The Rise and Fall of the Last Imperial Cook

4. Walking While the Oil Is Dripping

Translator: Lao Xinxian

Proofread by Peter Gong

“Likely, your dish was not tasted by his Majesty at all,” says Mr. Weng, who comes in a rush.

“So I may have made the ribs successfully, and the dish could be tasty enough to please His Majesty. Unfortunately, His Majesty hasn’t tried it. Mr. Weng, am I right?” Xu Zhiwei is happy. At least, according to Mr. Weng, he knows that actually his dish isn’t a failure.

“Absolutely right! With its natural taste and a little appetizing acidity, it should have delighted His Majesty. But what matters is not the quality of the dish, but whether it can be eaten by His Majesty. It is because you are too honest and frank in daily life, always conflicting with people; those who dislike you will never give you a chance. Moreover, only you cooks of the Imperial Kitchen will be punished if the Feast fails. Nothing will happen to the cooks of the Pass-through Room and those followers of the Emperor and the Empress Dowager.”

“When my dish entered the Pass-through Room and was placed on the table, it was directly under their nose. How can they prevent His Majesty and her Highness from tasting it? The ribs I made look glittering, shiny, and attractive. Even if the servants didn’t pick them up, His Majesty and Her Highness should have tasted the dish when they saw it.” Xu Zhiwei finds it hard to imagine why his dish wasn’t eaten even though it had been placed on the table.

“I just knew the tips from eunuchs in Hall of Literary Brilliance. In fact, not only the cookery in the Imperial Kitchen but also what happens in the Pass-through Room is quite an art. There are so many dishes for each meal, which are held in different vessels respectively; and a vessel may have several variants. Plates may come in the forms of disks, flat plates and compotes. To place all the vessels of varying shapes and sizes on the table, overlapping and stacking up are inevitable. Therefore, the nannies and maids of pass-through have their own ways of arrangement to place all the dishes beautifully, as though they were a miniature landscape. The previous emperors appreciated such an arrangement, that’s why despite the increasing dishes, the table here remains the same.”

“The technique of arrangement! You are right. Actually, it should be part of the art of cooking, which is about color, smell, taste and shape. The arrangement of a dish and the choice of vessels have much to do with color and shape.” Xu Zhiwei’s obsession with cooking is aroused immediately, which makes the man completely forget his dangerous situation.

“However, because of such a technique of arrangement, those nannies and maids can make use of the shape of vessels, the way of arrangement, the location, and angle of the placed dishes so that even though some dishes are on the table, they fail to be noticed by His Majesty and Her Highness and their servants. I heard that the common way is ‘Hidden by Heights’ — putting the highest row in the front and the lowest row closely behind, by which they can hide several dishes at a time. There are also ‘Covered by Surroundings’ and ‘Hidden by Dish Placing’. The former lets a few compotes surround a dish in a large vessel, while the latter stacks up many plates and bowls to hide a high pot or a high bowl. Last but not least, there is ‘Center Covered by Spiral Placing’ — piling up plates and bowls in a proper order spirally so that the one in the center will be covered completely.”

“There are so many tricks. These nannies and maids are quite light-handed.”

“They are not only light-handed but also good at using their noses.”

“Brush (In Chinese, the word “nose” pronounces like “bi”, the same as brush.)? Is there a need to write something?”

“It is not ‘brush’ but ‘nose’, our organ. These nannies and maids of pass-through also have a unique technique of using their noses. They never try these numerous dishes, but they smell every dish. Therefore, they know perfectly well the smell of a certain dish, and to what extent it smells. If necessary, they can not only hide it by means of the arrangement, but also cover its aroma, or confuse it with the others by putting it next to other strong-flavored dishes, so that the masters will miss its scent or lose their appetite.” Mr. Weng introduces another inconceivable technique.

“Oh! They can juggle with the aroma of dishes. No wonder every trade has its master. There are masters in even the aspect of pass-through and arrangement of dishes, let alone cooking.” Sighs Xu Zhiwei.

Mr. Weng pauses and remembers something, “What’s more, after the dishes enter the Pass-through Room, they will be sampled by eunuchs for fear that they are poisoned. The eunuchs are merely test subjects for potential toxins, but their expression after foretaste can be a hint. If a dish is not tasty, they will show a pained look, and then the dish will be placed at the end of the table, while the servants will not pick that dish. Besides, His Majesty and Her Highness sometimes will also pay attention to the expression of these eunuchs. Even if a dish is excellent, His Majesty will not choose it if eunuchs show a misleading look of disgust. So, it’s the jack-in-office that causes problems. If you want to let your dish be tasted by His Majesty, you even need to appease eunuchs who foretaste dishes. Yes, ‘To Emperor’s Taste Feast’ seems to give every cook an opportunity, however, as for you, you just get the opportunity of cooking. You get stuck in the process of pass-through and serving.”

“Then what should I do?”

“The current situation is somewhat dangerous. Tomorrow will be the last day of the Feast. If there isn’t any dish stimulating His Majesty’s appetite and Her Highness is enraged, your career, and even your life will be ruined.” Mr. Weng is warning Xu Zhiwei what really deserves his attention.

“His Majesty will like the dish I make. Mr. Weng, you have tasted it, and you know His Majesty best, am I right? Please find a way to do me a favor, and let His Majesty taste the ribs. Please.” Only now does Xu Zhiwei realize the desperate situation.

“I know that the ribs you make are really great. His Majesty should like it particularly. However, although I am the tutor of his Majesty, according to the rules, I can’t interfere in the affairs of the palace, let alone telling His Majesty what should be eaten. Besides, just as the second case I mentioned before, I don’t think it will be absolutely a good thing if your dish pleases His Majesty. Therefore, I suggest you should teach some other cook who gets along well with the Pass-through Room the recipe, enabling him to make this dish and serve it to please His Majesty, so that your cooks in the Imperial Kitchen can get off. In case there is anything wrong after His Majesty tastes it, you don’t need to shoulder the responsibility.” Mr. Weng’s suggestion sounds wise and reasonable. But it seems to ruin Xu’s good fortune and frame someone else at the same time.

“My dish has no problem in the choice of ingredients and combination. It is flavorful, with a moderate mix of sweetness and acidity, while the ribs and oil are neither cold nor warm in property. It solely caters to the age and constitution of His Majesty. I know that your advice is beneficial to me. In ordinary times, it doesn’t matter if I teach other cooks the recipe. I am not a stingy person, and we often teach and learn from each other. However, I design this dish for no one else but His Majesty. It will be a regret for me If I can’t make it and serve it by myself.”

Xu Zhiwei pauses for a while. Then he sighs deeply and continues, “I left my wife, my parents and my hometown to learn cooking when I just got married. Without any achievement, I can’t return home with honor, that’s why I have been here for many years. Perhaps this Feast will be the only opportunity in my life. If I miss it, I will certainly be regretful for the rest of my life! Let me think, let me think it over, there should be another way out.” These words show how Xu Zhiwei really feels. Actually, he still cares about this opportunity of success, only with which can he return to see his parents and wife, and compensate for his family. After all, he has left them behind and neglected them for a long time.

Mr. Weng shakes his head. He has long known that what is Xu Zhiwei like in their interactions. The obsession with cooking is both a blessing and a curse to him. Xu Zhiwei can’t have such good cooking skills if he were not obsessed with it. However, most of the obsessives are stubborn, they can’t understand or integrate themselves with worldly wisdom. In fact, every parent or wife is just looking forward to seeing their son or their husband, they won’t mind whether he returns with fortune or fame. But an obsessive man is hard to persuade unless he meets successive hard blows.

“By the way, you mentioned that they cover or confuse the aroma of a dish while serving dishes. That reminds me. May I work at this aspect to attract His Majesty’s attention?”

Xu Zhiwei murmurs with a dull look, lost in thought. He vaguely feels that there are numerous barriers in front of him. Although he breaks down the barrier of cooking temporarily, there are still barriers in terms of serving and setting a dish. How can his dish be known and seen by His Majesty? Xu thinks that the smell should be the key to success.

Mr. Weng pats on Xu Zhiwei’s shoulder, “Don’t be hard on yourself. Only when you give up something trivial, can you obtain something more valuable. Make a final decision as early as possible.” Saying that, he leaves without disturbing Xu Zhiwei, who is too absent-minded to notice what happens — Xu Zhiwei has immersed himself in striving to break those barriers of serving and setting dishes.

On the third day, the atmosphere of the ‘Feast to the Emperor’s Taste’ grows tense. What General Director Fu said last night has put everyone in the Imperial Kitchen in a do-or-die situation, so today’s dishes are refined in the extreme. Those in favor with the emperor and Empress Dowager assume they won’t be punished and they just make dishes they are best at and are the simplest, while those don’t have any specialty and are not important in the Kitchen try every means possible to make dishes with distinctive color, smell, taste and shape. They lose their inhibitions and uses their ace in the hole. If it is successful, they will have a meteoric rise; otherwise, they will have to resign themselves to the will of Heaven.

Xu Zhiwei looks dull since yesterday. When preparing ingredients the next day, he still seems muddleheaded. But no one pays attention to him, for everyone is busy with their own work. Only De Gonggong and Head Chef notice that Xu Zhiwei orders the third, fourth row of ribs of a one-year-old piglet. The two snort contemptuously. However, they do not notice that it is different from the first two days, and this time, Xu Zhiwei also orders two crushed pork marrowbones.

Before the Feast begins, the Imperial Kitchen is noisy, but there is no sound of talk but merely clangs of pots, ladles, knives and slices. It is a bustle with concentration and nervousness, a bustle on tenterhooks.

Xu Zhiwei is the only one who is not busy. He stands in front of the cooking range, with his face dim or distinct mysteriously because of the flickering fire. He seems to be deliberating, conceiving, and fantasizing.

In the past, there were two kinds of hearth — in cooks’ jargon, the Heaven Hearth and the Earth Hearth. The former one is designed for cooking, while the latter one for stewing. The two are different in terms of their main bodies, the openings, the blast and ash discharge configuration because of their utilities, and the fire should also be lighted in different ways.

When everyone starts making preparations, Xu Zhiwei also dully puts a simmer pot on the Earth Hearth, stewing water and the crushed pork marrowbones. But he lights the fire in a way neither for making soup nor for seasoning: instead of using a quick fire to remove the additional smell and scum, or using a slow fire to braise until the marrowbones turn white, he keeps simmering it over moderate heat, as if he forgets to move a pot of boiled water away from the hearth.

The Imperial Kitchen has been filled with aromas. Those dishes completed earliest are removed from the heat and placed in plates. Their aromas float, spiral, diffuse, and gradually fade away.

Xu Zhiwei lifts his head slightly, sniffing at the aromas in the air with his eyes closed, as if he is enjoying them. Actually, what he enjoys most is the smell of his stewed marrowbones. It is really a full aroma, an unusual, penetrating aroma despite the normal ingredients.

More and more dishes are removed from the heat. The various aromas in the Kitchen are thicker; they mix and fill the whole space. But Xu Zhiwei can still tell the aroma of marrowbones in so many mixed fragrances. He seems to enjoys it.

Suddenly, his eyes open and are sparkling. Then he comes back to life. No! He does not merely come back to life. He is energetic from head to foot.

It is somewhat strange that after Xu Zhiwei opens his eyes, what he does first is to scoop up a spoon of oil and pour it on a duster cloth beside the hearth. Then he quickly opens the simmer pot, out of which comes an aroma of bone soup. Indeed, this soup isn’t good enough: its color is not white but muddy, and its taste must be not good enough, either. But it is really fragrant — the moderate heat has completely extracted the marrow in the bone.

When this sole aroma of bones is about to dispel other aromas of dishes, Xu Zhiwei sends the washed ribs into the simmer pot with a wive-screen ladle. Unexpectedly, today he uses the method of “Mao” rather than the normal method of frying ribs without blanching in water. Mao is another jargon of cooks, which means blanching. The difference is that Xu Zhiwei doesn’t blanch the ribs in water but in the fragrant bone soup.

This process is so short that when the blanched ribs are picked up from the simmer pot, merely six drops of oil have dripped from the cloth.

Then it is time for Xu Zhiwei to open the furnace mouth, to put the pot on the stove, to clean it, to feel the oil’s temperature with his face, to put each processed rib into the oil one by one… He does all the steps deftly without any useless additional movement, while each movement matches the pace of oil dripping from the cloth.

At this moment, the dishes of other cooks are ready. The cooks clear away and leave with their trays, following Fu Gonggong toward the Pass-through Room quickly. As for Xu Zhiwei, even though his ribs are also put in the pot, it seems to be too late for him to send his dish into the Pass-through Room.

Before the ribs are fried, Xu has started boiling sauce juice in another pot. At this time, the 36th drop of oil has just dripped from the cloth.

The fried ribs are placed in the Cloud-colored Porcelain Bowl. The sauce juice is boiled soon. But this time, Xu Zhiwei doesn’t let the sauce juice cover ribs. Instead, he puts the juice in a Twig with “Shou” (which means ‘Longevity’ in Chinese) Inscribed Pot and covers it with the lid. As for the vinegar and oil that should be poured over the ribs, Xu Zhiwei has added vinegar as soon as the sauce juice is boiled, and has poured oil after the sauce juice has been put in the pot.

When he comes out of the Imperial Kitchen quickly, holding the Cloud-colored Porcelain Bowl and the Twig with “Shou” Inscribed Pot with a tray, the 58th drop of oil has just dripped from the cloth.

Xu Zhiwei takes many quick tiny steps along the winding corridor. When he arrives at the Pass-through Room, the dish of the last cook has just been sent into the room. He manages to arrive before the pass-through finishes. At this time, the 72nd drop of oil has just dripped from the cloth.

He lowers his head, and stoops down, waiting with his tray. When the former dish is sent, another nurse of pass-through comes out. She gives him a contemptuous look and reaches out for the tray reluctantly.

“Wait a minute.” When she takes the tray, Xu Zhiwei whispers. Then, before the nurse reacts, he has opened the two lids and poured all the sauce juice over the fried ribs.

The ribs are still hot and sizzling. The sauce juice is hotter. For the oil Xu Zhiwei poured at last has covered it, it is bubbling. The sauce juice sizzles slightly when it meets the ribs. Instantly, a thick, penetrating sweet-soured smell comes out of the bowl and floats away, along with the aroma of oil and bones.

The maid freezes — she is puzzled by Xu Zhiwei’s inexplicable movement; she is startled by the slight sizzle; what’s more, she is amazed by the aroma pouring into her nose. The aroma seems to try inspiring something in her, which gives her several feelings of peace, happiness and relaxation.

“What’s that?” The little emperor stands up. As a child, he sniffs the strong aroma out more sensitively. His word jolts the pass-through nurse into action, who asks Xu Zhiwei hurriedly, “What’s your dish?” Xu Zhiwei looks up and blurts out, “Neon Covering Golden Beams!”

At this time, in the Imperial Kitchen, the 81st drop of oil has just dripped from the cloth. Everything is there.