Chapter Twenty-Three: The Finest Cuisine Beyond the Wealthy’s Understanding (Part One)

"...Very well, everyone, as I have said, the visit of the Marquis to our Douhu Prefecture is a rare blessing—something that happens once in a hundred years."

The Prefect was still delivering his endless speech upon the stage, while the crowd below had already grown drowsy, unable to bear the weight of his words; some had simply laid down on the ground and fallen deeply asleep.

Ming Tian stifled a yawn; the sun hung low in the western sky. Glancing at the stone sundial, he saw the shadow pointing directly at the characters for "the hour of Wei."

Oh, my dear Prefect, are you ever going to finish? Wasn’t the competition supposed to begin at the hour of Si? You’ve been talking for almost two hours now! Aren’t you tired? Even the monk Tang would have been driven mad by you! Do you know how much I want to strangle you right now?

The tense atmosphere that had previously simmered between Ming Tian and the impostor had been completely shattered by the Prefect’s interminable speech. Ming Tian himself could barely keep his eyes open, and even the two soldiers assigned to guard him had succumbed to sleep...

These two soldiers stood beside Ming Tian, leaning on their spears, snoring openly. If Ming Tian were Sun Wukong, he might have leapt up and smashed the Prefect’s skull with his staff.

Now I finally understand why modern officials speak in such formal clichés—it's an inherited vice!

Time slipped away, wasted, until even the Prefect’s advisor felt it necessary to intervene and quietly remind him. At last, the Prefect came to his senses and began to wrap things up.

"Alright, I won’t waste any more words. To my left stands our esteemed Marquis, Zhuge Bu Liang. Please welcome him, everyone."

The impostor, who had been dozing off, stepped forward and waved to the crowd. The people, their patience worn thin by the Prefect’s never-ending speech, responded with perfunctory applause, yet the scene—thousands gathered—resembled the adulation of a modern film star.

It should have been me standing in that place.

Ming Tian scoffed.

The Prefect clearly had no intention of introducing Ming Tian. In his eyes, Ming Tian was nothing more than a disposable pawn, a tool for appraisal.

"As the Marquis, our honored guest will demonstrate his culinary skills. Naturally, I have prepared the finest ingredients for him. Today, we shall use beef!"

Beef?!

As soon as these words left his mouth, the crowd erupted in astonishment—even Ming Tian, standing behind, was momentarily stunned.

It was now the second month of the first year of Yongtai, during the Northern and Southern Dynasties. In this era, there were no draft oxen; all cattle were working animals—protected by the state, akin to national treasures. For ordinary folk, beef was the most unattainable luxury.

The law forbade the private slaughter of cattle; even if you owned the ox, it was forbidden. Violators faced conscription; killing three cattle meant death. Such was the value placed on cattle.

Only someone like the Prefect of Douhu, a third-rank official, had the authority to decide whether an ox could be used as food.

At this declaration, the impostor’s face turned pale! Regardless of his culinary skills, even the best chef of this era had likely never cooked beef before. It would be like asking Gordon Ramsay to prepare unicorn meat—no matter how skilled, it would be a daunting task. Moreover, in the culinary era of Jun Yuan, the impostor himself could not have been particularly accomplished.

"Marquis, is that acceptable?" the Prefect asked with a smile.

The impostor forced himself to remain calm, standing tall and replying, "Of course, no problem."

"Very well. Let us begin. You have one hour," the Prefect said, waving his long sleeves as he retreated to his pavilion.

Ming Tian, hearing all this, allowed a mischievous smile to creep across his face.

Beef... Who among modern people doesn’t love beef, unless they're allergic?

He approached the stage, glancing sideways to see the impostor fumbling with the knives, uncertainly picking among the pile of beef tenderloin on the chopping board.

Keep pretending! Impersonate me? Let's see how long you can keep it up.

Confident of victory, Ming Tian drew a boning knife and prepared to cook.

But as he examined the piece of meat assigned to him, his good mood shattered. He was dumbfounded.

What... what is this? Is this supposed to be beef? I may not be well-read, but you can't fool me!

This is pork, isn’t it?! And don't think I won't notice just because the skin's been removed—the loose, flabby texture is a dead giveaway. This is the worst kind of pork: the breast meat!

The blood formed patchy spots, congealed and unmoving—a clear sign it came from a diseased pig. Even with ginger and cooking wine, the stench would remain; and besides, cooking wine hasn’t even been invented yet, and ginger is considered a fruit, so there’s none among the ingredients.

The pork breast itself is tough and sinewy—call it tender, but it's impossible to chew; call it tough, but it lacks any satisfying bite. On top of that, it comes from a sick animal. Honestly, even in modern times, making this meat palatable would be a challenge, let alone in this era.

Looking over at the impostor, his meat glowed with a ruby sheen, tender and springy—a top-quality beef tenderloin, without a doubt!

They want me to compete with this pork breast against his beef tenderloin?

How is that even fair? No matter how skilled I am with seasoning, his beef tenderloin would taste better even if he simply roasted it over a fire!

He glanced back at the Prefect, who wasn’t even looking his way, and Ming Tian understood.

Giving him pork breast was not so much an insult, as simply not considering him at all.

During the Northern and Southern Dynasties, what was the lowest-grade ingredient? Cabbage? Wrong! Wild greens? Wrong! Rat meat? Wrong again!

It was pork.

Pork held the lowest status in this era. Chicken and duck were lowly, but at least they were regarded as vegetables—at least they counted as food. But pork... no one considered it an ingredient; only beggars, on the brink of starvation, would even think of eating pork.

Hence the ancient saying: "Pork—cheap and base; the poor do not eat it, the rich do not understand it."

To give a chef pork in this era was the greatest insult—especially the worst kind, pork breast!

Even in modern times, pork breast is rarely used as food, and with modern pigs raised quickly, pork breast is rare. Mostly, it's used to render lard, and only old pigs have it.

This Prefect was certainly no good person!

Ming Tian had come here in a playful mood, feeling quite cheerful, but now his outlook changed.

So even someone as optimistic as I can feel something called 'anger'!

An impostor, not only impersonating me but trying to kill me!

A Prefect, treating me like an idiot! No matter how poor I am, if I’m on this stage, I’m a chef—how dare you give me pork breast?!

And that fool of a soldier who looks like Zhang Fei—how dare he slap me!

Fine, fine, I treated you all kindly, and you took it for granted. Excellent!

I am not a rabbit. Today, I’ll show you my true strength—and afterward, you’ll all pay the price.

...