Chapter 57

Chapter 57

"Let them air-dry for another eight or nine days, and they should be ready. If we smoke them with cypress branches or fruitwood chips in a couple of days, the flavor will be even richer." Ning Chan also wished they could taste them now, but many delicacies demand patience.

Just like the cheese he had tasted recently—wasn’t that also a product of time?

Hearing Ning Chan say these foods could become even more delicious, the crowd stared at the sausages and cured meats with growing hunger.

"Though we can’t eat them yet, there’s another dish you can learn to make—one that takes less time." Ning Chan figured that post-apocalypse survivors were practically obsessed with food, especially dishes they dreamed about.

Given the chance, they’d prioritize such things.

Otherwise, why did his mind overflowed with recipes every time he stepped into the kitchen? He hadn’t realized just how many culinary books he’d memorized until he started recalling and organizing them.

He could confidently say that while he wasn’t sure about other genres, his food-related book collection was unmatched—even including many chefs’ personal notes.

So, if there was one industry in Yangcheng developing the fastest, it was undoubtedly the culinary scene.

But then again, food was life—he was just answering the call of his heart! Since he couldn’t slack off yet, why not indulge in some delicious food to make life more enjoyable?

Though disappointed they couldn’t eat the sausages yet, the mention of another dish immediately perked everyone up, they stared at Ning Chan eagerly.

"Go catch three ducks, pluck and clean them, and I’ll prepare the marinade to coat them later."

Roast duck wasn’t a last-minute idea for Ning Chan. He’d planned to make it earlier but got distracted, so the prepped duck had been waiting in his storage, waiting to be roasted.

The ducks they were preparing now wouldn’t go into the oven immediately—after being coated with a mixture of honey, vinegar, and cooking wine, they’d need to air-dry for a day.

But there was still the one he’d prepared earlier. Though there wasn’t much, it would at least give everyone a taste.

Preparing it had been a hassle—just blowing it up made his cheeks sore. Eventually, he’d had to ask a craftsman to make him a handheld pump.

The chefs and cooks present had roasted plenty of dishes before. Though they knew Ning Chan was making roast duck, they trusted his skills enough to know he’d make even the same ingredients shine.

When Ning Chan called for the ducks to be inflated, they buzzed with excitement, as if they were learning a new culinary technique.

No one complained about sore hands—in fact, if not for the need to work quickly, everyone would’ve taken turns.

So when the three strongest men were chosen, they showed off their muscles at the others.

The rest scoffed—blowing up a duck was no big deal. Even without the pump, they could’ve blown it up themselves.

And they weren’t wrong. After the lesson, some managed to inflate ducks at home—with strong lungs—though their cheeks ached afterward.

When the first duck was fully inflated, the first man eyed the next duck reluctantly, only for the second burly man to snatch the pump with a tsk.

"We agreed to take turns—what’s the holdup?"

Perhaps too eager or trying to outdo the first, the second man almost turned the duck into a balloon before Ning Chan intervened.

Once all three ducks were plump, skin separated from flesh, and after scalding and coating, they’d dry for a day before roasting.

"Another whole day? So we won’t get to eat today?" The disappointment after waiting made their gazes at Ning Chan pitiful.

He was their teacher and a revered saint, so they wouldn’t dare blame him—they just hoped he wouldn’t tease them too much, leaving them with nothing after all that work.

"Don’t worry, you’ll get a taste. I left a prepped duck in the cabinet yesterday. Once it’s done, everyone can try a bite." With so many in the kitchen and only one duck, each person might only get a bite.

"Oh, wonderful!"

"Exactly, just a taste would be fine."

With Ning Chan's support, the kitchen had expanded twice recently. In addition to the large communal kitchen, there were now three smaller kitchens.

One was exclusively for Ning Chan, where he experimented with new dishes. The other two were for others to test their own creations. If someone had a new idea and gained approval from at least half the chefs present, they could try it out at the restaurant run by the church to see how customers liked it.

If over 70% of the first hundred customers approved of the dish, the creator would receive a bonus. If it became a popular dish, they could also earn a share of the profits.

Ning Chan knew he had many culinary recipes at his disposal, but so far, he had only shared a small portion—mostly dishes he personally wanted to eat.

His tastes weren’t exactly mainstream. In some ways, he was quite picky—he loved spicy food and desserts, flavors with distinct profiles. But when it came to dishes that were both sweet and spicy with muddled flavors, he just couldn't get into them.

However, food tastes varied. Just because Ning Chan didn’t like something didn’t mean others wouldn’t enjoy it.

So, when judging the merits of these dishes, Ning Chan stayed out of it, letting the others decide for themselves.

In another sense, Ning Chan hoped these chefs wouldn’t get stuck in their ways. He encouraged them to experiment boldly and create more great dishes.

Considering he was in the Western lands, Ning Chan had taught them many Western dishes—like pasta, French gratin, and American roast turkey. He had assumed they’d prefer these.

But when traditional Eastern dishes were presented, they were just as popular.

To this, Ning Chan could only say that food, like music, transcended borders.

Otherwise, one might assume they simply hadn’t tasted enough good food before and found everything delicious.

That might be true, but saying it out loud would sound a bit demeaning.

Now, among these experimental chefs, both Eastern and Western styles were represented. Though they had produced some kitchen disasters, their passion and persistence had still come up with some real winners.

Ning Chan recorded them all in a notebook and even carved them onto stone tablets, naming it the *World Cuisine Archive*.

Unlike poetry or books, culinary creations didn’t have clear copyrights. But if something wasn’t theirs to claim, why force it?

When promoting these dishes, Ning Chan subtly hinted at their origins. Even many years later, with these records in place, they wouldn’t shamelessly let future generations believe they had invented everything themselves.

Of course, if these people truly disregarded reason and erased all evidence he left behind, what could Ning Chan do? He wouldn’t even be around anymore.

But Ning Chan felt that, in this era, such a thing was unlikely to happen. After all, wasn’t there still the system? With its presence, the Eastern continent wouldn’t lag behind in this regard either.

Thinking this, Ning Chan shook his head, shaking off his random thoughts. He took out his key, unlocked his private kitchen, and discreetly retrieved the duck from his magic storage under the cover of the large cabinet.

As a master of fire control, Ning Chan, gauged the oven’s temperature before hanging the duck inside. He left two chefs who were good at controlling heat to carefully monitor the roasting process—when to flip the duck and how long to cook it.

The others were tasked with preparing other dishes. With only one duck, it wouldn’t feed everyone.

Since they were making wrappers for the roast duck anyway, they may as well make spring rolls—simple and convenient.

Mix salt, water, and flour until the dough could be picked up by hand. Lightly roll it over a heated skillet and lift it quickly. A thin layer of batter stuck, dried in seconds under the heat. The center would darken, the edges curling slightly. A gentle flick of the fingers, and it peeled right off the pan.

Ning Chan, not bothered by the heat, boldly tested the technique himself. After mastering it in a few tries and making over twenty wrappers for fun, he let the others give it a try.

Spring rolls could hold just about any filling—as long as the ingredients were fresh and the sauce was good, they could be made anytime.

And they weren’t limited to just eating as-is. They could be steamed or fried, making them a flexible dish.

While the others were still clumsily practicing, Ning Chan called over the apprentice whose job was chopping vegetables to cut some vegetables into thin strips.

Ingredients like shredded scallions, carrot shreds, and potato strips—about seven or eight types of fillings in vibrant colors—looked even more tempting once cooked.

Considering Kane had been helping him all along, Ning Chan stuffed the first spring roll he wrapped right into Kane's mouth.

"So? Good, right?" Ning Chan glanced sideways at Kane while still deftly making one for himself.

The spring roll was so overstuffed that Kane had to cup it with his hands, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster, with none of the imperial sternness from his past life.

The edges of the wrapper were slightly crisp, while the center had a pleasant chewiness, carrying just a subtle savory note detectable by the tongue. But as the wrapper split open, the sauce inside spilled out, making the taste burst in his mouth.

Crisp greens, slightly sweet and pungent scallion shreds, braised tofu skin and meat, all drenched in that numbing, spicy, and aromatic chili oil—this massive bite left Kane only able to nod vigorously, his mouth too full to reply.

The others followed Ning Chan's example, picking their favorite fillings to wrap, then giving impatient looks at those making the wrappers.

Such a tiny portion was hardly a mouthful—could they hurry up?

And when would that roast duck be ready? At this pace, they’ll be stuffed before the duck even arrives!