The Reviled God of Cooking Tries to Slack Off - Chapter 101

When it came to the absence of salt, all the chefs present knew they could lean on seafood to provide natural saltiness. But the flavor of seafood is layered—its saltiness is never pure, and always comes bundled with other tastes. Unless you were already planning a seafood-flavored dish, it was impossible to hide those extra notes.

Even if you managed to balance it somewhat, the judges could still taste the difference. So in many cases, it was better to skip salt altogether.

For example, one contestant had initially planned to make Flaming Huadiao Drunken Goose. But that recipe relied heavily on salt, and without it, the dish would fall apart. After reconsidering, he took the initiative to adapt—switching to Sour Plum Goose instead.

In this version, the base flavor comes not from salt, but from light soy sauce, dark soy sauce, oyster sauce, and other fermented seasonings. The result wasn’t the rich, savory aroma of wine and salt, but a bold, sweet-and-sour profile.

The sauce, paired with tender goose meat, had a refreshing and slightly sweet character. The sour plum juice helped cut through the richness, making the dish both balanced and memorable.

As a side dish, he made a plum jelly infused with Huadiao wine—the same wine originally intended for the goose. The result was slightly intoxicating in aroma, but deeply flavorful.

Many chefs took similar approaches, modifying their original plans based on the new rules.

Take the contestant who had planned to make Butter Garlic Roast Chicken. At first, he was crushed—losing butter meant literally losing a core part of the dish’s name. But after a round through the pantry area, he came up with a new idea.

In the original recipe, butter served two main purposes: providing a creamy, milky aroma, and acting as a lubricant to help crisp the chicken skin during roasting.

Other fats could do the same.

He found fresh coconut in the pantry, crushed the meat, extracted the milk, and boiled it to obtain fresh coconut oil.

With that, he pivoted to Coconut Oil Roast Chicken.

The chicken was marinated with coconut milk and spices. When roasted, it emerged fragrant, the skin crispy and golden, the meat tender and juicy. After cutting into pieces, the chicken was infused with a light sweetness and coconut aroma.

For sauce, he prepared a Southeast Asian-style hot and sour blend, and for dessert, sticky rice with coconut milk—soft, sweet, and chewy. The dish was served on bamboo leaves, garnished with lemongrass, full of tropical flair.

For roast chicken, butter could be replaced with other oils. But for Tao Jintian, who also chose to cook chicken, losing his chili made things far more difficult.

Every time the camera passed by his workstation, his brows were furrowed into the character for “Sichuan” (川). 

The comment section alternated between sympathy and laughter:

【“Poor guy!”】

【“LOL—he’s really suffering!”】

Tao Jintian was known for his mastery of high-heat stir-frying. And everyone knew that Sichuan cuisine without spice just wasn’t Sichuan cuisine. Without chili peppers, what could he even make?

He wandered the ingredients section until the selection time was nearly over, still looking troubled.

It wasn’t that chicken couldn’t be cooked in other ways—on the contrary, there were dozens of possible styles. But none of them felt right. None of them matched what he had originally envisioned.

Until, at the last moment, inspiration struck.

Sichuan cuisine without chili peppers wasn’t impossible.

There was a traditional dish called Peppercorn Chicken, which didn’t use chili at all—only the intense, numbing fragrance of green Sichuan peppercorns. That flavor alone could be powerful enough to carry a dish.

To make it, the chicken needed to be blanched in boiling water and shocked in ice water—repeating this three times for maximum tenderness and bite.

The green peppercorns had to be carefully de-seeded and chopped, then mixed with scallions and spices. Poured over the chicken, a splash of hot oil would activate the aroma.

The result: Emerald Peppercorn Chicken. Not a single chili in sight, yet still intense, numbing, and full of impact.

Honestly, the dish was good enough to stand alone—its flavor sharp and memorable, and the chicken perfectly smooth. But Tao Jintian didn’t stop there. Afraid that one dish wouldn’t be enough to impress the judges, he pushed himself further and made a side dish:

Green Peppercorn Ice Cream.

The moment it was served, the comment section exploded.

【“Wait, did I see that right? Green peppercorn… ice cream?? That can’t taste good.”】

【“That chicken looks amazing, but this? I’ve never seen it before.”】

【“Judges are nodding! They actually look impressed.”】

【“Those scoops are huge, and the judges are eating it one spoonful at a time. It must be good!”】

It sounded like a “death dish,” but with the ratio carefully balanced, the combination was both unique and surprisingly delicious.

The first taste was rich, milky sweetness. The coldness dulled the usual numbing intensity of the peppercorns, but preserved their herbal fragrance. Beneath the ice cream was a layer of smooth tofu pudding, bringing another dimension of flavor.

The dessert was layered but balanced, subtle yet striking.

Most importantly, the absence of chili peppers hadn’t erased the regional identity of the dish. The flavor was still unmistakably Sichuan.

Jiang Tingzhou watched him closely. Seeing such creativity and skill, he nodded slightly.

Back in the first round, he had already recognized Tao Jintian as a promising talent.

Tao Jintian wasn’t the only one who put serious effort into side dishes.

Several contestants, after careful thought, shifted their focus. Since their main dishes had lost key flavoring elements, they funneled their creativity into their sides.

Take Cai Yuan, the contestant who had made slow-fried orange duck breast in the last round. Jiang Tingzhou remembered her well. Her resume showed she had taken a two-year break to raise a child, and now she was staging a strong comeback. She’d always had a flair for unique ideas.

This time, her original plan was Caviar Teriyaki Silver Cod. But her key seasoning—top-quality caviar—was eliminated.

She could have found another substitute, but instead she completely changed course, making a simple Salt-Baked Silver Cod as the main dish.

The fish was high quality enough to stand on its own, but the presentation might have seemed underwhelming in a competition. That’s where the side dish came in.

She had originally intended to make cheese crisps to contrast with the soft fish. These crisps were still served—but now, they were topped with a special mango chili sauce.

The thick, orange-yellow sauce had a strong tropical aroma. The addition of chili powder brought the flavor to life—sweet, spicy, and slightly acidic, all in perfect balance.

Although it was a side, the sauce was bold, almost overpowering. But eaten together with the salt-baked cod, the two dishes created a delightful contrast. After tasting the vibrant sauce, the plain fish tasted even more delicate and fresh.

The contrast, rather than harmony, was what made the combination unique and delicious.

This was the art of seasoning.

Even the live chat couldn’t help but sigh at this point.

【“See? Nothing can stump a skilled chef.”】

【“When I cook on a whim, it’s a disaster. But when these chefs improvise, they make art.”】

【“I’ve never eaten these dishes before—and probably never will—but I’m craving them so bad.”】

【“Haha, don’t just say it’s your first time seeing them; I bet even the chefs are making them for the first time here.”】

【“Watching contestant #18 experimenting and taste-testing like a mad scientist cracked me up. He looked surprised every time, like he was brewing some magic potion.”】

Today’s competition lasted longer than previous rounds. The chefs needed time to think, to adjust, and to create both main and side dishes. But even with the extended run time, the livestream stayed popular.

Viewers weren’t bored—they were enthralled. Every twist and turn was unpredictable and exciting.

The judges took longer too. Scoring became more cautious, more serious.

Despite the challenge of the rules, most contestants delivered. Some dishes even surprised the judges themselves.

“If it weren’t for this challenge, I’d never have thought to make something like this,” one judge admitted.

Even Zhang Xiaocong, who had been watching from the side, was visibly impressed.

Clapping and laughing, he praised, “Amazing. I’ve watched a lot of cooking competitions, and even the finals weren’t this exciting. Mr. Jiang, I can’t wait to see who wins.”

Jiang Tingzhou responded simply, “I’m looking forward to it too.”

From the moment the round began, he had focused entirely on the competition.

Everything had gone according to his plan—until the final scoring stage, when he frowned slightly.

Meanwhile, Lu Baiyu was waiting outside the venue.

He knew Jiang Tingzhou didn’t like distractions during a competition. Xiushui Group wasn’t present today either. He and Zeng Rong had agreed—this was Tingzhou’s moment, and his advancement in the association was only secondary.

So, today, Lu Baiyu waited quietly.

The audience already knew: after the competition, there would be a public food-tasting session. 

The event was massive this round, stretching from afternoon into the evening. As night fell, stall lights flickered on one by one, creating a festive night market atmosphere.

Lu Baiyu sat in the same spot where Jiang Tingzhou had watched last time, now experiencing it from a different perspective.

This time, they had worked together again. The layout of the stalls followed the five fundamental flavors: sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, and salty.

The sour stall featured Yunnan-Guizhou-style sour soup. The sweet stall, of course, was filled with cakes and desserts—many produced by the sugar factory—and included candied hawthorns. Bitter melon and bamboo shoots added complexity, while chilled bitter chrysanthemum paired well with the spicy hotpot. Crayfish and spicy crab stalls were swarmed with visitors. The salty stall featured salt-roasted meats—pork, beef, lamb, seafood—all rich and flavorful.

Lu Baiyu had organized it all thoughtfully.

Jiang Tingzhou added the final touches.

The point wasn’t just to separate the five flavors—but to blend them.

Sour soup mingled with sweet notes to balance spicy flavors. The hot and sour noodle stall, run by an eliminated chef, was authentic and addictive. 

The braised duck brought salty and spicy together. 

At the eel rice stall, there was more eel than rice—luxuriously generous.

Bitter foods were few, but Lu Baiyu had made his own bitter melon lemon tea. He tasted it—it was fresh, clean, and surprisingly good.

Jiang Tingzhou will probably like this, he thought.

But he waited and waited, finishing all his tasks.

The game had ended. The audience poured in, followed by several contestants—yet Jiang Tingzhou never appeared.