"No, I know what you mean, Dante. Don't worry, I won't waste this food, and I'm sure you'll like it too."
I smiled and expressed my understanding of Dante's concerns.
Seeing my serious expression, which suggested I wasn't joking, Dante glanced at me suspiciously and asked uncertainly,
"Sir, are you telling the truth? You're not lying to Dante?"
"Dante, do you trust me, like a friend would trust me implicitly?" I didn't answer directly, but asked in return.
"Of course, sir, you are Dante's best friend, and Dante naturally trusts you."
Dante nodded firmly.
"Alright, now just do as I say, trust me like a friend, and I won't let you down. Can you do that, Dante?"
I asked the question again.
"Yes, sir. Dante will follow your instructions."
This time, Dante's expression became incredibly resolute, without a trace of doubt. Even if I were holding a jar of arsenic in my hand, Dante would still eat it without hesitation.
I patted the young Black man on the shoulder and said, "Go and get the bamboo shoots we picked in the bamboo forest tonight. Get ready, we're going to start cooking."
Hearing this, Dante finally came to his senses. No wonder I went to the bamboo forest so late; it turns out the bamboo shoots there were for cooking.
Dante let out an "Oh!" and then ran off to get the bamboo shoots.
As soon as Dante ran off, I smiled and brought out the perfect supporting ingredient for today's dish: bamboo fungus. With the fresh bamboo fungus I picked tonight, the quality of this dish will skyrocket.
Today, I'll show you country bumpkins the deadly psychological "damage" of chicken stew with mushrooms.
The recipe is the same old recipe, and the method is the same old method. At this moment, Top seemed to have realized what I was going to do, and his monkey face was full of excitement.
When Top saw bamboo fungus, he naturally thought of the chicken and mushroom stew with bamboo fungus that we had more than a month ago.
Top ate plenty of bamboo fungus back then, so how could he not be happy to see me making bamboo fungus again after so long?
The indigenous women looked at the monkey leaping and bounding about, puzzled. What was wrong with them? How could they be so happy when they were about to lose?
Soon, Dante carried over two large bamboo shoots that weighed nearly twenty pounds in total.
I used a knife to peel off the outer husk of the bamboo shoots, and then Dante and I took them to clean the bamboo shoots and bamboo fungus.
I still cut the bamboo shoots into suitable large pieces, blanched them over high heat, and placed them on banana leaves for later use.
Then it's the same old routine: break all the bamboo partridges down into large pieces, using the same method as before, separating the spine, breast, wings, and thighs.
Then, I extracted all the chicken fat to render oil for stir-frying. Since there were more chickens this time, the amount of oil was two or three times more than before.
Next, stir-fry the spine first, then the breast and drumsticks, and finally the wings and chicken feet until they are golden brown.
The aroma is now wafting out, and those natives who were skeptical of me before have transformed into giraffes, craning their necks to look in my direction.
I could hear many of them swallowing hard, their saliva flying everywhere. This aroma of stir-fried vegetables was probably something they were never smelling before.
The blue light emitted by the glow sticks placed next to the indigenous women made their faces appear somewhat deep, as if bathed in blue light.
At this moment, the indigenous women put away their contempt for me, even though they had no idea what I had been doing for so long.
But they weren't stupid; the aroma emanating from the pot made them feel a great sense of pressure.
Especially since she had seemed so relaxed before, even occasionally mocking me, that native woman named Sou. Her expression turned serious, and fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.
I don't care about that. Back when I had my hands in my pockets at the school's food festival, I couldn't find a single worthy competitor in the entire school.
Sometimes being invincible can feel really tiring and lonely...
Sometimes I really want a classmate to beat me, but then I see how scared they are.
I could only walk alone to the top of the podium, standing with my hands behind my back, looking at my comrades around me, and sigh helplessly, for I am not the only hero in the world.
The chicken is browned and crispy, then removed from the pan and set aside.
I used the remaining oil to stir-fry the bamboo shoots briefly, then set them aside.
Next, I prepared a large pot of water and added it in, because I was worried that there wouldn't be enough food for everyone later, and it would be great if everyone could share some soup.
Once the water was fully boiling, I put the chicken in first, followed by the crisp and refreshing bamboo shoots.
After simmering the pot for a while with the lid on, I added today's main side dish. Because bamboo fungus cannot be cooked for a long time, it must be added last.
The soup still had a beautiful color, a pale golden broth. Finally, I added a handful of salt, hailed as the king of seasonings.
To further enhance the magical damage of this dish, I added a small pinch of dried rosemary to the broth.
The entire room fell silent; you could hear a pin drop. Only the lingering aroma of mushrooms, chicken, and bamboo shoots filled the air, lingering on everyone's lips and tongues.
Everyone, including my opponents, was stunned. Their mouths were agape, practically slamming into their feet.
The ground was now covered with small puddles large enough to raise fish. I reckon they're practically gassing for breath right now, preparing for the battle to come.
I smiled and looked at the high priest, who had instantly developed dementia, and the natives present, and said,
"My dish is finished too, now we can make a comparison."
Dante, snapping out of his daze, wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and announced to the high priest and the crowd that his dish was ready and the competition could begin.
The high priest and the leader swallowed their dry throats and mumbled something, and then everyone, who had been stunned for a long time, finally came to their senses.
The first dish served was naturally the roasted chicken made by the indigenous woman named Sou.
Even now, it's still clear that the chicken is roasted quite well; at least for a place like a tribe where cooking is rather rustic, it's considered quite refined.
These pre-treated chickens are roasted by pressing them down with two stone slabs. Now they look crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, sizzling with oil.
At this point, everyone became a judge for tasting the food, including myself, and we could all try each other's dishes.
I was also curious about what they had done with those potatoes and wild vegetables, so I left my spot and went to the indigenous woman, turning over a roasted chicken that was lying on its side like a duck.
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