After spending his whole life as an imperial chef and serving three generations of emperors, Su Yuan had honed his skills to perfection. Then he opened his eyes in the modern world, reborn as the owner of a little restaurant on the verge of being crushed by food delivery apps.
A restaurant owner? Fine. He could be his own emperor.
But when he inspected his new “imperial kitchen,” he was utterly horrified.
What was this white powder? MSG.
What was this red sauce? Ketchup.
And what kind of demonic creature was sizzling in the wok? Half-finished French fries.
Su Yuan was heartbroken. He pounded his chest and lamented, “All refinement has been lost! The culinary arts have fallen into ruin! What kind of pig slop are you modern people eating?!”
To restore the glory of the culinary arts, and to keep himself from starving, Su Yuan decided to show the modern world what real Chinese cuisine was.
Boiled cabbage in clear broth: a soup and a poem. Longjing tea shrimp: a dish and a painting.
One long-lost imperial banquet dish after another returned to the world, leaving the neighbor’s kid drooling with envy.
Before long, a long queue stretched outside the little rundown restaurant.
Food critics paid a fortune for a bowl of crab roe rice, while a top-tier star lined up bare-faced for three hours just to get a serving of Dongpo pork.
Later, Su “dead serious” “humblebrag” Yuan was invited to judge a cooking show.
Host: “What do you think of this contestant’s molecular gastronomy?”
Su Yuan, expressionless: “All show and no substance. It’s not as good as the beggar’s chicken in my backyard.”
Audience: “He’s so cocky, but… his beggar’s chicken really is delicious!”
