Chapter 305: The Joy of a Hearty Meal, The Sweetness of a Complicated Heart
Some things in this world seem to exist beyond the confines of origin, their beginnings lost to time. Cuisine is no exception. Consider the myriad regional variations of Spicy Chicken, or the way Fish-fragrant Pork transforms from one kitchen to the next. But if one were to speak of a flavor that has truly transcended the ages… it would have to be sweet and sour.
Dishes built upon this foundation have woven themselves into the fabric of countless culinary traditions, a proof of a deliciousness that thrives no matter the borders it crosses.
And so it was with these sweet and sour pork ribs, a classic that felt at home in any cuisine. As if to prove the universal appeal of its name, the dish had boldly ventured into every culinary territory imaginable. But the truly remarkable thing was not just that it had ventured in, but that it had flourished, carving out a significant place for itself everywhere it went.
Setting all else aside, simply looking at the dish was a feast in itself. This was how ribs were meant to be: a single, clean bone, with all the surrounding meat rendered a deep, enticing caramel. Under the lights, its surface gleamed like polished lacquer, a flawless glaze that caught and scattered the light. It was less a piece of food and more a perfectly formed shard of amber.
For any true carnivore, there is a singular, primal joy in eating meat with abandon and drinking heartily from a large bowl—be it wine or, for the teetotaler, one's favorite beverage. To take a huge bite of meat, followed by a great gulp of drink… there is only one word for such an experience: satisfying. And this was the perfect moment to use it.
The pork ribs, having already been marinated, were a mouth-watering temptation on their own. But this dish, as if not yet captivating enough, demanded to be fried. The wait during this stage was an agony familiar to anyone who has ever watched cheese melt over a Boston lobster—a fragrant torment that made stealing a piece an almost primal urge.
After enduring the seductive aroma and the sharp sizzle of the oil, the dish finally entered its main phase; the warm-up was over. The old saying about adding flowers to brocade was never more appropriate.
The ribs, already golden and crisp and still weeping a few droplets of hot oil, were tossed into a wok of shimmering, caramelized sugar. They tumbled through the molten sweetness, their original golden hue completely vanishing beneath a new, darker, richer coat.
It wasn't until the sharp, bright presence of rice vinegar or balsamic vinegar introduced a welcome acidity that the true sweet and sour flavor officially took shape. From there, the aromatics followed: green onions, ginger, garlic, a hint of Sichuan peppercorns, a drizzle of sesame oil. The exact combination depended entirely on which culinary tradition the dish was currently gracing.
When the sweet and sour pork ribs were finally plated on pristine white porcelain, the rising steam carried an intoxicating fragrance, and their color was exceptionally beautiful. To craft a platter of amber with one's own hands felt almost as satisfying as eating the meat itself. The mere sight was enough to make one's mouth water.
Every bite was a study in tenderness. The meat, completely free of gristle, came away from the bone with the slightest pull, each piece saturated with the sweet, tangy sauce and its own rich, savory juices. It was the kind of delicious that made you want to swallow your own tongue. Chewing was the only action desired, the only action necessary.
The balance of sweet and sour was perfect, neither oily nor cloying. The texture was rich yet delicate, the meat tender, the color a vibrant, glossy red. It left a fresh, mellow aftertaste that lingered pleasantly on the palate. True satisfaction was often this simple.
A single piece of such a dish, followed by a mouthful of fragrant rice lightly coated in the glistening sauce—this was a dish that had earned its legendary status through sheer, unadulterated quality. One bite was all it took to understand why.
The woman was now completely lost in the experience. As a seasoned epicure, encountering such a masterpiece was like a master swordsman discovering a legendary blade; she was utterly captivated, unable to pull herself away.
This was a deep, fulfilling satisfaction that only meat could provide. As she ate, her eyes drifted to the wine beside her. An unfamiliar urge surfaced—she desperately wanted a sip, but her hands seemed to have a will of their own.
To put down her rice bowl would be to sacrifice a measure of fullness; to put down her chopsticks would be to sacrifice all joy. After a moment of intense internal struggle, she decisively set the bowl aside, poured herself a glass of wine, and downed it in a single, smooth motion. A true drinker, after all, emphasizes the drinking.
A sip of the peach blossom wine flowed over her tongue, mellow and exquisite, with a seemingly endless finish. It launched a brilliant pincer attack on her palate, perfectly complementing the fresh, savory notes of the sweet and sour pork. The woman simply ignored the rice. What was fullness compared to this? A true drinker always saves room for wine, leaving a third of their stomach empty for the main event.
She continued in this manner, a sip of wine, a piece of rib, her previous air of aristocratic grace completely gone. In its place was the bold, unrestrained spirit of a pirate empress—audacious yet elegant, fond of her drink yet retaining an innate grace. She was a woman who lived up to her prodigious appetite.
Ren watched her, a smile playing on his lips. "I didn't expect you to have such a high tolerance for alcohol."
Clow Reed, nibbling on a piece of food, murmured, "Mm, she holds her liquor very well. And Shopkeeper Ren, your wine is simply too fragrant. She was bound to lose control."
Ren smiled and shook his head, his gaze shifting to Yuuka Kazami, who had pointedly turned away. "Miss Kazami," he said gently, "you seem to have quite the tolerance yourself, don't you?"
A muscle in Yuuka Kazami's cheek twitched. How did he always manage to find her? Still, she replied softly, her voice smooth as silk, "And you think my tolerance is poor?"
"Oh? In that case, I find myself quite looking forward to seeing you drunk one day, Miss Kazami."
Lucifer let out a secret chuckle, patting Ren's arm in amusement. Ren took the cue, stroking her head fondly. "It seems Lucifer also has a good tolerance for alcohol," he said with a smile.
"Of course," she declared, puffing out her chest slightly. "It's impossible for me to get drunk."
"Oh? Is that so?" Ren's eyes held a mischievous glint.
Seeing that look, Lucifer immediately grew wary. "What are you trying to do? Don't you try to scare me, or I'll bite you!"
"Hm? I haven't said a thing," Ren replied, his expression one of pure innocence.
Lucifer pouted. "It's scariest when you don't say anything! If you're getting any funny ideas, I... I... I really will bite someone!"
Ren simply tilted his head, regarded her for a moment, and nodded before falling silent again. This, however, only made Lucifer feel worse. She had the distinct and unsettling feeling that she had just provoked some mischievous impulse in him that hadn't existed a moment before.
She tugged at his arm, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Actually, about that..."
Ren just stroked her hair again, his smile gentle. "Lucifer is as cute as ever."
"You've... honestly... it's always like this," she mumbled, her resolve deflating. "There's nothing I can do with you..."
Lucy wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. Was it the faint warmth of happiness from his praise? Or the familiar exasperation of him changing the subject at a crucial moment, leaving her unable to even be properly angry? Perhaps... she wasn't entirely sure what was in her own heart. But every time Ren teased her like this, a quiet sweetness bloomed in her chest, a feeling that made her feel impossibly fortunate to have met him. In these situations, however, her reaction was almost always the same.
"Hmph! That's arrogance you're seeing, not cuteness! You infuriating man!"
Clow Reed watched the two of them shamelessly flaunt their affection for each other. He picked up a piece of glistening, golden Guo Bao Rou and took a bite. He paused, his eyes widening slightly. Good heavens, was it their public display that made this taste so good, or did this dish possess some magic of its own?
Whatever the case, the flavor caught him completely by surprise.
Across the table, the woman, still alternating between wine and ribs, glanced at Ren and Lucifer. The corner of her lips curled into a faint smile as she whispered to herself, "This seems a bit interesting... Maybe being alive isn't so bad after all? Mmm... so delicious."
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