Michelin Chef? Go squat in the backyard and peel garlic for me!

He was followed by a large group of foreigners.

The man in the lead was tall, with blond hair and blue eyes, and his high-raised chin exuded an innate arrogance.

Behind him were seven or eight serious-looking assistants, carrying constant-temperature water baths, precision temperature probes, and various molecular gastronomy equipment whose names he couldn't recall.

This is a team of Michelin three-star chefs that Jiang Jianguo chartered a plane from France to transport at great expense.

The man leading the group is none other than Pierre, a top chef renowned throughout Europe.

"Lin Mo, are you still carving that piece of wood?"

Jiang Jianguo cleared his throat, his voice booming, and strode to the eaves.

Lin Mo was sitting in a wicker chair.

He held a wood carving knife in his hand, slowly and methodically polishing a piece of agarwood intended for use as a wedding banquet decoration.

Wood shavings drifted gently down with the blade, releasing a faint, woody fragrance, and his movements exuded a natural, relaxed ease.

Upon hearing Jiang Jianguo's words, Lin Mo stopped carving and gently raised his head.

"Dad, why did you bring so many people?"

Jiang Jianguo pulled over a bamboo chair and sat down, behaving like a patriarch who cared for his younger relatives.

"I know your skills; they're truly impeccable."

"But there are so many banquets tomorrow, are you really going to be the only one wielding a ladle in the kitchen?"

"If I really exhaust you, Ruoyun will fight me to the death."

Jiang Jianguo pointed to Pierre's team behind him, a smug look on his face.

"That's why I specifically invited Pierre's team."

"A top-notch Michelin three-star team! With them assisting you and relieving some of the pressure, tomorrow's wedding banquet will be a complete success."

Lin Mo did not refute, but instead stood up and nodded politely to Pierre.

"Chef Pierre, is that right? You've come all this way, you must be tired from your journey."

As Pierre listened to the translator's account, his brows furrowed into a deep knot.

He arrogantly surveyed the quaint old house in Jiangnan, his eyes revealing undisguised pickiness and disdain.

To be an assistant?

Why would you send a Michelin three-star chef to work as an assistant to a young man in his early twenties in this run-down rural courtyard?

This is an insult to his career.

Pierre spoke rapidly in broken, arrogant French, his tone quite excited.

The translator next to him immediately cleared his throat and loudly relayed the message.

"Chef Pierre said that Mr. Jiang spent a lot of money to invite them to elevate the overall style of the wedding banquet."

"His team doesn't work as anyone's assistant."

"He demanded an immediate and complete takeover of the kitchen, along with the most thorough disinfection and a rearrangement of the workflow."

"Because Michelin's hygiene standards and operating procedures do not allow for even the slightest amateur intervention."

Jiang Ruoyun was sitting obediently next to Lin Mo, holding a small bowl in her hand, peeling fresh lotus seeds.

Upon hearing this arrogant translation, the young lady's almond-shaped eyes widened instantly.

She rolled her eyes without any politeness, threw down the lotus seeds, and clung to Lin Mo like a little tiger guarding its food.

She clung tightly to Lin Mo's arm, clinging to him, and stared at Pierre with disgust.

"What Michelin or not, why are you putting on airs at someone else's house?"

Jiang Ruoyun pursed her lips, her voice clear and melodious, yet full of aggression.

"As soon as I walked in, there was a strong smell of industrial perfume that made me dizzy."

"My Lin Mo smells much better, like the sawdust on him. Does this foreigner even know what true sophistication is?"

Pierre didn't understand Chinese, but he understood the look of disdain in Jiang Ruoyun's eyes.

He was about to step forward and give a French kiss on the hand to show his gentlemanly manners and ease the awkwardness.

Jiang Ruoyun immediately shrank behind Lin Mo and spoke without any mercy.

"Don't touch me, my hands are clean, I just washed them."

Pierre's outstretched hand froze, and his expression instantly turned grim.

Lin Mo gently patted Jiang Ruoyun's hand to reassure her.

He looked at Pierre, his tone still calm and gentle, without the slightest hint of annoyance at being offended.

"Want to take over the kitchen? Sure."

Lin Mo casually pointed to the heavy wooden door deep in the courtyard.

"However, there are several elders inside helping to prepare the dishes."

"Keep your voices down when you go in, don't startle them."

Pierre snorted coldly, completely disregarding Lin Mo's instructions.

An elder? Helping to prepare the food?

In the eyes of this Michelin three-star chef, this kind of family-run kitchen assistant is simply a trampling on the art of cooking.

With a wave of his hand, he led his elite team and strode towards the kitchen.

Jiang Jianguo originally meant well by asking for help, and also wanted to show off his abilities.

But he still followed behind with a cheerful smile, wanting to see what kind of trouble these foreigners could cause.

Pierre walked to the kitchen door and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

A warm steam mixed with a faint smell of smoke instantly wafted over.

The spacious kitchen was not as dirty and messy as Pierre had imagined.

The large red brick stove was spotless, and the huge solid wood cutting board was polished to a shine.

But what made Pierre frown instantly were the three people in the kitchen.

Three unremarkable old men with full heads of white hair.

They occupied the three most central areas of the kitchen.

One person was chopping vegetables at the cutting board, another was tending the fire at the stove, and yet another was sitting on a small stool in the corner, slowly peeling green beans.

There were no sophisticated instruments, no standardized measuring cups, and not even a timer.

This was an absolute disaster!

Pierre's professionalism made him unable to tolerate the scene before him.

He strode to the stove and looked down at the old man tending the fire.

The old man held a large wooden spoon in his hand, leisurely staring at a large earthenware pot bubbling in front of him.

Pierre snatched the infrared thermometer from his assistant.

A beam of red light shone directly onto the outer wall of the casserole.

The thermometer emitted a rapid alarm.

Pierre frowned and began to reprimand loudly in French.

The translator quickly followed, his voice sounding particularly jarring in the kitchen.

"Chef Pierre said the temperature of the soup kept fluctuating, a fatal mistake in making French stock!"

"The proteins in the food will be completely destroyed at such unstable temperatures."

"This is an absolute waste, a crime against top-quality ingredients!"

The old man tending the fire picked at his ear, seemingly a little hard of hearing.

He turned his head and looked at Pierre with a puzzled expression.

The old man completely ignored the flashing thermometer.

He turned around again, picked up the large wooden ladle in his hand, and gently skimmed off a tiny amount of foam from the casserole.

That is, at the very moment the wooden spoon is stirred and the pot lid is completely lifted.

An aroma, intensely rich yet refreshingly clear, burst forth like a beast breaking free from its cage, shattering the air in the kitchen.

Pierre's words came to an abrupt halt.

He sniffed sharply, a deep sense of confusion flashing in his azure eyes.

How can this smell so good?!

Pierre strode forward, ignoring the scalding heat from the casserole, and looked directly into it.

Based on his experience, the source of this rich aroma must be a pot of thick, white broth that has been simmered until it becomes cloudy.

However, when his gaze fell on the inside of the casserole, he froze instantly.

There was no bubbling, thick white broth in the casserole.

There was only one pot of crystal-clear, transparent liquid, as clear as spring water.

But beneath this layer of clear, mirror-like broth lies an abyss, containing an unparalleled umami flavor woven from old hen, Jinhua ham, and dried scallops.

"This defies the common sense of molecular gastronomy!"

Pierre gasped in surprise, forgetting to speak French, and blurted out broken Chinese.

He stared intently at the pot of soup, his mind racing.

Without any sophisticated instruments, he could tell just by looking at the eyes and smell how incredibly pure the soup was.

To simmer the complex meat and fish until it becomes completely transparent, this is called "sweeping the soup" in Chinese cuisine.

Minced chicken breast and lean pork are needed to absorb impurities from the soup under specific heat conditions.

The control over the heat needs to be so precise that it is difficult for ordinary people to understand.

Adding too much will make the broth cloudy, while subtracting too little will result in insufficient flavor.

This is something that cold, impersonal machines and incubators simply cannot produce!

The old man tending the fire smiled and took a small porcelain bowl, ladling in half a spoonful of clear soup.

He casually handed the bowl to Pierre, speaking in a nonchalant tone.

"Hey young man, don't just look, why don't you try some?"

Pierre hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took the bowl of still steaming water.

He took a deep breath, brought the rim of the bowl to his lips, and took a small sip.

The moment the soup slides down your throat.

Pierre's pupils suddenly contracted to the size of pinpoints.

fresh!

Pure umami without any impurities or unnecessary seasoning!

It is the original flavor of the ingredients that is elevated to a higher level through high temperature and clarification techniques.

His prized French-style broth, in contrast to this seemingly plain bowl of water, was so murky and greasy it tasted like dishwater.

Pierre's hand, holding the porcelain bowl, began to tremble uncontrollably.

His pride and confidence were shattered by this mouthful of soup noodles.

Standing by the stove, Jiang Jianguo looked at Pierre's dumbfounded expression and felt a surge of emotions welling up inside him.

He swallowed hard and craned his neck to peek into the casserole.

The overpowering aroma wafted straight into his nostrils, making his stomach rumble loudly.

But the richest man can't lose face.

Jiang Jianguo forced himself to remain composed, cleared his throat, and tried to break the awkward silence.

"Heh, it's just a pot of clear soup."

"Chef Pierre, show them your true skills, don't just stand there dumbfounded!"

Pierre seemed not to hear Jiang Jianguo's words.

He slowly turned his head, his gaze fixed on another old man in front of the chopping board.

The old man was looking down, holding a large, heavy-looking traditional cleaver in his hand.

On the cutting board was a piece of the most ordinary soft and tender tofu.

Pierre took a deep breath, trying to salvage some of Michelin's dignity from this place.

Tofu is the most fragile ingredient, and in Western cuisine it is usually only used to make purees or mousses.

This old man actually wanted to use such a heavy knife to cut it?

That's just amateurish!

However, the next second.

The old man moved the kitchen knife in his hand.

There was no deafening chopping sound, only the very faint tapping sound of the knife blade hitting the wooden cutting board.

The rhythm was as fast as a storm, yet as steady as a precise metronome.

Pierre couldn't even see the blade rise and fall.

All that could be seen was the old man's wrist trembling slightly, but his upper body remained as steady as a mountain.

A few seconds later, the old man stopped what he was doing.

The piece of tofu remained squarely on the cutting board, seemingly unchanged.

Pierre was about to open his mouth to laugh.

The old man had already placed the cleaver flat on the cutting board, and with a gentle scoop, he steadily lifted the entire block of tofu.

Next to it was a white porcelain basin filled with clean water.

The old man flicked his wrist, and the tofu slid into the water.

The miracle happened at that moment.

Under the rippling water, the originally square piece of tofu looked like a blooming white chrysanthemum.

Countless shredded tofu instantly dispersed in the water!

Each strand is as thin as a hair, swaying gently with the water flow, even, delicate, and continuous.

Not a single one broke.

Pierre gasped, staggered back two steps, and slammed his back heavily against his incubator.

The foreign assistants behind Pierre simultaneously gasped in disbelief.

They watched with their own eyes as the old man brought down the knife.

Not a single cent off, not a single cent off.

Cut the fibers of the food without damaging its physical structure.

This legendary Eastern knife-making technique turned Pierre's precision knives into nothing more than a pile of scrap metal.

The entire Michelin team's reputation was utterly destroyed at that moment.

They are proud of their sophistication, scientific approach, and standardization.

These old men, who weren't even wearing chef's hats, mercilessly pressed and rubbed him to the ground.

Pierre's face turned bright red, and fine beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead.

His professional competence became a complete joke here.

He lowered his head in shame, the arrogant air of taking control that he had when he first entered was gone.

Just as the kitchen fell into a deathly silence.

Steady footsteps came from outside the door.

Lin Mo carried in a basin of freshly washed, vibrant green bamboo shoots, walking in with a leisurely gait.

Jiang Ruoyun followed him like a little tail, craning her neck to look inside, her eyes full of sly anticipation of a good show.

Lin Mo placed the bamboo shoots on the cutting board and smiled as she looked at Pierre, whose face was ashen.

"Chef Pierre, I forgot to introduce you earlier."

Lin Mo's voice was gentle and calm, unhurried and without any hint of boasting.

He pointed to the old man who was cutting out Wensi tofu.

"This is Elder Zhou. Before retiring, he managed state banquets for thirty years."

Then, he pointed to the old man watching the fire in front of the stove.

"This is Mr. Li. His boiled cabbage in clear broth is so famous that if he says he's second best in the country, no one dares to claim to be first."

Finally, Lin Mo glanced at the old man sitting on the stool, still slowly peeling green beans.

"That's Master Zhao, a true descendant of a family of imperial chefs."

Lin Mo turned around and looked at the foreign chefs who had completely frozen into stone statues.

His tone remained polite and courteous, even carrying a hint of humility befitting a junior.

"These elderly folks had a simple meal that I cooked for them in Beijing a while ago."

They insisted that my cooking was to their liking and wanted to become my friend despite our age difference.

"Hearing that I'm getting married tomorrow, several prominent figures came all the way from afar, worried that I wouldn't be able to handle everything on my own."

Lin Mo smiled and added.

"They're here to help me prepare for tomorrow's banquet."

Lin Mo finished speaking.

The entire kitchen fell into an even more terrifying silence than before.

A retired master of state banquets!

And there are three of them!

Coming to this old courtyard in Jiangnan to work as an assistant for a young man in his twenties?!

Pierre felt as if his worldview had been devastated by a nuclear attack.

Looking at these three titans whose names he had only heard in the highest-level internal communication videos, his legs went completely weak.

Compared to the unfathomable depth and profound heritage of Chinese cuisine, his meager Michelin stars are simply a joke.

Several old men smiled kindly as they watched Lin Mo walk in.

"Kobayashi, you've finally made it in."

Old Zhou put down the kitchen knife and joked with a smile.

"These foreigners started shouting as soon as they came in, and they were so noisy that I could barely hold my hand while cutting tofu."

Old Li also came over with his soup bowl.

"That's right, we old guys came here to learn how to put together your wedding banquet. Don't hold back tomorrow, kid."

Lin Mo smiled helplessly.

"Gentlemen, you flatter us. We will need your presence again tomorrow."

Lin Mo turned his head and looked at Pierre's team, whose faces were flushed red and who wished they could disappear into the ground.

He didn't mock or kick someone when they were down; he simply offered a kind suggestion.

"Chef Pierre, as my dad just said, you're here to help relieve some of the pressure."

Lin Mo pointed casually.

He pointed to a dimly lit corner in the backyard.

"Several large baskets of purple-skinned garlic and freshly picked scallions were just delivered over there."

"Tomorrow's banquet will require a lot of garlic, and peeling garlic is a delicate task; you can't damage the skin of the garlic cloves."

Lin Mo's tone was clearly one of discussion, yet it carried an absolute aura that left no room for resistance.

"I'll have to trouble you guys to squat in the backyard for a bit."

"Can you peel the garlic and wash the scallions?"

How could Pierre dare to utter a single complaint?

All he wants now is to stay here and watch these masters cook for a little longer.

This proud Michelin three-star chef, along with his elite team, quietly put down the infrared thermometer in his hand.

The group of people lowered their heads and slunk out of the warm kitchen.

They went to the backyard and each found a small wooden stool to squat down on.

Top French chefs embarked on their tedious and arduous garlic-peeling journey.

Jiang Jianguo stood by the stove, watching this scene, completely numb.

He originally wanted to find a top-notch team to show off his abilities and, incidentally, help his son-in-law.

The result was good.

The foreign chef I hired at great expense is now reduced to a menial worker washing scallions and peeling garlic for the banquet.

Even more deadly is...

The broth from Old Li's boiled cabbage soup was so delicious!

That savory aroma, so intense it seemed to penetrate right into Jiang Jianguo's nose.

Jiang Jianguo's mouth watered as he smelled the aroma.

His cravings had been completely aroused, and he was so greedy that he had no limits.

But just now he was putting on airs like a superior father-in-law.

If he were to ask for a piece of soup now, where would he put his face as the richest man?

Jiang Jianguo could only stand there awkwardly.

He reached out and scratched his scalp, which wasn't actually itchy.

His eyes darted around, pretending to admire the wood grain on the kitchen ceiling, trying to hide his incredibly awkward mood.

Jiang Ruoyun, watching her father's ridiculous stubbornness, couldn't help but cover her mouth and chuckle.

Lin Mo saw through it but didn't say anything.

He walked to the cutting board and picked up a clean white porcelain bowl.

With extremely natural movements, she scooped half a bowl of clear soup from the casserole, walked to Jiang Jianguo, and steadily handed it to him.

"Dad, you've really gone to great lengths for tomorrow's wedding banquet."

Lin Mo's voice was steady, giving him ample opportunity to back down.

"The broth is freshly made. Could you please taste it and see if it suits the taste for tomorrow's banquet?"

Jiang Jianguo's eyes lit up, and he immediately went along with it.

"Well, since you're so eager to learn, I'll reluctantly help you with your assessment!"

He snatched the porcelain bowl and eagerly took a big gulp.

He was slurping from the heat, but his face showed an expression of utter satisfaction and bliss, muttering something like "barely passable."

The noisy kitchen gradually quieted down, and the moon rose above the willow branches.

Tomorrow is the wedding day, but on this night, there are some things that must be clarified between the two men.