Chapter 304: White-Cut Chicken and Peach Blossom Wine
White-Cut Chicken. The name alone conjures the image of a legendary dish. It appears simple, its name unadorned, but its true nature is anything but.
It also goes by another name: White-Sliced Chicken. In its earliest incarnation, it was a far cry from the delicacy known today. The original meaning was brutally literal: take a whole chicken, boil it in plain water, and eat it whenever you pleased. That was the dish in its most primal form.
Of course, such a preparation relied entirely on the innate quality of the chicken itself—its tenderness, its freshness. But as with all things in the vast culinary tradition of China, its story is one of inheritance. Generation after generation, the craft was passed down; generation after generation, it was refined.
The process was one of purification, of discarding the dross not just to extract the essence, but to elevate it. White-Cut Chicken is the perfect embodiment of this philosophy. Over the long river of history, its status soared as it underwent countless improvements.
What began with a simple pinch of salt and MSG evolved to incorporate the foundational "three brothers"—scallion, ginger, and garlic. Then came cooking wine, a touch of white sugar, and chicken powder. Each new ingredient was a brushstroke, transforming the canvas of the original dish. The result is what we have today: a dish that still bears the name White-Sliced Chicken, yet has ascended to a plane far beyond its humble origins.
And yet, for all these additions, the chicken's soul remains untouched. Its flavor has not been muddled or masked by the condiments; it is as fresh, as clean, and as exquisitely smooth as ever. This is its inherent quality, a deliciousness so deep that even time itself cannot wash it away.
The Sanhuang chicken, the undisputed star of this culinary stage, did not disappoint. Its meat was supple and tender, and after a gentle poaching, a layer of glistening, yellow skin draped over the pure white flesh. Lifting a piece revealed distinct, beautiful layers—a proof of its perfect preparation.
White-Cut Chicken is a peculiar dish. Beyond its simple cooking method, which focuses entirely on preserving the chicken's natural freshness, it employs a technique many other dishes would never dare: after being slowly cooked to perfection, it is immediately plunged into an ice bath for two to three minutes.
A dish at the peak of its heat is instantly transformed into a cold one. This step is the most critical of all. Without this sudden shock, the chicken skin would never achieve its signature elasticity and satisfying snap.
Clow Reed picked up a piece, dipping it into a sauce whose heart was sand ginger. Droplets of sesame oil glistened on the yellow skin, tracing paths down to the meat below, which had become even more firm and crisp from the rapid cooling. He took a bite, and a single thought surfaced, an exclamation of pure satisfaction. 'A flawless improvement!'
Even with the savory dipping sauce, the chicken's core identity shone through. The crispness of the skin was a tangible delight, a prelude to the pristine, original flavor of the meat itself. The inherent freshness and smoothness of the chicken were all on display, proven through the springy skin, the silken flesh, and the clear, fragrant sauce that accompanied it.
The chicken was cooked through but not a moment too long, leaving the skin crisp and the meat smooth. Its original flavor was perfectly preserved, resulting in a dish that was light yet deeply satisfying. It was no wonder this preparation could stand as a famous dish on the strength of a single chicken; it shared a certain ingenious simplicity with the likes of mapo tofu.
The way the chicken melted in the mouth, its cool yet gentle sensation, was simply irresistible. A mouthful of rice was all that was needed to complete the experience.
"Phew... That was incredible," Clow Reed sighed, setting down his chopsticks. "As expected of Shopkeeper Ren. I'm glad I didn't miss this."
The woman seated nearby had been observing him, and just as she was about to start her own meal, his words of praise reached her ears. The next moment, she watched as Clow Reed reached over and decisively uncorked a bottle of peach blossom wine.
The stopper came free, and a rich, intoxicating aroma immediately bloomed, enveloping the entire small shop. Good wine needs no advertisement, especially when it's already found in a hidden alley.
The fragrance made Yuuka Kazami pause, her chopsticks hovering in mid-air. "Peach blossoms..." she murmured, her voice soft.
From behind his book, Ren replied gently, "Peach blossom wine, peach blossom wine. Of course, it's peach blossoms."
Hearing Ren's voice, Yuuka Kazami immediately turned her head away, choosing not to engage. If she did, she could feel her blood pressure starting to climb again.
Ren noted the subtle movement, a faint smile touching his lips. "That's why I say, Miss Kazami, you have an unexpectedly cute side to you."
Yuuka Kazami's mouth twitched, but she remained silent. As long as she didn't speak, he couldn't break her defense. Who knew what kind of critical hit he'd deliver with his next sentence?
Still, being called 'cute' was a first for her. The sensation was... strange. But she said nothing. It was, after all, a compliment, and no one truly dislikes being praised.
Lucifer shot Ren an annoyed yet amused look, sensing the shopkeeper was brewing some kind of mischief. It seemed Yuuka Kazami was destined to lose her composure at least once today. How pitiful... and how entertaining.
The woman's eyes were fixed on the wine in Clow Reed's hand. She licked her lips, then glanced at the two bottles by her side. 'Damn it!'she thought.'That's not going to be enough! I'll have to order two more pots later!'
As a seasoned drinker, she knew with absolute certainty that this was a rare vintage. The aroma alone was enough to awaken a deep craving.
What was the food? It no longer mattered. She immediately reached for a wine pot, and when she personally pulled the cork, the fragrant cloud that wafted out confirmed her suspicions. She truly couldn't hold back any longer.
"Miss," Ren's calm voice cut through her eagerness. "The wine is good, but it's best not to drink on an empty stomach."
The woman froze, turning her head to see Ren still quietly reading. She then shot a meaningful glare at Clow Reed, who was simply standing there with a faint smile playing on his lips. As his mischievous friend, she knew he was desperately trying to suppress his laughter.
"So you've already eaten?" she asked, her voice laced with exasperation.
"Well, I did have a mouthful of rice and a piece of chicken, didn't I?" Clow Reed replied innocently.
Ren's mouth curved upwards. Did this man really think he couldn't smell the faint scent of cream clinging to him? The fellow had definitely helped himself to some small cakes or cookies before coming here.
Clow Reed poured himself a glass. The fine wine was like a clear spring, crisp and mellow. As the liquid filled the cup, its aroma spread even more unreservedly through the air. He raised his glass to the woman, a playful smile in his eyes. "Good food should be paired with good wine. So, I won't be polite. Besides, Shopkeeper Ren is absolutely right."
With that, he drained the glass in one smooth motion, all under the woman's increasingly irate gaze. Biting her lip in frustration, she reluctantly set the wine pot aside. She picked up her bowl with one hand and, with the other, her chopsticks deftly plucked a brightly glazed piece of sweet and sour pork ribs from a plate.
She brought it to her mouth, her mind filled with various displeased thoughts. The next moment, under Clow Reed's playful expression, the woman froze.
This thing... smelled unusually fragrant...
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