"Mr. Zhang, I’m selling noodles now. I bought so pork ribs to make Braised Pork Rib Noodles. When you’re finished here, co on over and have a bowl," Zhou Yan replied with a smile.
Zhang the Third was on good terms with Zhou Miao, so he charged Zhou Yan just one-ninety a jin for the ribs—twenty or thirty cents cheaper than other places.
The Knife Maker was an important supplier for any Sichuan Cuisine restaurant, making it crucial to stay on his good side, especially with their fathers’ friendship in the mix.
"You got it," Zhang the Third replied, lowering his head to continue carving the at.
When Zhou Yan Restaurant first opened, Zhou Miao had invited him over for a al. It was the first ti he’d ever eaten at such a terrible Sichuan Cuisine joint; they were practically ruining good at.
On the way back, Zhou Yan spent another ten cents on two bunches of small greens.
A villager had picked them from the fields early that morning, tying them into bunches with straw. Each bunch weighed over a pound, and the leaves, still dotted with dew, were exceptionally fresh.
It was only five o’clock when he returned to the restaurant. The beef brisket and pork ribs both required a long stewing ti, and the beef bone broth had to be prepared even further in advance. He couldn’t afford to delay. He chopped the pork ribs into uniform sections and cut the beef brisket into evenly sized cubes.
He fired up the stove and began preparing the braised beef and braised pork ribs, while a stockpot of beef bone broth simred on the middle burner.
He heated oil in a wok and seared the brisket to render out the fat until the surface was lightly browned. Then he added doubanjiang, ginger, garlic, and Sichuan peppercorns, stir-frying until they colored the at. He followed with a small amount of star anise, sand ginger, and cassia bark before deglazing the wok with cooking wine.
Once the aromas blossod, he added enough water to cover the beef, put on the lid, and let it simr for an hour.
When the beef was tender, he added the sliced dried bamboo shoots, letting them soak up the rich broth as it all continued to simr over low heat.
BUBBLE, BUBBLE... The rich, aty aroma filled the air.
He repeatedly skimd the scum off the bone broth. A pot of rich, milky-white beef bone broth was taking shape; the cracked bones made the soup even more flavorful. Once the broth was ready, the marrow inside would be a delicacy in itself.
Keeping an eye on the ti, Zhou Yan went ahead and kneaded the noodle dough so he wouldn’t be rushed when custors started to arrive.
In another wok, the pork ribs were bubbling in a thick sauce. He imdiately took them off the heat and transferred them to a large earthenware bowl he had set aside.
The ribs had been cut into distinct, thumb-sized pieces, each one coated in a glistening sauce. They looked incredibly tempting. Zhou Yan decided to try one.
The tender rib trembled as he picked it up. It lted in his mouth, the at falling right off the bone at the slightest touch. The subtly sweet sauce was rich without being cloying, and the interplay between the savory pork and fragrant spices was simply perfect. The rendered fat was the finishing touch. With one bite, it felt like his soul had ascended to the heavens.
’I’m a genius!’ Zhou Yan’s eyes lit up. He was blown away by his own braised pork ribs—a perfect success on the first try!
He set the earthenware bowl on the stove to keep warm. Without a mont’s pause, Zhou Yan deftly rinsed the wok and began stir-frying the beef and dual-pepper topping.
By the ti the dual-pepper beef topping was done, the sauce for the braised beef had reduced, and it was also ready.
Zhou Yan tried a piece of the bamboo shoot. It had been cut slightly smaller than the chunks of beef and had soaked up the rich broth, making it crisp, fragrant, and absolutely delicious.
After being up since four and busy until half past six, Zhou Yan was famished. He quickly made himself a bowl of hand-pulled noodles. First, he placed the seasoning in the bottom of the bowl, followed by two ladles of the milky beef broth, a serving of noodles, and a scoop of the braised beef and bamboo shoots.
He downed the hot bowl of noodles, drinking even the last drop of broth, and a pleasant warmth imdiately spread through his body.
This bowl of Braised Beef Noodles was incredible. Flawless.
In fact, the beef braised with dried bamboo shoots could be a signature dish on its own. It was the perfect thing to eat with a bowl of rice!
With the noodle toppings all prepared, Zhou Yan carried out the sign he had written the night before and placed it at the restaurant’s entrance.
The Jiazhou Silk Factory, located on the Qingyi Riverfront in Suji Town, was one of Jiazhou’s biggest taxpayers. It had over two thousand employees, eighty percent of whom were won. The factory even ran its own school for employees’ children and a staff hospital. The benefits were excellent, and the people of Suji Town considered it an honor to work there.
By now, the sky had brightened, and workers were riding their bicycles to the factory. So stopped at the street stalls by the factory gate for a bowl of noodles or a stead bun, but the majority headed to the factory cafeteria for breakfast.
The cafeteria served breakfast, and it was cheaper to pay with al tickets. A bowl of plain noodles cost only ten cents, a much better deal than eating out.
As Zhou Yan stood by the entrance holding his wooden sign, he imdiately drew the attention of so of the young female workers.
He was nearly six feet tall, with an upright, leanly muscular build. He had a neat buzz cut and a sharp, chiseled face. Even though he was just wearing a white cotton shirt, blue work pants, and an apron, the young won couldn’t help but steal a few extra glances.
"Zhou Yan is so handso! And his legs are so long. He’s even better-looking than a movie star!"
"But you can’t eat handso. He gave up a perfectly good apprenticeship in the cafeteria to beco a private business owner."
"Zhou Yan might be good-looking, but his cooking is terrible. I bet the noodles he’s selling now are just as bad."
"Who from our factory even eats at Zhou Yan Restaurant anymore? No matter how bad the cafeteria food gets, it’s still miles better than his cooking."
...
The young won giggled as they cycled past, their gazes bold, but not a single one of them stopped.
As their words reached Zhou Yan’s ears, the smile on his face began to feel strained.
’This previous Zhou really did a number on things,’ he thought. ’He completely tanked the restaurant’s reputation. It looks like it’ll be a struggle just to get one custor today. The food industry is all about word of mouth.’
’The prejudice in people’s minds is a great mountain.’
In contrast, Wang the Fifth’s noodle stall across the street already had seven or eight custors.
"Zhou Yan, I doubt you’ll sell a single bowl of those noodles. A craftsman should master one thing, not dabble in everything. Trying to sell all sorts of things like this will get you nowhere. You have to be responsible to your custors, you know," Wang the Fifth taunted as he tossed a handful of noodles into his pot, unable to hide the smirk on his face.
Since Zhou Yan selling noodles was direct competition, Wang the Fifth naturally took every opportunity to jeer at him.
"Wang the Fifth, with all that shouting, you’re getting spit in your pot. I don’t think that’s very good. After all, you have to be responsible to your custors," Zhou Yan retorted with a serene smile, not about to let the taunt slide.
Hearing this, the custors waiting for their noodles all craned their necks to look at Wang the Fifth, their faces etched with concern.
Wang the Fifth’s expression soured. He quickly waved his hands. "No, no! That little brat is just talking nonsense."
The corners of Zhou Yan’s mouth curved up slightly. ’Business warfare,’ he thought, ’so simple and unadorned.’
Winning the argunt didn’t bring him any custors, however. He stood at the entrance, watching the bustling crowds of workers pass by, his mind already churning with ideas on how to turn his reputation around and attract business.
He had a few ideas. He could offer free samples, for instance. People would certainly try sothing if it was free, and he could use his skill to shatter their doubts.
Or, he could build a stove by the entrance and stir-fry the toppings and pull the noodles fresh. Once that aty aroma started wafting through the air, true foodies who knew what’s what would naturally be drawn in.
These thods were simple and effective, but they all cost money.
And money was the one thing Zhou Yan lacked most right now.
He had to sell the thirty servings of noodles he’d prepared today. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to make rent in three days. ’I can’t ask Mom and Dad to borrow money for again, can I?’ The thought was unbearable; he could never bring himself to ask.
The foot traffic at the factory gate grew heavier. Wang the Fifth’s stall had already served its second wave of custors, while Zhou Yan had yet to serve his first.
Wang the Fifth kept glancing over at Zhou Yan, who was still just standing by his door, a massive grin splitting his face.
Seeing that it was already seven-thirty, Zhou Yan figured the morning was a lost cause. He would have to finalize a promotional plan and start implenting it by noon. Otherwise, all the toppings and dough he’d prepared would go to waste, and his losses would be even greater.
Just then, two bicycles pulled out from the stream of traffic and stopped in front of Zhou Yan Restaurant.
"Vice Director Lin, this is Zhou Yan Restaurant," one of the n said.
Zhou Yan looked toward the voice and saw two middle-aged n. He recognized the slightly heavyset man on the right: Zhao Dong, the director of the silk-reeling workshop. He was a man who preferred strongly flavored food and often ordered special als from the cafeteria’s small kitchen.
The man on the left was tall, dressed in a dark gray Zhongshan suit over a crisp white Dacron shirt. He had a square, stately face, wore black-frad glasses, and his hair was impeccably combed. With a fountain pen clipped to his pocket and a Shanghai-brand watch on his wrist, he had the distinct air of an intellectual. He was pushing a brand-new classic roadster bicycle, a red silk flower tied to its handlebars.
’Could this be Vice Director Lin, Lin Zhiqiang, who was transferred here the year before last?’
"You must be Comrade Zhou Yan!" Lin Zhiqiang parked his bicycle, strode forward excitedly, and grasped Zhou Yan’s hands. "I’m Lin Zhiqiang," he announced loudly. "You saved my niece yesterday, and I’ve co to thank you!"
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