HLM – Chapter 960 Even the Jar Is Clean

“What’s going on between you and that host?”

Zhong Dabao said, “Nothing much. Didn’t she interview me last week? Then we added each other on WeChat, chat a little sometimes. It’s been pretty fun, so we became friends.”

Wang Bo saw the proud look on his face and muttered in his mind: Zhong Dabao is a good brother, that’s true. It’s fine that he can make friends. But this guy really lacks a brain. He’s not great at chatting, and someone like Su Taotao—practically a goddess in her social circle, surely surrounded by admirers—how could she tolerate talking to him?

In fact, Zhong Dabao isn’t unintelligent; he’s just low on emotional intelligence and a bit naive.

Zhong Dabao continued, “I know you’re wondering. I actually asked Taotao too—why would she be willing to chat with an idiot like me?”

“That self-description is something else,” Song Zijun said wryly.

Zhong Dabao thought it was a compliment and smiled smugly: “It’s okay, I guess. Anyway, Taotao said that the men around her all have bad intentions, so chatting with me feels like just talking with a friend.”

Wang Bo started to understand. Su Taotao might be treated as a goddess by her friends, but the circle of men she interacts with is messy, and most have impure intentions.

Thinking this, he asked, “You don’t have feelings for her?”

Zhong Dabao awkwardly rubbed his hands. “Actually, I do. I want to marry her…”

“Yeah, so you want to sleep with her too, right?” Song Zijun asked.

Wang Bo gave him a thumbs-up. Damn, this guy is a bold, straightforward hero. If he felt embarrassed asking, at least he’s openly admitting it.

Zhong Dabao shook his head seriously. “If she were my wife, of course I’d want to. But if she’s not, I wouldn’t mess around. I’m not Wang Bo’s Zhuang Ding!”

Wang Bo awkwardly smiled. Zhuang Ding really can’t help himself—seeing a young female dog he wants to mount. Always sowing seeds everywhere.

Sure enough, after just a few days at home, Zhuang Ding had made a name for himself.

Because of him, the local Chinese rural dogs were unlucky. He wandered around looking for young females; even the strong aroma of catfish rice couldn’t lure him back.

Song Zijun patted Wang Bo’s shoulder. “Got it. Go spend time with the girl. Perform well—who knows, maybe you’ll get what you want.”

“I’ll go then. I’m not forgetting friends over a girl. Taotao hasn’t had catfish rice before; she’s curious and wants to do a special report, so I invited her. Once I invite her, I have to take responsibility.”

Wang Bo nodded. “Yeah, go. May you soon have noble offspring.”

“What the hell? I’m not your dog. Besides, on my way here, I saw him chasing Aunt Liu’s big female dog like he was raping her. Are you gonna do something about it?”

Wang Bo: “……”

He didn’t have time to worry about Zhuang Ding; he still had cooking to do.

The yellowfin tuna was big, so it could be cooked in many ways. This meal mainly featured this fish.

The fattest belly was used for sashimi and fillets.

The mid-belly and part of the back, called the “chūt belly,” had moderate fat and darker color, similar to beef. It was flavorful, best fried or grilled.

The rest of the back had tougher meat with low fat, the cheapest and least tasty part in Japanese cuisine. But it made the best dumpling filling.

Mother Bo would make dumplings for the Eva sisters with this meat. Fish dumplings weren’t just fish—they also included some pork and starch, so the fat content wasn’t crucial.

Those were standard uses; there were also unconventional ones.

For example, the skin. Tuna skin is thick, almost like rubber, making it premium material for fish skin jelly.

Wang Bo’s family used it in cold dishes; pickled chili fish skin was a popular local appetizer.

Large fish bones were also useful: the spine for soup, edge bones for roasting with cumin and chili powder—crispy and spicy.

The tuna’s head had many uses too. The fish had a big head, weighing about thirty pounds, roughly the size of a small child.

Father Bo chopped it and split it into two big pots for stewing. Wang Bo’s cousin, Wang Zheng, carried a jar of bean paste over. “This year’s new paste—use it to stew the fish head. You won’t go wrong.”

Bean paste stewed fish head was the local standard.

Wang Bo tasted a spoonful of paste. After chewing, he nodded. “Strong flavor. My uncle’s skills are still amazing.”

The “strong flavor” referred to the local term for the earthy, mixed taste of potato paste—a combination of pungent, fragrant, sweet, and sour notes.

Unfortunately, tuna doesn’t have a swim bladder. Father Bo was skilled at cooking dishes with swim bladders, but tuna and sharks swim fast and don’t need one to regulate buoyancy.

Tuna was the main dish, but not the most popular. The most popular were the beef, lamb, pork, and chicken and duck Wang Bo brought back.

All the chicken and duck were roasted. Someone brought an oven with a rotisserie, so the birds cooked while spinning. Everyone at the table enjoyed them hot.

Lamb was made into soup, lamb spine, and kebabs. Every table had a big pot of soup; drinking lamb soup in winter was nourishing.

Occasionally, someone would shout: “Don’t just roast lamb! Uncle Shan, did Xiao Bo bring lamb kidneys? Give me one, medium rare, the funkier the better!”

“Marinate it in urine for max funk—want me to do that?” someone joked.

The room erupted in laughter.

Su Taotao started eating elegantly, but after sipping the lamb soup and eating lamb skewers, her eyes lit up, and she drank quickly, taking small sips.

Zhong Dabao grinned. “Tasty, right?”

Su Taotao nodded. “Yes, so good. I’ve never had such delicious grilled skewers.”

Wang Bo expected Zhong Dabao to offer to grill more for her. Instead, he said, “Don’t eat so fast, leave me a couple skewers. I like them too.”

“Damn, clueless!” everyone silently thought.

The beef was mainly served as marinated beef. Father Bo had also made a big jar of beef paste, served with onions and scallions.

“This is delicious! How did you make the beef paste?” someone immediately asked.

Father Bo proudly said, “It’s a family secret. I made a big jar. Anyone who likes it can scoop some home.”

People immediately grabbed plastic bags. By the end of the meal, the jar was empty.

Father Bo stared at the shiny, empty jar, almost popping his eyes. “Damn, did someone wipe it with a steamed bun? How’s it so clean?”

“No, it’s your white cat. She licked it clean in the end.”

Princess squinted her eyes, savoring the taste.