HLM – Chapter 212 A Country Bumpkin’s Delicacy

They ended up gathering another twenty or so dozen eggs, bringing Wang Bo’s haul close to eighty bird eggs in total.

These snow pigeon eggs were tiny, but quantity made up for size—seventy or eighty was no small number.

Bowen saw them and asked, “Boss, what’s this? Snow pigeon eggs? They’re so small, just put them back. You can’t eat them or play with them.”

Wang Bo wasn’t a particularly bloodthirsty person. If he could let something go, he usually did. Like the wild boars, hares, and mice on the ranch—if he really wanted to get rid of them… well, he did want to get rid of them, he just didn’t have a way yet.

But these snow pigeon eggs? He wasn’t letting those go. The snow pigeons reproduced way too easily. If he let them breed unchecked, the trees around the castle would soon be overrun with the birds.

Snow pigeons liked to poop everywhere. The inner and outer courtyards of the castle were often spattered with droppings. Although the Heart of the Castle had an auto-cleaning function, Wang Bo worried that if the droppings mysteriously disappeared too cleanly, someone might get suspicious.

That’s why he had to control the snow pigeon population. A few pigeons were fine—Little Hani could clean up after them. Too many, and he’d be overwhelmed. If the Heart of the Castle cleaned up by itself, how was he supposed to explain that?

As for what to do with the pigeon eggs, Wang Bo had already decided—they had to be eaten. Waste not.

Snow pigeons were wild fowl, and according to the laws of nature, the more concentrated something is, the more nutritious. These tiny eggs were actually more balanced in nutrients than chicken or duck eggs.

He pulled out his phone and did a bit of research. Turns out snow pigeon eggs were especially good for pregnant women and children. Their biggest advantage? They didn’t contain heavy metals.

Snow pigeons were small and very sensitive to toxins or metals. If the food they ate was contaminated, they’d lay soft-shelled eggs that couldn’t hatch. If the eggs had hard shells, that meant the birds were healthy and the eggs were clean.

The simplest way to eat them was scrambled. But these tiny eggs were a pain to crack cleanly—shells often mixed in. Wang Bo thought for a moment and decided to make a local delicacy from his hometown: country-style braised eggs.

Normally, people used chicken eggs for this dish. But in Wang Bo’s seaside fishing village, there were often quails living among the riverbank reeds and seagrass. Their eggs were small, and not great boiled or fried, so someone had come up with the idea of braising them. The method caught on and became a favorite.

Snow pigeon eggs were about the same size as quail eggs, so the method would work just as well.

As he stepped into the kitchen, Kobe waddled in, chest and belly jiggling. He’d discovered Wang Bo had real cooking talent—his creativity was a goldmine of ideas—and now loved watching him cook.

Wang Bo was happy to let Kobe help. He chopped some scallions, ginger, and garlic and threw them into a pot, added the pigeon eggs, and poured in water and beer to boil.

“When the water boils, cook them two more minutes, then cover the pot and let it sit for ten. After that, peel them—we’ll make something tasty.”

Kobe nodded. “Leave it to me. Child’s play.”

Wang Bo started preparing the marinade. In another pot, he poured soy sauce and honey, then added vinegar, oyster sauce, Sichuan pepper powder, black pepper, scallion-ginger powder, star anise, and dried orange peel. As he heated the mix, he stirred constantly—honey and oyster sauce were thick and would stick if not stirred properly.

Once the pigeon eggs were cooked, Kobe cooled them under water and began peeling patiently.

Wang Bo turned and frowned. “You’re peeling them one by one? Planning to be done by next year?”

Kobe replied, “It’s fine, I’ve got patience.”

Wang Bo shook his head. Did this guy think he was being complimented? That was sarcasm, not praise!

New Zealanders didn’t eat pigeon or quail eggs. They had no experience peeling such tiny things.

Wang Bo figured the marinade was ready and took over the peeling.

It was actually quite easy. He put the eggs into a lunchbox, covered it, and gently shook it. When he opened the lid, the shells had cracked and slipped off. Just a quick hand-sort and they were clean.

The shelled pigeon eggs were snow-white and glossy—not a pale grey like chicken eggs, but a pure, milky white, almost like fine jade.

Admiring them briefly, Wang Bo dropped the eggs into the marinade and simmered them on low heat. This couldn’t be rushed—slow cooking let the flavor seep in.

After a bit, he added a dash of baijiu to remove the gaminess—snow pigeons were wild birds, after all, and their eggs had a faint odor. The alcohol helped neutralize it.

Curious, Kobe asked why he added baijiu. When Wang Bo explained, he fetched a lemon and squeezed a few drops of juice into the pot. “This is the real secret to removing odors.”

As the pot simmered, Wang Bo added some dried chilies and said, “Alright, now the real work begins.”

Kobe was stunned. “We’re just starting now? I thought we were done?”

Wang Bo smiled proudly. “This is Chinese food culture—profound and vast! Today I’m giving you a lesson. Braised eggs aren’t as simple as you think.”

Tea eggs you could just boil and forget. Country-style braised eggs, though, were different—at least back in his hometown.

Besides flavor, texture was key. A proper chew meant the eggs had to be air-dried.

After simmering for half an hour, Wang Bo turned off the heat and laid the eggs on the windowsill to dry in the mountain breeze. Once the sauce dried on the surface, he’d simmer them again.

He repeated the process—he had nothing else to do anyway—and chatted with old friends online while cooking. It didn’t take up any time.

In the group chat with his old classmates, everyone was in high spirits. Once Wang Bo showed up, someone immediately asked what he was doing.

By now, they all knew he worked in New Zealand as a government official—but that was all. Wang Bo had told them he was a town mayor, but no one believed him. And as for him owning a thousand square kilometers of land? He hadn’t even mentioned it—they’d never believe it.

Song Jiashu: Wang Bo, is New Zealand really that beautiful? Share some pics, will you? 😋

Su Dongdong: No stealing from the internet! We want live photos—take them and post them right now.

Wang Bo: 😒 I’m cooking right now. [Photo 1, Photo 2] Why would I need to steal pics? It really is gorgeous. You guys should come visit sometime.

Song Tiantian: That’s your kitchen?! OMG, why does it look bigger than my house? 😱😱😱 Is that kitchen like… 100 square meters?! 🤤

Wang Bo: [Photo 3, Photo 4] Actually, probably closer to 200? I’ve never measured it. I’m just using one corner right now—it’s too big to use all of it.

Hou Haibo: 😱😱 WTF, Wang Bo, are you really living in a castle? You weren’t joking before?!

Cao Bo: Don’t say anything… I just want to cry. 😭

Cao Bo’s girlfriend: Who’s Crying? I’m watching you!

Wang Bo: 😂😂😂

Su Dongdong: 😂😂😂

Song Jiashu: 😂😂😂