The Game of Life-Chapter 638 - 636 Chickpea Blossom (Part 2)
Chapter 638: Chapter 636 Chickpea Blossom (Part 2)
Jiang Weiming had spent almost half a day just dealing with the chicken soup.
During the entire process of making the clear soup, Jiang Xiaoran had eaten breakfast, lunched, played with his cell phone, and even written some programs, fixing some existing bugs while inadvertently introducing some new ones.
Jiang Feng watched with his own eyes as two pots of orange-yellow chicken soup gradually became clear and bright under Jiang Weiming’s hands; the impurities disappeared, the color faded, eventually turning into two pots of broth that looked like clear water while emitting an enticing aroma.
Miraculous craftsmanship.
The clear soup was only finished nearing dinner time, being the most difficult part to make in the whole chicken tofu flower dish and the part that best showcased a chef’s skill. After completing the two pots of clear soup, Jiang Weiming didn’t immediately start on making the chicken mince. Instead, he poured the clear soup into containers and placed them in the refrigerator, and then he began to prepare dinner.
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Jiang Weiming seemed anchored in the kitchen the entire day, bustling back and forth among the stoves.
Jiang Xiaoran, who had finished fixing bugs and came out of his room wanting to snack on something from the fridge, saw Jiang Weiming still wearing his sleeve covers and apron just as he had been at noon, and only then did it dawn on him that his grandfather had been busy in the kitchen all afternoon.
“Grandpa, you haven’t spent all afternoon cooking that chicken soup, have you?” Jiang Xiaoran asked.
“Clear soup is rather precious; it requires constant supervision during the making, you can’t leave it unattended,” Jiang Weiming explained.
Taking a bottle of yogurt from the refrigerator, Jiang Xiaoran said, “When we’re just eating at home, there’s no need to be so meticulous. As long as it tastes good, that’s enough. When my mom used to stew chicken, after cleaning the chicken, all she did was put it in the pot. Before I went to sleep, I just had to press the button to switch it to keep warm mode. Next time you stew chicken, you don’t need to keep watch; just sit in the living room and watch TV. If you’re worried about forgetting the time, just let me know. I can set an alarm.”
Jiang Xiaoran had never eaten chicken tofu flower and didn’t know what it was, mistakenly thinking it was similar to stewed chicken with tofu flowers.
“What I’m making is clear soup, not chicken soup, it’s different,” Jiang Weiming didn’t elaborate further, as Jiang Xiaoran would understand once he saw the finished dish.
After dinner, Jiang Weiming didn’t rush to make chicken tofu flower immediately. Instead, he took a walk downstairs with Jiang Xiaoran. From Jiang Xiaoran’s listless expression, Jiang Feng could tell he probably didn’t enjoy walking much.
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Accompanying Grandpa for a walk is a duty every filial grandson should fulfill.
The old residential area where Jiang Yong’s family lived was not big, so Jiang Weiming’s walk was just two circuits around the neighborhood. On their way back, they stopped by a small supermarket nearby to buy two bags of flour.
“Grandpa, let’s not make dumplings tonight. Look, it’s almost 8 o’clock. You still have to make that chicken tofu flower when you get back, and if we also make dumplings, we might be busy until eleven or twelve,” Jiang Xiaoran said, carrying the flour and advising.
“Then we won’t make them. I’ll prepare some filling for you and put it in the fridge; in a couple of days when your mom has time, she can make dumplings for you,” Jiang Weiming said with a smile.
He didn’t actually need to make dumplings; he just wanted to fill the fridge before he left, leaving more traces of his stay at Jiang Yong’s home.
However, Jiang Weiming was genuinely tired after being busy all day. The labor-intensive nature of making high-quality clear soup had caught him off guard due to many years of not making it, and that was why he hadn’t started on the chicken tofu flower right after finishing the clear soup.
After climbing upstairs, Jiang Weiming was even a bit winded, evidently really tired.
When Jiang Weiming and Jiang Xiaoran arrived home, Jiang Yong and his wife were already back, with opened lunch boxes on the dining table, clearly having brought food home from the work cafeteria.
“Dad, I just saw two basins of water that smelled like soup in the fridge. Is that what you made today?” Lin Juan was washing the dishes in the kitchen when she saw Jiang Weiming and Jiang Xiaoran return, so came out to ask.
Still catching his breath, Jiang Weiming found a chair to sit on and said, “That’s the clear soup I simmered this afternoon. Don’t clean up the kitchen yet; I still need to make chicken tofu flower later. It’ll be messy again, and you’ll have to clean up one more time.”
“Chicken tofu flower?” Jiang Yong walked out of his room upon hearing and still held a pen in his right hand.
“Dad, did you make chicken tofu flower today?”
“Not yet, I got everything ready, and the clear soup was just finished before dinner,” Jiang Weiming replied.
“Grandpa has been in the kitchen all day today,” Jiang Xiaoran added.
“You shouldn’t bother with that dish; it’s so much trouble and gone in a few minutes once we start eating—hardly worth it,” Jiang Yong said. “You’re heading back to Beiping tomorrow, and you haven’t even finished packing. Besides, with the long journey ahead, several hours on the road, you should get to bed early and rest up today instead of wasting time making chicken Jidouhua.”
Jiang Yong obviously didn’t support Jiang Weiming making chicken Jidouhua, especially when climbing a flight of stairs left him gasping for breath.
“I wanted to make chicken Jidouhua specially for you guys precisely because I’m leaving tomorrow. I haven’t cooked you any decent meals over the New Year’s period, and the broth is already done. The next steps aren’t so bothersome and can be finished quickly,” Jiang Weiming insisted on cooking it anyway.
“It may not seem troublesome, but preparing the broth takes eight to nine hours, and the rest at least another hour or two. By the time you’re done, it’ll probably be 10 o’clock.” Jiang Xiaoran and Lin Juan were not familiar with chicken Jidouhua, but as the editor of a gourmet magazine, Jiang Yong knew all about it. “You still need to pack your bags; once you finish everything, it might even be midnight. Listen to me, don’t make it. Don’t exhaust yourself.”
Upon hearing how much trouble this Jidouhua was, Lin Juan quickly chimed in, “Yeah, Dad, don’t make it.”
Jiang Xiaoran stood at the door cradling a bag of flour, not daring to speak. Although he really wanted to eat it, he also felt there was no need to go to so much trouble and effort for just one dish, especially given Jiang Weiming’s advanced age.
Seeing his son and daughter-in-law objecting, Jiang Weiming looked somewhat disappointed and said, “I was also thinking of making some dumpling filling and making dumplings tonight.”
Jiang Yong suddenly became anxious, “Dad, why bother with that? Didn’t we still have some dumplings left over from last time? There is still some water in the water heater; go take a shower first. Then have Xiaoran help you pack, and get to bed early tonight.”
Lin Juan, noticing Jiang Weiming’s expression, shot Jiang Yong a fierce glare, trying to hint at him to stop talking. But Jiang Yong completely missed Lin Juan’s implications and walked towards the bathroom to adjust the water heater.
Seeing that her hint was ineffective, Lin Juan had no choice but to raise her voice and make it clear.
“I think making dumplings sounds good. Dad, let’s make dumplings tonight!” Lin Juan said loudly.
Although it didn’t show on his face, Jiang Feng could tell that his father must be very pleased inside.
“Make… dumplings?” Jiang Yong hadn’t caught on to what Lin Juan was really getting at.
“We’re nearly out of dumplings at home. I’ll go knead the dough; Ran, you help Grandpa pack first. Once everything is packed, Dad can come over and help with the filling. Tonight, we can all make dumplings in the living room, watch TV and chat while we do it—it’ll be a family event,” Lin Juan explained.
“Oh.” With his instructions, Jiang Xiaoran put the flour on the ground and went to help Jiang Weiming pack.
Jiang Weiming nodded and entered the room with Jiang Xiaoran.
“Why bother making dumplings now? We’re going to be eating in the canteen and not at home anymore. What’s the point of making dumplings?” Jiang Yong asked.
Lin Juan couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him, “I can’t believe you’re an editor who deals with people all day and can’t see what’s obvious. Dad isn’t suddenly craving to cook us a fancy meal. He’s about to leave and feeling reluctant but too embarrassed to say it outright, so he wants to make that dish you just said takes eight to nine hours just to prepare the broth.”
“Making dumplings isn’t tiring with everyone sitting together, watching TV, and chatting. If it comes to it, we can just have Ran wake up earlier for a while instead of buying buns downstairs; we can eat dumplings at home for breakfast, right?”
“I’m just concerned about fussing over nothing and him getting tired,” Jiang Yong defended himself.
Lin Juan shook her head in resignation and went to pick up the flour that Jiang Xiaoran had placed on the floor, “Forget it, don’t I know? You’ve had this problem for years. When there are guests, you’re fine, but when it’s just family, you become so brusque when you speak to Dad.”
“It’s been so many years, and you’re still like this.”
“Did I sound really harsh just now?”
“Do you want me to record you on my phone next time so you can hear for yourself? Dad is actually very considerate. Since I married you, he has never asked us for a penny for his own sake and always waits with a cooked meal when we visit for the holidays. It’s just that in the past few years, he favored your older brother and Jiang Zhe too much, which was really because they were so unreliable. You should really work on this habit,” Lin Juan said as she placed the flour on the table and went to find a basin to start kneading the dough.
“Oh,” Jiang Yong responded, somewhat grudgingly.
“By the way, what about those two pots of broth in the fridge? Didn’t you say earlier that it took eight to nine hours to prepare?” Lin Juan asked.
“Let’s see what Dad wants to do.” Jiang Yong went back to his room.
