AGN -Chapter 428 Assorted Vegetable Buns

What Qin Huai hadn’t expected was that among the dazzling spread of pastries on the table, the most delicious item turned out to be the plainest-looking one.

A bun.

And a vegetarian bun at that.

An assorted vegetable bun.

Since it used the word “assorted,” the filling naturally contained a wide variety of ingredients: green vegetables, fresh bamboo shoots, dried tofu, daylily, yam, carrots, wood ear mushrooms, fried gluten puffs, shiitake mushrooms, and ginkgo nuts. The ingredients were so abundant that they could easily have been stir-fried into a plate of mixed vegetables, yet Master Zhou had somehow turned them into bun filling.

Qin Huai felt like he had eaten many buns recently that were essentially rich stir-fried dishes or braised dishes wrapped inside dough.

Could this actually be the true essence of making buns?

An excellent bun filling only needs one delicious plate of stir-fried vegetables.

Qin Huai said nothing and simply kept eating buns.

The table was quiet, with only Shi Dadan and Master Zhou chatting.

Master Zhou could talk because he was the one who had made all these pastries, so he didn’t have much appetite himself. Shi Dadan could talk because he possessed the rare ability to chat while eating, maintain perfectly clear pronunciation, and still eat at an impressive speed.

Moreover, he had complete confidence in both his own stomach capacity and everyone else’s. There was no way this table full of pastries would be finished, which meant he would inevitably be responsible for cleaning up the leftovers in the end.

Shi Dadan was chatting casually with Master Zhou about family matters.

Qin Huai had already noticed this when he asked Shi Dadan to be his “gold-medal support.” Shi Dadan was exceptionally good at listening and even better at encouraging others to talk. Maybe it was because his honest and straightforward demeanor naturally made people feel close to him at first sight, or perhaps it was because his way of speaking made others feel comfortable. In any case, Shi Dadan was extremely skilled at getting information out of people.

Most of the time, he didn’t even need to deliberately pry. People would willingly tell him things on their own.

Only today did Qin Huai learn that Master Zhou had two daughters and one son, yet none of them had inherited his craft. In fact, none of their careers had anything to do with cooking.

Master Zhou’s eldest daughter was running a travel agency, his second child—a son—was a math teacher, and his youngest daughter was still studying abroad. This kind of situation was extremely rare among white-dough masters, especially highly respected ones.

After all, even Boss Su’s daughter was a pastry chef.

The culinary world had always been extremely traditional. In earlier years, it was almost entirely based on inheriting the family profession. If the father was a famous chef, then the son would definitely become a chef as well. Even if the child lacked talent, the father would still pass his secret techniques only to his own descendants rather than to outside apprentices.

Of course, not every famous chef was like this. Many more open-minded chefs were willing to pass their unique skills on to disciples. But if given the choice, they would still prioritize their own children and grandchildren.

This method of inheritance was reliable in the sense that it kept the craft within the family.

But it was also extremely risky.

Cooking was a profession that relied heavily on talent. Bloodlines could be inherited; talent could not. Many famous dishes and pastries had disappeared precisely because renowned chefs had no worthy successors.

Yet at the same time, many famous dishes and pastries had spread and flourished because some unfilial descendant of a master chef couldn’t make a living and ended up selling the family recipe.

One could only say fate loved playing tricks on people.

Under normal circumstances, situations like Tan Wei’an’s were the standard model: the father wasn’t capable enough, so the grandson stepped up instead. And it wasn’t as though Tan Wei’an’s father had never learned cooking. He had, but his talent was too ordinary for him to achieve much in the industry. On top of that, his own father had been incredibly successful, turning Zhiweiju into a thriving business. With enough annual dividend income from shares to comfortably coast through life, he retired early.

In a sense, Tan Wei’an’s father was the true winner in life. He retired before even turning forty and handed the family business over to his son, truly achieving the ideal of “having elders above and children below.”

Shi Dadan expressed strong agreement with Master Zhou’s open-minded philosophy. He also believed there was no need to force children to inherit the family profession. For example, he had never pressured his own child to study hard and get into a prestigious university.

There was simply no need for children to inherit their parents’ profession. Shi Dadan became so absorbed in the conversation that he accidentally let slip that his child probably wouldn’t become a driver either.

Fortunately, nobody present knew his background anyway. To this day, Master Zhou still believed Shi Dadan was some kind of older cousin or uncle of Qin Huai’s. During the conversation, he even complained slightly, asking why that relative from the Qin family hadn’t tried bringing Qin Huai over earlier. Zhiweiju was actually very easy to get into, and recommendations from old customers definitely counted.

If Qin Huai had been brought over ten years earlier, what need would there have been for Zhao Cheng’an? Zhao Cheng’an could’ve been handed directly to Master Hua instead, since he liked making hand-pulled noodles anyway.

Zhao Cheng’an: ?

Master, I’m literally still sitting here eating pastries. Is it really okay to say that right in front of me?

“So you’re good at hand-pulled noodles too?” Qin Huai discovered another one of Zhao Cheng’an’s strengths.

“I studied it for a while. I can do it, but I’m not an expert,” Zhao Cheng’an admitted openly. “Back when I first became an apprentice, I thought I was a once-in-a-century genius. Ordinary chefs mastering one thing was already impressive. Excellent chefs could master one or two specialties. Even the master chefs at Zhiweiju all had things they were good at and things they weren’t.”

“At the time, I thought the only reason they couldn’t do everything was because they weren’t good enough. I definitely could. So I learned everything. If my master had studied Western pastries back then, I probably would’ve learned those too.”

“And then I ended up like this. I learned a bit of everything and can do a little of everything. I can’t handle the really difficult stuff, and I’m not good at overly complicated things. After all these years, the things I’m best at are still laminated pastries and powdered rice cakes. I thought I’d at least become truly specialized in one or two things, but in the end I didn’t fully master even one. I’m not even as good as my senior brothers and sisters.”

Zhao Cheng’an casually took a bite of his decorative palace lantern bun.

“But before I met you, I still thought I was a heaven-sent genius. The reason I haven’t specialized yet is just because I haven’t had enough time. Give me another twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, or sixty years, and I’ll definitely master everything.”

No matter what else could be said, Zhao Cheng’an truly had an excellent mentality, and he was incredibly dedicated to his craft.

Just listen to him—he was even willing to spend another sixty years making pastries. What incredible professional dedication!

“So what about now?” Qin Huai asked teasingly.

Zhao Cheng’an shot Qin Huai an annoyed look, then secretly glanced at Master Zhou. Seeing that Master Zhou was happily chatting with Shi Dadan and paying no attention to them, he lowered his voice and said:

“Of course I’m still a heaven-sent genius now!”

“It’s just that your talent is a little better than mine. That doesn’t mean my talent suddenly became bad. My talent is amazing, okay? Otherwise my master wouldn’t like me this much!”

Qin Huai smiled.

At that moment, he suddenly understood why Master Zhou liked Zhao Cheng’an so much.

Because Zhao Cheng’an was very confident.

He had been confident when he believed himself to possess extraordinary talent, and even after realizing he wasn’t actually the number one genius, he remained just as confident.

In literature there is no absolute first place, but in martial arts there is no second place—and dishes and pastries could absolutely be ranked.

Skill was skill. Put it on the table, and diners would know the difference the moment they tasted it. Everyone might have their own preferences and personal biases, but in the face of overwhelming ability, nobody could deny the truth.

Making pastries was a continual process of meeting geniuses and repeatedly admitting that you yourself were actually quite ordinary.

You might be a one-in-a-hundred talent, but this world was full of one-in-ten-thousand, one-in-a-hundred-thousand, one-in-a-million, even one-in-ten-million geniuses.

Mindset was very important.

The reason Pei Xing, despite being someone with connections, no longer competed fiercely at Zhiweiju was because he had already lost the mentality needed to keep competing there.

Every master chef in Zhiweiju had once been a once-in-ten-thousand genius during their apprenticeship years. Yet after arriving at Zhiweiju, they still became merely “Master So-and-so,” people known only by their surnames.

Even Master Zhou, currently acknowledged as the number one white-dough chef, would one day be replaced by a newer and more talented master chef, becoming just another former “Master So-and-so.”

After observing Zhiweiju for so many days, Qin Huai realized he hadn’t only been watching pastries—he had also been watching people.

Why were the relationships among the master chefs at Zhiweiju so complicated? Why were they constantly dissatisfied with one another or annoyed at each other?

Because even in middle age, they still retained the pride and sharpness they had in their youth.

Even though Master Hua ranked a full thirty-seven places lower than Master Zhou on the Famous Chefs List, he still dared to challenge Master Zhou to a duel by the lake.

Even though everyone believed he would definitely lose to Master Zhou—both physically and technically.

And why had Master Zhou been so displeased with Su Qian lately, scolding him every few days to the point that he didn’t even have time to check Qin Huai’s progress?

Because Su Qian no longer possessed that pride and confidence.

Back when Su Qian was deputy team leader at the Yunzhong Cafeteria, Qin Huai could clearly see the arrogance unique to an elite apprentice and a super-connected insider. But after returning to Zhiweiju, whether because something had gone wrong while making egg tarts or because of some other incident, Su Qian had become timid and hesitant, his skill and condition both greatly diminished.

Because of this, Qin Huai never felt that Master Zhou had intentionally neglected teaching him lately. He genuinely believed Master Zhou had been preoccupied with dealing with Su Qian’s situation.

As for all the speculation Zhao Cheng’an had voiced earlier in the kitchen, the only part Qin Huai believed was that Master Zhou usually liked showing off a bit.

Zhao Cheng’an was extremely professional when it came to gossip—he only believed real gossip, never fake gossip. But when it came to analysis…

He wasn’t as good as Dong Shi.

At the very least, Dong Shi could always come up with incredibly dramatic and bizarre stories.

“Qin Huai, why do you keep eating the buns?” Zhao Cheng’an asked. As he spoke, he glanced at the dazzling variety of pastries on the table. “Is the sesame flatbread not good? Or the flaky pastry not good? I admit a lot of pretty pastries are just for show, but the pretty pastries my master makes are definitely not just decorative. The assorted fruit pastries he made are seriously delicious. I already finished that whole bunch of green grapes.”

“I know,” Qin Huai said. “I just think this vegetarian bun is especially delicious.”

“This assorted vegetable bun recipe belongs to Boss Su’s family. Back in the day, Zhiweiju built its reputation on this bun. Supposedly the recipe came out of the imperial palace,” Zhao Cheng’an explained. “Don’t let the fact that it’s vegetarian fool you—the filling is incredibly complicated. But since it’s a vegetarian bun, it can’t really be sold for a high price. My master knows too many kinds of pastries and rarely makes it, and Boss Su doesn’t make buns much anymore either, so under normal circumstances you can’t even buy these.”

“I can tell,” Qin Huai nodded. “The greens in this filling were obviously trimmed of roots and yellow leaves, blanched, minced, and repeatedly squeezed dry.”

“The ingredients are very rich, and everything is diced. At the same time, very little seasoning is used—mainly soy sauce, sugar, and salt. The filling was definitely cooked and had broth poured over it, but it definitely wasn’t plain broth or stock. It should be a specially prepared vegetable broth. Then it was thickened with starch at the end. With such a complicated preparation method, and yet it’s still just a vegetarian bun, it’s most likely an imperial palace pastry.”

Zhao Cheng’an was dumbfounded.

“Tan Wei’an even told you this? No, wait, that’s impossible. Tan Wei’an probably doesn’t even know how the assorted vegetable bun is made. This is Boss Su’s secret family recipe. One of the conditions Boss Su used to recruit my master to Zhiweiju back then was giving this recipe to him.”

“You planted a spy in Zhiweiju or something?”

“No, that’s not right either. Boss Su doesn’t have apprentices, and my master only has the three of us disciples. Did you bribe my senior brother and sister? Is Sister Yan so desperate for money to buy that school district apartment?”

Qin Huai: …

Brother, do you hear yourself right now? Do you believe I could record what you just said and send it to Sister Yan right now, and tomorrow you’d walk into Zhiweiju upright and leave lying flat?

“Of course I tasted it out,” Qin Huai said helplessly. “I can only tell this much. There are definitely even finer details. For example, the greens are so tender that they definitely added something during blanching. There was probably also a special technique when repeatedly squeezing out the water. Aside from the greens, all the other vegetables exist purely to enhance freshness. Their role is basically to support the greens as the centerpiece. The ratio of ginkgo nuts must also be extremely important.”

“And there’s no need to even mention the vegetable broth and the starch thickening at the end. Even if you asked me to invent it, I couldn’t come up with the exact recipe or techniques.”

“When I said I could taste it out, I meant I could tell this bun definitely isn’t an ordinary bun. Remember when I told you I have a younger sister? When she watched palace-drama TV shows, she always wanted to eat those imperial pastries, so I studied every palace pastry in the pastry encyclopedia. The preparation methods and processes for those pastries are all more or less the same: either they compete in appearance or they compete in flavor. The appearance-focused ones are easier, but the flavor-focused ones definitely put enormous effort into the fillings. Pouring broth over the filling and thickening it with starch are basically mandatory.”

Zhao Cheng’an looked at Qin Huai and desperately wanted to ask:

Bro, are you the professionally trained chef here, or am I?

Compared to you, I feel like a complete rookie when it comes to imperial pastries.

An Youyou happened to be sitting across from Qin Huai. After listening to the entire conversation between Qin Huai and Zhao Cheng’an, she hurriedly swallowed the pastry in her mouth, reached out with her chopsticks to grab another assorted vegetable bun, and took a huge bite.

“Chef Xiao Qin, if imperial vegetarian buns are already this delicious, wouldn’t imperial meat buns be even better?” An Youyou asked curiously.

“No idea,” Qin Huai admitted. “That’s outside my area of expertise. Though if Five-Diced Bun counts as an imperial meat bun, then I guess it depends on your own judgment.”

“Then I still prefer meat buns,” An Youyou said. “Meat buns are worth more money. A Five-Diced Bun sells for dozens of yuan each.”