Suman traveled through time. From a modern three-star Michelin chef, he became a low-level assistant cook who was almost executed in the imperial dining room of the Daxian Dynasty. The good news: Her superb cooking skills came with her. She can cut shreds and thread needles and carve flowers to look real. Bad news: The emperor of the Daxian Dynasty was a severely anorexic patient. The previous imperial chef had just been pulled out and beaten for a bowl of mediocre bird's nest porridge. Suman looked at the pile of poor-quality ingredients in front of him and rolled up his sleeves: System? No. Space? Doesn't exist. But what I have in mind is five thousand years of food culture and modern molecular gastronomy! While everyone was simmering the tonic cautiously, Suman heated up the oil in a pot, and a bowl of golden-colored and fragrant "fried rice with broken gold" emerged. The young emperor who wanted to go on a hunger strike asked: Why is this bowl of rice glowing? The powerful general who wanted to find trouble said: ... How can this meat melt in your mouth? As a result, the boring palace painting style suddenly changed. What the cold and violent king looked forward to most every day was to guess what Suman had cooked today; the civil servants of the Manchu Dynasty made a quarrel in the Jinluan Palace to grab a box of "snowskin mooncakes" made by Suman; even a spy sent by the enemy country decided to rebel on the spot after eating Suman's hot pot meal: "I have reserved this place!" Suman: Don't ask, asking is the professional quality of a chef. I don't want to be a disaster, I just want to create a prosperous catering industry in ancient times. Scene 1: Suman missed the curfew because she was developing new dishes. The commander of the Imperial Guard stopped her expressionlessly, and Suman silently took out a bag of freshly baked secret jerky. Commander Chew Chew Chew:
