The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 100

When the rules for the third round were first released, some livestream viewers were baffled.

【“What the hell? I don’t really cook, sure— but why does this sound just like banning items in a game, except here they’re banning seasonings?”】

【“Imagine trying to make sweet and sour pork without sugar, or soy sauce chicken without soy sauce. What if someone’s only allowed to use salt—what kind of dishes could you even make?”】

【“Hahahaha, so what’s the point of even playing like this?”】

The contestants were just as confused.

Now they finally understood why the organizers had asked them to submit the name of their intended dishes in advance. It wasn’t just a formality—it was to identify the core seasoning each dish relied on, so they could pre-set which one would be removed at random.

What made it even more maddening was that before the round began, the organizers had reassured them:

“No restrictions on ingredients this time. No fuel gimmicks. You’ll have ample time and complete freedom to showcase your skills.”

It all sounded so reasonable. But in reality?

They were set up.

By the third round, many contestants were itching to challenge themselves with very high-difficulty dishes. The dish names they submitted were getting longer and fancier — things like “Sweet and Sour Pork with Black Vinegar and Truffle, served with Chestnut Bisque and Bird’s Nest Threads” — all flashy, with top-tier ingredients, highly intricate processes, and many recipes the audience had never even heard of. Everyone was determined to reach the culinary summit and prove themselves as high-end chefs.

But no one expected that Jiang Tingzhou would pull the rug out from under them.

Sure, every competition had its challenges. But this round wasn’t just hard—it was a trap.

According to the rules, each contestant would have one key seasoning removed. They could still select ingredients freely afterward—including from a well-stocked pantry area, which was even richer than the last round.

This time, there was no frantic grabbing like before. The ingredients were plentiful, and everyone had time to choose. The organizers were acting generous.

But what this really meant was: preparation was useless.

The better planned you were, the harder you’d fall when your key flavoring got taken away.

There were no “safe choices” this round. No guaranteed winners. Only instinct and quick thinking under pressure.

While the chefs were tense and slightly panicked, the audience was loving it.

There may have been no chaos like in the previous round, but this was somehow worse—the chefs had to watch, helplessly, as their chosen seasoning was snatched away with the tap of a screen.

It was less like a dramatic battle and more like a slow, agonizing torture.

First came shock in the comment section. Then pity. And finally—laughter, as people saw the incredible range of facial expressions the chefs made.

【“Contestant 12 picked Butter Garlic Roast Chicken with Champagne Mushrooms—but butter got taken away. One word just vanished from his dish name— how unlucky is that?”】

【“I think he’s lucky! At least he adjusted and made Garlic Roast Chicken. Poor Ye Shunxin lost her salt. What can you even make like that?”】

【“Chef Qiu is famous for Cantonese cuisine, right? He lost his oyster sauce. This is the first time I’ve seen his brow furrow that much. Organizers, you can’t bully the elderly like this.”】

【“What kind of sadistic competition is this? Whatever it is—I LOVE it, give us more!”】

With a professional chef like Jiang Tingzhou in the organizing team, every “draw” was accurate and ruthless. No matter what got taken away, the contestants reacted as if the sky had fallen.

Then came Tao Jintian’s turn.

His chosen dish was his specialty: Sichuan-style Mouthwatering Chicken.

A common dish, yes—but Tao Jintian’s version was unique. The chicken was tender and juicy, the chili blend carefully adjusted over dozens of trials. The spiciness layered, aromatic, and complex. It wasn’t just “hot”—it was artful.

Before drawing lots, Tao looked toward the organizers’ table—specifically at Jiang Tingzhou—and silently bowed, hoping for some divine blessing.

But then the result flashed on screen: His key seasoning—chili peppers—was taken away.

…What kind of Sichuan-style chicken could you make without chili peppers?

Tao stared at the screen, stunned. For ten full seconds, he didn’t move.

When he finally snapped back to reality, only one thought filled his mind: Jiang Tingzhou is the most evil man alive.

And Tao wasn’t the only one confused. Even members of the organizing team were asking how such a rule came to be.

Backstage in the monitoring room, Zhang Xiaocong from Xiushui Group was watching the live feed and chuckling at the barrage of comments.

“Interesting, very interesting,” he said. “I’m thinking the same as them—didn’t expect such a rule from Mr. Jiang. Even for seasoned chefs, this is brutal. What do you think?”

Jiang Tingzhou replied calmly, “I’m a chef myself. But experience can be a trap. Many chefs stay confined to their kitchens, following rigid routines. To grow, you need to step out—collect folk recipes, explore, challenge assumptions.”

He spoke from experience. Back when he trained under Master Chef Wang, he’d spent time in rural areas where ingredients were fresh—freshly dug or freshly butchered—but seasonings were scarce.

Sometimes, all you had was coarse salt and whatever you could borrow from locals. Sometimes, not even salt.

Knife skills were foundational. Heat control came from practice. But seasoning and pairing—that was the real art. It demanded intuition, trial and error, and deep understanding.

“A truly great chef can’t afford to lack in any area,” he said. “Actually, this kind of challenge has been used in other cooking shows. Sometimes contestants pick an opponent’s key ingredient to sabotage them—like taking their lard.”

Zhang Xiaocong nodded. “Oh right! Chefs use pork fat to make oil, yeah? But I didn’t see you use that rule here.”

Jiang Tingzhou smiled. “That would be too easy. These chefs are excellent. If all we did was take away lard, it wouldn’t be challenging enough. So I made some… adjustments.”

He left it at that. But in the room, the unspoken reaction was:

“What do you mean ‘some adjustments’? You made it a nightmare!”

Despite the insane difficulty, the organizers were kind in other ways. The time for ingredient selection was extended from 30 seconds to 20 minutes, and the pantry was full.

Still, everyone moved more slowly. Tense. Brows furrowed. Their minds working overtime.

Too many ingredients would just become a burden. Picking the right few was key.

Experienced chefs adapted quickly.

Master Qiu, the Cantonese cuisine expert, had lost oyster sauce. At first, his expression darkened—but after scanning the pantry, he relaxed.

He quickly devised a plan.

Cantonese cuisine emphasizes freshness. He decided to make Qiankun Yipin Pot, featuring mushrooms, sea cucumber, abalone, scallops, fish maw… A dish where everything hinges on subtle layers of umami.

Oyster sauce would’ve been ideal to enhance the seafood flavor—but without oyster sauce, there were still many natural umami boosters available.

So he combined dried mushrooms, dried oysters, dried shrimp, and dried scallops—grinding them into a seasoning powder. 

The trick was to balance proportions, or else the taste would become too salty. Done right, this powder could simulate oyster sauce’s depth and aroma.

After a long prep, he served a steaming seafood hotpot. The casserole simmered with plump abalone, juicy tendon, layered vegetables—all rich, savory, and beautifully presented. The side dish? A light bitter melon and pork rib soup.

Perfect harmony.

By the time the seasoned Master Qiu wiped his hands, other contestants were also gradually coming up with solutions.

Oyster sauce could be replaced. Even salt could be replaced with other ingredients.

The audience might think losing salt was the worst, since it’s in almost every dish, but for a skilled chef, it was actually a relatively lucky draw.

Salt? Gone? No problem—plenty of ingredients naturally contain sodium.

Jellyfish could yield sea salt, kelp could be boiled for a distinct salty-umami taste, and Master Qiu’s umami powder could be adjusted to make the saltiness more pronounced.

Ye Shunxin, who had lost her salt, rebounded quickly. She used abalone, crafting a dish of Abalone with Mountain Mushrooms and Pork Belly. The umami from the seafood made up for the lack of salt. Her side dish was a refreshing mint green bean purée—clean, cool, and vibrant.

Some contestants went beyond substitutions. They revised their entire dish on the spot—adjusting recipes, ingredients, even cooking methods—to work around their missing seasoning while keeping the flavor profile intact.

After all, the rules never said you had to make your original dish. Only that you needed to make it work.