
Bai Xiaobai is a twenty-two-year-old restaurant owner struggling to keep the small eatery left behind by his parents alive. Everything changes when a mysterious Gourmet System appears in his mind, promising to train him into a master chef. Starting with an outrageously expensive tea egg, he must complete strict missions, master increasingly difficult recipes, and learn to work with extraordinary ingredients. As word of his food spreads, his once-empty restaurant attracts devoted customers, culinary rivals, competitions, and unexpected opportunities. What begins as a desperate attempt to save a failing business gradually becomes Bai Xiaobai’s journey toward understanding food, craftsmanship, responsibility, and what it truly means to become a great chef.
Chapter 22: Supreme Beef Noodles (Part 1)
It’s one thing to limit a customer to one order per day, but now they’re even capping the total daily quantity—they’re really making things hard on themselves. Bai Xiaobai’s current state of mind was even more agonizing than swallowing bitter gall in silence; there were only two words to describe how he felt at that moment. Heh… The system seemed to sense Bai Xiaobai’s frustration, and a synthetic voice rang out [The limit of ten Supreme Tea Eggs is to allow the Host to focus on the new product, and more importantly, to help the Host become a Master Chef as soon as possible. ] So it’s actually for my own good? Why does it feel like the System has said all the nice things? After Bai Xiaobai calmed down and analyzed the situation carefully, he realized the System actually had a tiny bit of a point in imposing the sales limit. It’s similar to “scarcity marketing.” If there were no sales limit, even the most delicious food would quickly become boring, and the shop’s popularity wouldn’t last long. Besides, limiting sales makes the shop seem more upscale. Let’s just put aside that “the customer is king” nonsense for now. Anyway, selling ten Supreme Tea Eggs a day means at least a hundred in net income—enough to keep me from starving. Bai Xiaobai silently consoled himself: to earn more money in the future, this current, agonizing loss was nothing—his true goal was to become a master chef. After daydreaming for a bit, Bai Xiaobai’s mood instantly improved. The sound of pots, pans, and utensils clanging came from the kitchen. Practice makes perfect—by now, Bai Xiaobai had the art of making Supreme Tea Eggs down pat. He worked with nimble hands and feet, and in no time, ten Supreme Tea Eggs were fresh off the stove. Just as he finished making the Supreme Tea Eggs, the sand in the hourglass in his mind had run out. The System’s cool, electronic voice rang out. [Ding-dong—Upgrade complete. Ingredients have been prepared for the host. You may now begin preparing the C-level dish, “Supreme Beef Noodles.” ] As soon as the electronic voice finished, Bai Xiaobai noticed, almost in the blink of an eye, that he was surrounded by a host of high-tech devices. Some of these devices Bai Xiaobai had never even seen before, let alone used. However, the user manual had already been quickly scanned through his mind. In addition to the equipment, the kitchen was now stocked with all the ingredients needed to make “Supreme Beef Noodles.” In a corner of the cabinet sat a bag of high-gluten flour. Bai Xiaobai opened it and took a whiff; he could smell a faint, pleasant wheat aroma, as if it had just been freshly ground. “What variety of wheat is this? How can the flour smell so fragrant?” System text appears: Carefully selected premium winter wheat grown in the Hetao region north of the 37th parallel in China, freshly ground into high-gluten flour with a protein content controlled at 12. 678%. He hadn’t expected that even the protein content of the flour could be controlled to three decimal places; Bai Xiaobai mentally wrote a huge “I’m impressed” in his mind. In addition to the high-gluten flour, a stainless-steel basin on the kitchen counter was piled high with various massive beef bones—all intended for simmering beef bone broth. Bai Xiaobai picked up a few at random and found the bones to be incredibly fresh; each one was heavy and still clung to a small amount of meat and tendons. “What kind of beef bones are these? They’re so heavy?” System text appears: Strictly selected healthy yak calves, personally raised by the system in the alpine meadows of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau at an altitude of over 4,500 meters. The atmospheric pressure in this region ranges from 68,420. 85 to 55,435. 28 Pa, partial pressure of oxygen ranging from 14,505. 43 to 11,679. 01 Pa, with an oxygen content of only 14. 9% to 11. 44%. The yaks feed on alpine grass, Cordyceps, and Tibetan red ginseng, and drink pure, unpolluted snowmelt from the plateau. After slaughter, the system uses only the yak’s burdock bones. These bones are rich in bioavailable calcium, osteogenic proteins, collagen, and amino acids. When simmered, they emit a unique, delicate aroma, making them a premium ingredient for preparing bone broth. Although Bai Xiaobai has never been to Tibet, he knows quite a bit about yaks. These cattle are known as the “ships of the plateau.” Because they live at high altitudes in harsh climates, their meat is drier and coarser than ordinary yellow cattle meat and isn’t particularly tasty, However, the burdock bone from yak is a traditional and prized Tibetan tonic food, renowned since ancient times for its unique benefits of “strengthening tendons and bones, replenishing deficiencies, and promoting longevity.” Since the broth at the famous beef noodle shop he visited yesterday wasn’t very tasty, Bai Xiaobai was even more eager to discover just how delicious the broth simmered from yak bone marrow would be. After picking out the yak burdock bones, Bai Xiaobai noticed a palm-sized piece of beef sitting on the cutting board on the countertop. This beef looked quite different from ordinary beef, with a marbled pattern and a faint layer of frost covering its surface—it was a delight to the eye just to look at. System Text: Carefully selected, healthy Nanyang yellow calves. Fed a variety of fresh pasture grasses, vegetables, and fruits. The diet changes monthly, repeats weekly, and varies daily. The yellow calves spend six hours a day grazing on natural pastures, receive two hours of manual massage from dedicated staff, take a half-hour hot spring bath daily, and listen to light music for half an hour. Since these yellow calves are not fed commercial feed, their growth cycle is longer than that of ordinary yellow cattle. After slaughter, the system selects only the finest cuts—the beef tenderloin. Using specialized equipment, the system refrigerates the tenderloin at a constant temperature for three days until a light layer of frost forms on the surface, creating marbled beef. This process not only perfectly locks in nutrients but also results in a tighter muscle fiber structure than fresh beef or lamb. The saturated fatty acid content in the intramuscular fat is reduced, leading to superior texture and exceptional culinary value. Seeing the Nanyang yellow calves raised by the system—bathed in hot spring water and listening to music—Bai Xiaobai felt he’d wasted over twenty years of his life, living a life worse than that of a single system-raised yellow calf… Of course, aside from the marbled beef, the produce bin next to the cutting board was filled with fresh rapeseed greens. The system continued to display text: “The Chinese mustard greens used by the system are natural organic produce, grown without fertilizers or pesticides and nourished with natural mineral water. They are rich in vitamins and various minerals.” Bai Xiaobai picked up a leaf of Chinese mustard green so green it looked as if it might drip with freshness, feeling a pang of envy. He drank plain boiled water every day, yet these greens were so fortunate— getting to drink “Farmer’s Spring Water” every day. No wonder they’re so white and tender—they’re practically juicy enough to squeeze water out of them, and they have a jade-like luster. All the main ingredients provided by the system are top-notch. In addition to the main ingredients, there are dried chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns on the cupboard. In short, every kind of seasoning imaginable is available. Bai Xiaobai carefully checked everything—not a single ingredient, auxiliary ingredient, or seasoning was missing—so he began preparing the meal. Beef noodle soup is a well-known delicacy in China, and its preparation and flavor vary from region to region based on local customs and traditions. For example, Lanzhou beef noodle soup emphasizes “one clear (broth), two white (daikon radish), three red (chili), four green (cilantro and garlic chives), and five yellow (bright yellow noodles).” Taiwanese beef noodle soup, on the other hand, emphasizes chewy noodles, tender and fragrant beef, and a rich broth, with a wide variety of flavors—ranging from braised and clear-simmered to spicy and aromatic. However, to sum it up, the three key components of beef noodle soup are actually the same: broth, noodles, and beef. Only when all three components—broth, noodles, and beef—are executed perfectly can a bowl of beef noodle soup be considered top-notch. Take the broth of “Supreme Beef Noodle Soup,” for example—the beef bone broth. This is a meticulous process requiring several steps, none of which can be omitted. Bai Xiaobai places the massive yak bones into a pot of gently simmering water, quickly blanches them to remove blood and impurities, and then lifts them out. He takes a small hammer and gently taps the surface of the bones until fine cracks appear. This is done to better extract the nutrients from the bone marrow. The pre-treated yak bones are placed into a specially designed, extra-large, double-layered green clay pot. This extra-large, double-layered green clay pot is provided by the system; Bai Xiaobai had never even seen one before. There were two clay pots—one large and one small—stacked on top of each other. System text: State-of-the-art double-layered green clay pot simmering equipment capable of circulating broth at a constant temperature while continuously filtering out scum and impurities from the bone marrow, extracting 89. 99% of the components from the yak bones and perfectly locking in nutrients without destroying them. Upon seeing this text displayed by the system, Bai Xiaobai was so astonished she could hardly speak. Anyone who’s cooked before knows there’s one challenge when making bone broth. If simmered for too short a time, the nutrients in the bones won’t be extracted. If simmered for too long, the broth turns milky white—which looks appetizing, but in reality, most of the nutrients have already been destroyed. That’s why it’s so difficult to find the perfect balance when making pork rib soup or bone broth. In most ordinary households, less than 50% of the nutrients are actually extracted, resulting in a nutrient loss rate as high as 50%. I never expected that the system’s green double-layered clay pot could perfectly lock in nearly 90% of the nutrients—that’s truly unmatched. If this pot were put on the market, housewives would absolutely be fighting tooth and nail to snap it up.