Rewinding time to a few minutes ago.
Taking advantage of the moment Gu Qiumian left.
Zhang Shutong felt someone kick him with the tip of their shoe under the table.
"You've been here before?" Ruoping leaned toward him and asked. "Is it very expensive?"
"A bit cheaper than Pizza Hut," Zhang Shutong said.
"Oh." She looked up at the ceiling, appearing to do a conversion in her head.
Pizza Hut was naturally not cheap either, but everything was relative. The prestige of this intimidating Italian restaurant dropped significantly in an instant.
Zhang Shutong added, "I didn't finish what I was saying earlier. This owner is a chef who changed careers halfway through, so he's inexplicably meticulous about certain things. Look at that wine cabinet—the wine inside rarely exceeds a hundred yuan. The kind we just ordered is already considered quite expensive."
"Really?" Ruoping said in a low voice. "I thought those foreign wines were all very expensive. Du Kang said just now that these kinds of restaurants make the bulk of their money from alcohol fees."
"That's judging by standard logic, but here is different. The owner is a foreigner. Look beneath the bar counter—there's even a fake fireplace. I remember reading a news story before about a foreigner who went back to his country and opened a restaurant where the specialty dishes were panda steaks, panda meat sauce, and panda meat patties. In reality, it was just because he really liked pandas. So it's perfectly normal for an Italian to like wine cabinets."
He added:
"The shop name is Pizzeria, which means the specialty dish is pizza. That's actually casual enough. Think about it—it's equivalent to some Dumpling City back home."
Ruoping burst into laughter upon hearing this:
"Who makes comparisons like you do?"
But she clearly relaxed a great deal.
In reality, from the moment they entered, this restaurant had exerted an invisible pressure on them. They were the only table of students. With the flickering candlelight and quiet murmurs, the imagined scene of sitting here should involve men wearing ties, women wearing light makeup, and waiters passing by with trays, as if they had suddenly stumbled into the adult world.
Ruoping was no longer restrained. She curiously sized up the restaurant's decor. One had to admit that the owner was indeed ingenious; a brass sailboat was placed right in the center of the restaurant. Zhang Shutong said she could go take a photo if she liked, and her eyes lit up as she pulled out her phone. Ruoping was a sucker for aesthetics and really liked things that looked beautiful and exquisite.
Zhang Shutong had actually told a small lie. Although the shop was called Pizzeria, the average price really wasn't cheap—it was easily at the Pizza Hut level, and reservations were required during peak hours. Take the wine they just ordered, for example; it was a white wine, and this kind of wine required a dedicated temperature-controlled cabinet to ensure its taste. Average places didn't have this kind of equipment. Maintaining such a large expense was impossible without sufficient profit.
Furthermore, although the owner was a chef who changed careers halfway through and the specialty dish was still pizza, he had a special fondness for wine—whether it was because he was eccentric or because all Italians were eccentric. That wine cabinet contained some rather expensive items—red wines produced by the Five Great Châteaux, with vintages all from the turn of the century.
Of course, Zhang Shutong's knowledge of wine ended there.
He spoke that way because he didn't want Ruoping to feel restricted; coming out to play was a very happy occasion. He looked at the girl's profile, thinking to himself that eight years later, the one treating them to meals had always been her, paying the bill with an effortless flair. He didn't want her to feel like a Cinderella.
By contrast, the remaining two were much more carefree, eating without a care since they had arrived. Right now, Du Kang and Qingyi were huddling their heads together, looking at a phone.
"I feel like those two are so thick-skinned," Ruoping put away her phone, propping her chin up as she said.
Zhang Shutong smiled and said she worried too much.
"Let me tell you, I almost didn't know how to answer just now when she asked if I wanted to drink," Ruoping said. "I felt that agreeing would be too extravagant, but refusing would be a total buzzkill. Luckily, it's not that expensive. And I feel a bit embarrassed, like Gu Qiumian is completely accommodating us. When I asked her what she liked to eat just now, she didn't say, just told us to go by our tastes."
Zhang Shutong nodded and said Gu Qiumian really was a good person.
Ruoping gave him a shove: "Stop joking, I'm talking business with you. When she comes back in a bit, let's ask her what movie she wants to watch. Don't forget."
"I suddenly remembered something. I'll be right back." Zhang Shutong saw Gu Qiumian walking toward them, then glanced toward the kitchen, estimating it was bustling with activity. Because the seasonal pizza was custom-made, it was usually the first to be put into the oven. If he didn't hurry with certain things, there wouldn't be enough time.
Only three people remained at the dining table. Ruoping spoke up again:
"You two should look up today's movies first so we can buy the tickets online."
"Okay," the two answered without raising their heads.
"By the way, is Chinese Zodiac out yet?" she asked again. "I want to watch Jackie Chan."
"Probably not," Qingyi said absentmindedly. "We have to wait until the 20th. Do you want to watch Ang Lee's movie?"
"Life of Pi? I heard from my friend that it's just average, a bit confusing. How about we watch 007?"
"Okay, hold on a second," Du Kang said while typing.
"Don't buy tickets for too late. Be careful not to miss the boat."
Ruoping thought to herself that they were finally acting sensible, but the brows of the two knitted tighter and tighter.
"Why is it taking so long?" Qingyi muttered to himself.
"Yeah, it really takes this long," Du Kang let out a sigh.
"Is it very long? Two hours should be enough, right?" Ruoping asked curiously.
"Ah, no," Du Kang raised his head. "We're talking about something else."
"What?"
"The time for the Grilled Beef Twister to be brought back on the menu."
"..."
"What are you guys talking about?" Gu Qiumian walked over at this moment.
"They're still researching the Grilled Beef Twister." Ruoping felt a deep sense of powerlessness.
"Is it very delicious?" Gu Qiumian asked.
"I think it's okay," Ruoping said helplessly. "They're exaggerating too much. Or maybe it's because it's discontinued and won't be available in the future?"
"That's not necessarily true," someone teased.
"I also think it will be brought back in the future," Du Kang chimed in. "But Qingyi is more pessimistic."
"The information online is all guesswork. I told you not to believe it; KFC doesn't even know themselves," Qingyi said calmly.
"Qiumian, why are you joining their discussion too?" Ruoping was thoroughly shocked, thinking to herself, Am I the only one who doesn't understand their brain logic?
"I was just speaking casually too." Gu Qiumian looked around discreetly. "By the way, where is that guy?"
...
On the other side, Antonio marinated the steak.
Chili sauce, chili sauce...
He muttered under his breath, finding a jar of chili sauce from the cabinet behind him.
Sriracha chili sauce, with the classic rooster design.
After living in China for so many years, this was the only chili sauce he could get used to eating.
Strictly speaking, this wasn't an ingredient in the restaurant, but something he ate himself.
He didn't know if it suited that girl's taste, but an Italian restaurant wouldn't regularly stock chili sauce as a raw material.
However, he rummaged for a long time without finding that lifesaver.
Uh-oh. He thought to himself that this bottle of chili sauce seemed to have been finished and hadn't been bought yet.
But what should he do since he had agreed to the customer's request?
Antonio was a man who kept his promises.
He let out a sigh and opened the freezer again.
Standing there was a glass jar, and on the glass jar was an older Chinese woman.
The Italian man thus locked eyes with the Chinese woman for a few seconds.
Antonio shrank back.
Is this really okay?
Making a Mexican-flavored Italian pizza using Chinese chili sauce?
He felt an invisible wall collapse in his heart.
He thought to himself, Antonio, ah, Antonio, why still insist on that useless integrity? Just walk out that door and tell that girl:
"I am sorry, beautiful young lady. Forgive my presumption, but I am truly unable to satisfy your request."
But a few minutes ago, he had answered with a smile, "Of course, no problem."
What was a romantic streak? A romantic streak was when you effortlessly achieved an impossible task, serving that pizza to the table and seeing the customers' surprised smiles. If it weren't for that smile, he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of writing a seasonal pizza option on the menu.
Was it a betrayal of his hometown's flavors or a promise to a lady? But both seemed to be things an Italian needed to uphold.
Just when he was feeling vexed, the curtain was lifted again. Antonio's hand cutting the dough paused, only to find that the newcomer was an unfamiliar youth.
The youth leaned against the doorframe. Antonio withdrew his gaze, and this time he spoke directly in Chinese:
"Sorry, the restaurant is very busy today. If you need anything, you can tell the waiter."
This time he was too lazy to use English to play that game of making the other party back off, instead telling him explicitly: No, please turn around and go back.
Unexpectedly, the youth was neither here to chat about pizza nor to talk to a foreigner. He merely brought up a photograph—one of his proudest works hanging on the restaurant's art wall.
"That aurora photo is very beautiful."
What surprised him even more was that the youth's English was not only fluent, but his accent was also standard British, not to mention that a word like "aurora" was not among commonly used English vocabulary at all.
Actually, all of this was okay. He knew many kids in China would take the IELTS and TOEFL exams, and some students spoke English more fluently than he did.
But the next words shocked him:
"That photo might not be your proudest work, but it should be your most unforgettable one. At the southern end of the Vatnajökull glacier, getting there requires taking an icebreaker. That magnificent light can only be captured in December when the nights are the longest. The coldest season in the coldest country in the world must have put a person through a lot of suffering."
"Of course, that is of course." Such words stirred Antonio's memories, and a smile instinctively surfaced on his face. "I still remember that the Toyota off-road vehicle broke down on the road, and my traveling companion and I waited for a full three hours before rescue arrived. But everything was worth it."
"Sir," he added, already instinctively changing "boy" to "sir," "if possible, I would love to sit down and chat with you about this beautiful world, but as you can see—"
He raised his flour-covered hands:
"This place is already full."
Zhang Shutong had anticipated this reaction. In fact, he hadn't wanted to drag it out so much either, but the subsequent request was definitely not as simple as adding a bit of seasoning to a pizza, but rather...
Fruit.
Zhang Shutong didn't know what fruit meant to an Italian—perhaps strawberry-filled dumplings?
This owner had quite a temper. Zhang Shutong remembered that when they had a group dinner before, a wealthy boss entered the door with his mistress. This boss's request was also very strange; he slapped a few banknotes on the table, refusing to eat anything else and specifically wanting a bowl of beef noodles, saying he just needed to do it and the money was sufficient. Yet he was thrown out by the owner. At that time, they were startled. The owner returned, waved his hand, and said in that somewhat non-standard Chinese that the man wasn't here to eat, which in Chinese terms is called looking for trouble, showing no respect for people at all.
Zhang Shutong had chatted with him quite a bit and more or less catered to his likes.
He added:
"The stylus of that record player is best suited for classical music. I would highly recommend switching to a piano piece rather than jazz. You've been to Japan and taken photos of the ancient temples there. You could try Ryuichi Sakamoto's piece about Christmas—serene, sorrowful, and lingering, and when it sublimates, it's like an undercurrent surging beneath the ice. This is a pure piece; December and the Iceland aurora go very well together."
Hearing this, Antonio was startled once again, thinking to himself, How are you Chinese people so full of hidden talents? Anyone who casually walks in knows what I'm thinking. In reality, he was currently asking someone to look for records of some pianists; record player records were the major component. Sometimes he had pieces he liked but suffered from being unable to find the right records.
"I will give it a try," he said with a bitter smile. "The time spent communicating with you is truly pleasant. I nearly forgot that I am in a kitchen rather than a café. If you have any requests, please tell me; I will try my best to satisfy them."
Yet this youth still didn't let up. Possessing insights that shouldn't belong to someone his age, he ungracefully leaped to the next topic:
"That '97 Margaux in the wine cabinet should be your prized possession? It is said that vintage was very special, with heavy rainfall. Clearly an estate in the Bordeaux region, yet the wine brewed that year uniquely had a bit of a Burgundy flavor profile. Some consider it a failed work, while others consider it a one-of-a-kind piece. You must be a person of unique taste."
Antonio turned completely serious.
The Margaux the other party mentioned was one of the famous Five Great Châteaux. Setting aside whether a boy looking like a student should know this kind of knowledge, his remaining insights alone proved that the other party had absolutely drunk this vintage of red wine. And more than one château.
Unfortunately, Antonio was not yet enough of a China hand; otherwise, he would have shouted out the phrase "you are simply the roundworm in my stomach" in deep emotion.
Antonio knew he was wrong.
He had misread the other party's intent. The youth before his eyes not only had a thorough understanding of world geography, but also held unique insights into music and red wine. He had originally thought the other party merely wanted to add some flavor combinations to the seasonal pizza, but the combinations coming from such a person's mouth were not just combinations.
Instead, it was a brand-new recipe.
The bursts of inspiration for gourmands often originated from this.
Now his mindset had completely changed. Antonio untied his apron. It was no longer helplessness or shock; he even faintly anticipated the suggestions coming from the youth's mouth. Yes, to him, this was a suggestion.
For someone with such rich insights, this could possibly be an excellent opportunity to improve a recipe.
Antonio made a gesture inviting him to speak, and then stared solemnly at the youth's face. The youth spoke slowly:
"I want to add some fruit. Is there any?"
"..."
Antonio suspected he had misheard.
Yes, he must have misheard. Italians were Catholic. He thought to himself, God, it can be blue cheese, it can be animal organs, or even this jar of Lao Gan Ma beside my hand, but what the hell is fruit?
Could it be that the recipe I am anticipating is the so-called Hawaiian pizza?
But wo ta ma am an Italian!
Zhang Shutong thought to himself that it was about to go south; this foreigner was already dazed. He struck while the iron was hot:
"I have a friend who likes a mix of salty and sweet flavors, and she also likes to eat fruit-flavored pizza. So just improve it slightly on the original basis, and leave the rest to your free discretion."
He thought about Pizza Hut's fruit pizza, which was just pineapple slices with a few ham slices added.
"Just that?" After a long while, Antonio asked blankly.
"Just that."
Antonio understood everything now.
It turned out this youth and that girl from just now were at the same table. He thought to himself, on the verge of tears, Then say it together, alright? Stop torturing this foreigner.
"Are you certain the requirements from before remain unchanged?"
The requirements from before?
Zhang Shutong was puzzled as to what requirements, then quickly understood. He seemed to have said to let the other party improvise the rest, so he said:
"Unchanged."
"Okay," Antonio looked at the canned fruit in the cabinet and gritted his teeth.
...
When Zhang Shutong returned to his seat, everyone was playing rock-paper-scissors, and whoever lost had to drink.
That seasonal pizza finally had a destination. This could be considered doing a good deed without leaving a name in a certain sense. He highly anticipated Gu Qiumian's reaction upon seeing the pizza in a bit.
Unfortunately, on this timeline he shouldn't know about this matter; otherwise, why would he need to beat around the bush and put in so much effort? He would have discussed it with her when ordering the food.
Yet another piece of memory that no longer existed.
"Your turn, your vote!" Gu Qiumian waved her hand and said. She was very excited upon returning from the restroom, her eyes blinking repeatedly. "You're so slow. We've all drunk, it's just you left."
Zhang Shutong joined the finger-guessing army. Amidst the talking and laughing, the appetizing starter was served—a very simple salad, but garnished with caviar. Zhang Shutong chewed on a piece of lettuce, threw rock, and was surrounded by four papers.
Accepting the loss as a gambler should.
He picked up the goblet and drained it in one draft. It was just that he had miscalculated his tolerance; in his memory, this was just sweet water. Perhaps it was due to a lack of sleep today, but after three glasses of wine entered his stomach, Zhang Shutong felt a bit dizzy.
Looking at Gu Qiumian again, a flush had surfaced on her cheeks. She was playing wildly enough today, enthusiastically calling the waiter to check another bottle. Zhang Shutong originally wanted to say never mind, but he felt a wave of dizziness and simply slumped over the table to rest for a bit.
"Want to make a bet?" In his dazed state, the fragrance from the girl drifted into his nostrils.
Zhang Shutong raised his head. "What?"
"I'll give you a surprise in a bit," Gu Qiumian muttered.
"A surprise?"
"Secret."
Yawning, Zhang Shutong asked what surprise it was. "You haven't bought the movie tickets already, have you?"
"I told you it's a secret. You'll know in a bit."
"How long?"
"Hmm," Gu Qiumian tapped her chin with her finger. "The whole day today counts."
"Then I'll have a surprise in a bit too?"
"Goodness, I am serious. Stop copying my words."
Zhang Shutong thought to himself that he was serious too, but he didn't plan to explain; she would know in a bit.
This "in a bit" arrived very quickly.
The five of them finished the wine, laid out their tableware, and finished the appetizing salad. At this moment, a golden-haired Italian man walked out of the kitchen.
"This must be the head chef, right?" Du Kang asked in a low voice.
"It looks like he really is an Italian?" Qingyi also said.
"I feel it's definitely different from Pizza Hut's pizza. We can be considered to be eating authentic Italian flavors now." Holding his fork, Du Kang looked on with anticipation, only to be slapped by Ruoping as she extended her hand upon seeing this.
Thus, under everyone's expectant gazes, Zhang Shutong raised his head at the perfect moment. He spared Gu Qiumian a glance, originally intending to carefully observe her subsequent expression, but Gu Qiumian also just happened to spare him a glance.
Zhang Shutong withdrew his gaze, thinking to himself, The number of times you've looked at me today seems a bit too high. At this moment, Antonio's voice drew his attention away.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce today's seasonal pizza."
Antonio lifted the lid expressionlessly, saying in his somewhat non-standard Chinese:
"Lao Gan Ma, beef, and nata de coco flavor."