Water Boiled Fish—these three words sound simple and unpretentious, but only when you witness its true grandeur do you realize how incredibly wrong you were.
This is not a gentle soup. It is an exceptionally fierce beast.
Water Boiled Fish completely sheds the normal preparation thods of grass carp, abandoning the diocrity of steaming or light braising, and resolutely throwing itself into a fiery embrace. The essence of Sichuan Cuisine cannot be separated from one word: spicy. But to say it is rely "spicy" is a disservice to the complexity of the craft.
It is spicy enough to be addictive, a heat that hooks into your soul. It is spicy enough to make you sweat profusely, opening every pore in your body. It is spicy enough to make your nose run and your eyes water, yet you wouldn't bear to put down your chopsticks or stop for even a second. This is the magic of Sichuan Cuisine's spice. But the spice isn't just dry heat; it is mala—spicy with a numbing, citrusy aroma derived from the liberal use of Sichuan peppercorns—and that's the true reason it's so irresistible.
The choice of fish is paramount. Grass carp differs from the common carp in its texture; grass carp at is firr, boasting a muscular integrity that common carp lacks, and it has fewer chaotic, fine bones. Although the at is firr, it's only in comparison to other bottom-feeders. In reality, when prepared correctly by a master, fish at is always tender. It's just that grass carp's at is better, more resilient, and more amazing at holding its shape against the violent boiling process.
Ren placed the massive ceramic basin on the center of the table. It was like a crimson lake.
The broth fully demonstrated the spiciness of this dish. A thick layer of chili oil, refined with star anise, cinnamon, and fennel seeds, floated ominously on the surface. It glistened under the warm lights of the restaurant, a beautiful, dangerous red mirror. Suspended in this fiery ocean were dried red chilies, cut into segnts, looking like scattered rubies.
And there, subrged but visible, the pure white fish at stood out like a flock of white cranes standing amidst a field of burning embers.
The contrast was visually arresting. The fish at was smooth and tender, sliced with surgical precision to ensure uniform thickness. Relying on its inherently smooth and delicate qualities, coated in a microscopic layer of starch, it brazenly absorbed the spiciness from the broth without dissolving into mush. The fish at itself was not to be outdone; it greedily clung to the surrounding broth, pulling the oil and the savory juices into its fibers, adding a tempting crimson hue to its pristine white form.
"It's... beautiful," Gin Dojima whispered, loosening his tie.
When chopsticks picked up the fish, the at didn't fall apart. It wasn't brittle. Instead, it swayed slightly, trembling with a gelatinous elasticity like high-quality pork or beef, making one fear it would break in half the next mont, yet it held on. This fragility was an illusion that urged the diner to move quickly. So, one would instinctively bring it to their mouth with haste, only then feeling safe.
Nakiri Mana, the Director of the WGO, the woman who had just recovered her ability to eat, reached out first. Her hand trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from anticipation.
She placed the slice of fish into her mouth.
Boom.
The first sensation upon tasting the fish was not its inherent flavor, but the spiciness—an aggressive, overwhelming aroma that was utterly irresistible. It wasn't a slow burn; it was an explosion. This was a deliciousness that instantly excited the tongue, waking up nerves that had been dormant or tortured for years.
The fish at was smooth and tender, sliding against the palate like silk. As her teeth bit down, the structure of the at collapsed, releasing a burst of savory juice. All the absorbed broth, hidden within the fibers of the fish, burst forth in a secondary explosion.
At this mont, the umami of the fish and the numbing spice of the broth were the only two flavors in the universe. The Ma (numbing) made her lips tingle as if touched by a low-voltage current, while the La (spicy) ward her throat. They were enough—more than enough—to make her whole body tingle with excitent.
It only takes one bite to fall in love. One bite to understand what makes a dish irresistible. One bite to realize why humanity craves pain in their pleasure.
Water Boiled Fish, with its vibrant red chilies and fresh green cilantro sprinkled on top like eralds, strictly speaking, only has four main ingredients in total. Even if Shopkeeper Ren added so winter bamboo shoots for texture, it would still only be five: bean sprouts, fish, chilies, cilantro, bamboo shoots, and that's it.
But these few ingredients, under Ren's manipulation, created a deliciousness that dishes made with dozens of rare ingredients couldn't compare to. There's always a feeling that adding anything else—gold leaf, caviar, truffles—would be an insult. It would alter its perfect, rustic taste.
Nakiri Mana chewed, her eyes widening.
The fish at was fresh and smooth, tender yet elastic. Then, she crunched down on a hidden treasure—a slice of bamboo shoot. The refreshing crispness of the bamboo shoots broke through the heavy oil, providing a montary respite. Combined with the numbing spice, the vegetable seed to lose its original earthiness and transford into a vessel for the sauce. Perhaps the only ordinary ingredient here was the bean sprouts lining the bottom of the bowl, but even they were elevated. They tasted of the broth, crunchy and juicy, soaking up the essence of the ocean and the earth.
Oily but not greasy.
Spicy but not harsh.
Numbing but not bitter.
Tender at that lts yet retains a bite.
This is the true essence of Water Boiled Fish. The Water Boiled Fish, with its soul returned, a glistening piece of fish dripping with crimson broth, shining under the lights, placed on a bowl of steaming white rice and eaten together…
Ah… it ignites you.
"Hah..." Nakiri Mana exhaled, a cloud of white steam escaping her lips.
At this mont, Nakiri Mana's fair face was slightly flushed, a beautiful rose color blooming on her pale skin from the numbing spice. Her lips were swollen and red, naturally glossed by the chili oil.
The other Executive Officers were the sa. Courage and Decora were eating bite after bite without stopping. The elegance of the WGO was gone, replaced by primal hunger. Even as their noses were about to run from the spice, stimulating their sinuses, they couldn't bear to put down their chopsticks.
One hand held a tissue to dab at their foreheads, the other held chopsticks. Their hands seed to have a life of their own, chanically and continuously picking up food, dipping it in the rice, and shoveling it into their mouths.
The three big n on the other side were no better off; all were sweating profusely.
Gin Dojima had long since tossed his expensive Italian suit jacket onto a nearby chair. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck like a defeated snake. The muscles in his forearms rippled as he reached for another scoop of fish.
Joichiro Yukihira had also unbuttoned a few buttons on his chef's coat, revealing his chest, and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.
Eating Sichuan Cuisine should be like this: uncivilized, raw, and passionate. While feeling the heat radiate from your stomach to your fingertips, you tell yourself, 'I can do this! This taste is amazing! I can keep going! The pain is proof of life!'
The big n were all sweating, hissing and gasping through their teeth as they ate the dishes in front of them.
"Hiss... Ha..."
As ntioned before, spiciness is technically not a taste sensation; it is a sensation of pain registered by heat receptors. Yet, spiciness is always accompanied by a burning heat that triggers endorphins. Who can endure this biological hack? No one can! But it's precisely when you can't endure it, when you are teetering on the edge of surrender, that it feels so satisfying.
Gin Dojima finally couldn't take it anymore. He wiped his forehead with a napkin, sweating profusely, and shouted, "Shopkeeper Ren! A cold beer! I can't handle this with just water or baijiu! I need carbonation! I need ice!"
Joichiro Yukihira also slamd his hand on the table, grinning wildly. "That's sly, Gin! Trying to get the jump on the refreshnts? Shopkeeper Ren! I'll have one too! Make it a large mug!"
After saying that, both n looked at Senzaemon Nakiri, expecting the patriarch to join them in this debauchery.
The old man snorted, his face red but his posture upright. He looked at the two younger chefs with feigned disdain. "Youngsters! No stamina! Filling your stomachs with gas? Hmph! Give this old man a glass of fresh waterlon juice! That clears the palate better!"
"Boo~"
Gin and Joichiro booed in unison, their voices overlapping in a harmonious expression of disappointnt.
"Hahaha~ Cough, cough, cough!"
Lanterby, the petite Bookman with the big hat, who loved to watch a good show and had been giggling at the n's antics, suddenly gasped.
In her laughter, she inhaled at the exact wrong mont. A droplet of chili oil, atomized in the air, or perhaps a rogue flake of pepper, flew straight down her windpipe.
"Cough! Cough! HACK!"
Lanterby's face turned from flushed to beet red in a second. There's no need to elaborate on what it's like to choke while eating spicy food, right? It feels as if a dragon has breathed fire directly into your lungs. The capsaicin coats the trachea, causing spasms that refuse to stop. It's definitely a good, chemical-free way to make you cry—and perhaps reconsider your life choices.
Shopkeeper Ren stood behind the counter, shaking his head while smiling at the lively group. This was the atmosphere he loved most.
Lucifer sat beside him, watching the humans with amusent. She chuckled softly, her red eyes gleaming. "I should try Sichuan Cuisine soti. It sounds interesting… watching them suffer like that."
Ren glanced at her. "Hellishly spicy?"
"Are you mocking my domain?" Lucifer narrowed her eyes playfully. "I'll bite you, do you believe ?"
"No~" Ren drawled, completely unfazed.
"Hmph! You stinky man!" Lucifer puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms.
Shopkeeper Ren was right; Lucifer was just talking. She wouldn't bite Shopkeeper Ren, at least not in anger. Partly because she wouldn't do sothing that Shopkeeper Ren would perceive as flirting in public—otherwise, the consequences would be unimaginable. Ren's teasing thods were terrifying; just thinking about the last ti he "punished" her made her legs tremble and her tail curl involuntarily.
On the other hand, of course, she wouldn't bear to hurt him.
Her mind drifted for a mont to the arrogant man in the tal suit who had visited the shop so ti ago—Tony Stark. Just imagining that playboy talking down to Ren made Lucifer want to tear Tony apart with her bare claws. Her possessiveness was absolute. If anyone dared to touch her chef, she would unleash the legions of Hell.
The title of 'new husband-protecting demon' wasn't given for nothing.
(Tony Stark, sowhere in Malibu, suddenly sneezed: "Jarvis, check the temperature.")
"Cough, cough, cough! Mr. Ren… Ren! Wa… Water! Save !" Lanterby wheezed, banging on the table.
"Do you think you're eating ran?" Decora scolded, though she passed a glass of water. "You're just slurping it up, and you dare to laugh? Amateur."
"Sister Anne… cough, cough, cough!"
Sister Anne, who had a good motherly relationship with Lanterby, stood up and patted Lanterby's back rhythmically to help dislodge the irritant. anwhile, Senzaemon Nakiri and the others didn't pay any attention to it. They were too busy fighting the fish. After all, choking wasn't a big deal; everyone had been choked before. It was a rite of passage for eating spicy food.
A few minutes later, Lanterby looked as if she was about to be laid to rest. The light had left her eyes. She lay peacefully slumped in her chair, staring at the ceiling fan. It wasn't that she was full, but rather, the choking incident had left her feeling unwell. Her throat felt raw, and she needed so ti to recover her dignity.
Nakiri Mana, however, was in a zone of her own.
She hadn't spoken a single word the entire ti. She was like a hamster focused on hoarding food for winter. Her cheeks were puffed out, chewing rapidly but elegantly. As she ate the fish, her eyes were already darting to the other dishes in front of her—the Mapo Tofu, the Kung Pao Chicken—with an expression that was hard to describe. It was a mix of greed, joy, and panic that the food might disappear.
After seeing Nakiri Mana's behavior, Shopkeeper Ren had only one thought: "Eating what's in the bowl while looking at what's in the pot…" It was a proverb co to life.
"Phew~ Ah, refreshing! It really has to be ice-cold beer!" Gin Dojima slamd his empty mug down, wiping a foam mustache from his lip.
"Agreed!" Joichiro toasted him.
"This old man doesn't deny it either!" Senzaemon sipped his waterlon juice, looking content.
"Hiss~"
Gin and Joichiro hissed through their teeth simultaneously. They looked at their bellies.
"Beer fills you up!" Gin realized with horror. "The carbonation... it takes up space!"
"This old man still wants to eat more!" Senzaemon announced triumphantly, picking up his chopsticks with renewed vigor. "That's why juice is superior. Strategy, boys. Strategy."
Joichiro and Gin Dojima exchanged glances of betrayal, and then both gave Senzaemon Nakiri a grudging thumbs up. Good heavens, old ginger is indeed spicier; how cunning! He had outmaneuvered them in the art of buffet strategy.
Ren had served more than just fish. They had ordered rice in the middle of the al to soak up the sauces.
Sister Anne, after ensuring Lanterby wasn't dying, picked up her chopsticks. She reached for a dish of shredded pork that had been glistening quietly on the side. Upon tasting the Fish-fragrant Pork (Yu Xiang Rou Si), she paused.
Her eyes widened. "Eh?! This... this is delicious! But wait..."
Everyone heard her exclamation and turned their attention to the dish. Their focus had mostly been drawn to the visual spectacle of the Boiled Fish before, and few had been eating the other dishes.
"Fish-Fragrant Pork," Ren explained from the counter. "A classic. Pickled chili, sugar, vinegar, soy sauce, ginger, and garlic. It mimics the seasoning traditionally used for cooking fish in Sichuan, hence the na. But there is no fish in it."
"It's sweet... and sour... and spicy," Anne marveled. "It's completely different from the numbing heat of the fish. It cuts through the grease!"
Before Senzaemon Nakiri could speak to claim a portion, he saw a pair of chopsticks reach over with the speed of a striking cobra.
Swish.
Everyone was stunned. Following the chopsticks, they saw Nakiri Mana.
She hadn't said a word the entire ti. She was simply eating. She had cleared her bowl of fish and had now targeted the pork.
Nakiri Mana seed to care about nothing else. The politics of the WGO, her family issues, her image—it all dissolved in the face of the Yu Xiang Rou Si. She ate with her head down, piling the shredded at onto her rice.
After a long while, watching the Director inhale food like a vacuum, Courage swallowed nervously.
"Ma… Lady Mana! Please, eat slowly! You'll get indigestion!"
"Hmm?" Mana grunted, mouth full, not stopping.
"Don't say anything more, just eat!" Decora whispered, realizing it was every woman for herself now.
Lanterby, still slumped in her chair, stretched out a weak, trembling hand towards the table. She looked at the disappearing food with a mix of grief and pity.
"You… you guys eat slowly… leave so for the wounded…"
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