"I'm the God of Cookery. Why should I be afraid of your appraisal? Just say whatever you have to say." Tang Niu spoke without a care.
Jiang Hao put down his chopsticks and said, "Shark fin, sea cucumber, abalone—those top-grade ingredients are all flavor-borrowing dishes. As long as you don't ruin them, they can bring out their finest taste. But deliciousness does not equal premium ingredients. You've fallen into a misunderstanding—or rather, every chef here has fallen into the same misunderstanding."
After saying that, Jiang Hao shook his head.
"You talk a good game, but where's your dish? You've got five minutes left. Let's see what kind of supreme dish you can make in five minutes." Tang Niu said contemptuously.
Jiang Hao walked to his station and murmured, "Sometimes, simple doesn't mean crude. Five minutes is enough."
Jiang Hao picked up a knife and took two green peppers from the vegetable basket. Swish, swish, swish, swish—the cleaver flew, slicing the peppers into even strips. He then took out a piece of lean meat and, with a few rapid chops, cut it into a handful of shredded pork. He lit the stove and heated the oil, tossed in the pork, stir-fried it a few times, added the pepper strips and seasonings, gave it another quick stir, and immediately plated it. A dish of Stir-fried Peppers and Pork was done.
Everyone present was dumbfounded.
This was the Hong Kong Gourmet Competition, with nothing but top chefs competing, yet he had made a simple homemade dish of Stir-fried Peppers and Pork? That was way too perfunctory.
"The simplest ingredients, prepared in the simplest way—if they can still produce a delicious dish, that is a chef's skill. Relying on premium ingredients isn't a contest of culinary skill. It's a contest of who has better