freshly cooked dishes, Tong Deyan walked straight over to Qin Huai and stopped in front of the plate of pickled vegetable dumplings.

“I’d like to try one too,” he said flatly, his tone calm and without fluctuation.

Yet Qin Huai somehow sensed a hint of dissatisfaction beneath that calm—like you guys are forming a little group without me.

Qin Huai: ?

Had their little clique really been that obvious? Even from that far away?

“Help yourself,” Qin Huai quickly said. “Want a bun? Or a mantou? Or tangyuan—ah, I mean, Four-Joy tangyuan?”

Hearing Qin Huai’s enthusiastic invitation, Tong Deyan’s expression softened. Though there was no visible change, his mood clearly improved.

“I’ll eat,” he said.

Qin Huai brought out the fermented rice mantou, San Ding buns, and Four-Joy tangyuan he had set aside. They were still warm and ready to eat.

“Um… Chef Tong, may I try the dishes you just made?” Qin Huai asked.

Tong Deyan had already started eating the dumpling and replied vaguely, “You’ll have to ask Mr. Han.”

It was clear that Tong Deyan was a professional banquet chef.

Qin Huai walked over to Han Guishan and asked directly. Han was busy devouring the stir-fried double crisp and didn’t have a free mouth to respond. Instead, he handed Qin Huai a pair of chopsticks and a bowl, signaling him to eat freely.

After giving Qin Huai his utensils, Han Guishan also handed a set to Chen Gong. The three of them stood side by side and began eating.

Han Guishan and Qin Huai happily dug in, chatting between bites about which dishes were delicious, while Chen Gong stood beside them looking awkward—like an employee.

Which, to be fair, he was.

Zang Liang watched in shock from the side, feeling like the next moment Han Guishan and Qin Huai would start calling each other brothers.

He was completely baffled. He wanted to complain to Tong Deyan, but held himself back, only speaking in a low voice after returning to Zang Mu.

“Master… is this how tastings usually are? Can chefs eat together with the boss?”

Zang Mu replied calmly, “Mr. Han doesn’t mind.”

Then he looked up and silently observed Qin Huai and Han Guishan—just in time to see Han handing Qin Huai a small dish for discarded shells.

Meanwhile, Qin Huai returned with the dish and bowl, grabbed a fermented rice mantou, and handed it to Han Guishan, reminding him to pace himself—the mantou paired better with the dishes.

“Qin Huai… probably just doesn’t know,” Zang Mu said.

“Didn’t Tan Wei’an say it? He’s purely self-taught.”

“And he runs his own community cafeteria—he’s the boss. He doesn’t need to know these things.”

“Zang Liang, come back here. You’re not allowed to go over and eat!”