“Uncle, you know about barbarian peppers?”
Lin Xiaoman had looked it up online—chili peppers were originally called “barbarian peppers” when they first came from abroad. She just hadn’t expected anyone here to recognize them.
The man laughed. “I run the steamed bun shop across from you. My surname is Jiao. When I was young, I worked on a trading vessel and traveled to many places. I once saw barbarian peppers in a small, distant country. But they were spicy and biting—hard to get used to. I wonder what kind of delicacy you’ll make with them, young shopkeeper.”
Lin Xiaoman smiled mysteriously. “Uncle Jiao, just wait. I promise you’ll never forget the taste!”
Uncle Jiao nodded with a smile. “Alright, then I’ll be looking forward to trying your cooking.”
Someone nearby chuckled. “Little girl, how old are you? Even if you started learning to cook in the cradle, could you really outdo a professional chef from a restaurant? Don’t be too confident!”
Lin Erhu shot the man a glare, but Lin Xiaoman paid it no mind. With quick movements, she scooped the blanched chicken pieces out of the pot, rinsed them in a large basin to remove the blood foam, and set them aside to drain. She also blanched the mushrooms and took them out.
She pulled out the jar of lard and scooped out several generous spoonfuls.
As the white fat melted in the pot, someone nearby swallowed hard. “With that much lard, those chickens are bound to be fragrant!”
“Hopefully, those barbarian peppers don’t ruin the chicken and lard.”
“Little shopkeeper, maybe just sell stir-fried chicken instead. Leave out those barbarian peppers.”
“Right, right! With that much oil, I’d eat it even without the spicy flavor.”
Lin Xiaoman could only smile helplessly. “Uncles, I’m making spicy hotpot chicken. Plain stir-fried chicken wouldn’t be anything special.”
With that, she lifted the jar and poured in about two packs’ worth of hotpot soup base. Since people here had never eaten chili peppers, she reduced the amount significantly compared to what she and Lin Erhu usually ate.
If she encountered customers who could handle spice later, she could always add more.
…
After adding scallions, ginger, and garlic to bloom the fragrance, she tossed in the blanched mushrooms and stir-fried them briefly. Then she added the chicken pieces, tossing them together. Once every piece was coated in the spicy oil, she poured in a large amount of water and let everything simmer.
The pungent, spicy aroma spread through the air, making the onlookers sneeze repeatedly.
The smell was incredibly bold—almost overwhelming. People began to doubt whether the chicken would even be edible. But after the sneezing subsided, they found the scent strangely intoxicating, their mouths watering in response.
By this time, it was nearly noon. The pungent fragrance drifted halfway down the street. Many passersby came to investigate. When Lin Xiaoman told them the chicken still needed to simmer for another hour, some left disappointed, while others stayed, eager to try it.
Lin Xiaoman and Lin Erhu moved the tables and benches out of the shop and placed wooden boards—bought from the carpenter’s shop—on top of each table.
People immediately started taking seats. Among them, the most striking was a young man in a blue robe, dressed in fine clothes.
He appeared to be around twenty, tall and lean, with strikingly handsome features—but his expression was icy cold. Lin Xiaoman glanced at him once and quickly looked away, feeling that if she stared any longer, he might start yelling at her.
Beside him sat a boy dressed as a book attendant, around sixteen or seventeen. His features, however, were rough, and his build was stocky. He looked more like a bodyguard than a scholar’s companion.
People kept asking when the chicken would be ready. Lin Xiaoman realized that the local chicken was tough—it really needed a full hour of simmering to become tender. Nothing like the chicken on the other side, which cooked in minutes.
And each chicken cost fifty wen—far less economical than the two to three yuan per chicken on the other side. Maybe she should buy chicken from the other side every day instead?
When the chicken was almost done, Lin Xiaoman had Lin Erhu light charcoal in the clay stoves and place them on the wooden boards. She herself stewed a pot of radishes in a small clay pot.
When the radishes were ready, she served a bowl and placed it on a table, then had Lin Erhu hand out bamboo skewers to the customers.
The first person to take a skewer stabbed a piece of radish and popped it into his mouth. Instantly, his expression twisted. The next second, he frantically fanned his mouth with his hand, making a “ha chi, ha chi” sound. “It burns! This stuff stings the mouth!”
Another person, who had also skewered a piece of radish, was frozen—unsure whether to eat it or put it down. Just as he was hesitating about whether to just leave, he saw the first man fanning his mouth for a while before skewering another piece of radish and eating it. After swallowing, still hissing and gasping, he asked, “Little shopkeeper, how much is this?”
Lin Xiaoman brought out a clean clay pot and filled it with a serving of mushroom chicken, adding some broth. “One pot of chicken like this costs fifty wen. After finishing the chicken, you can have more broth added for an extra ten wen per person, and then you can cook as many vegetables as you like.”
The onlookers glanced at the pot. It contained only about a quarter of a chicken, and the mushrooms were sparse. It was a bit pricey, and the portion was barely enough for one person. But the idea of paying just ten wen to eat all the vegetables they wanted was very tempting.
The man who had tried the radish hesitated for a moment. “Little shopkeeper, what if I don’t want chicken, just vegetables? Your radish tastes even better than meat.”
Lin Xiaoman thought for a moment. “I can do that, but there will be an extra five wen for the charcoal.”
The man immediately placed fifteen wen on the table. “I’ll just have vegetables.”
Lin Xiaoman filled a pot with broth, placed it on a clay stove, and handed him a large bowl. “Help yourself to whatever vegetables you want. Come back for more when you’re done.”
The man picked up his bowl and first grabbed some tofu, then some radish, tossing them into the pot. He went back for a bowl of cabbage, then sat by the table, waiting for the ingredients to cook.
Watching him, others followed suit, paying fifteen wen for a vegetable pot.
When Lin Xiaoman mentioned that a small bowl of chicken cost only twenty wen, some people, after ordering a vegetable pot for fifteen wen, added a small bowl of chicken to the pot.
Lin Xiaoman hadn’t expected such creative combinations and silently applauded their ingenuity.
When the chicken reached their mouths, their tongues tingled with heat.
“It burns! It’s so numbing! So hot!”
But even so, they couldn’t bring themselves to spit out the chicken. Instead, they chewed quickly and swallowed, then reached for another piece, gasping as they exclaimed, “It’s so fragrant!”
Seeing their reactions, the onlookers who had been hesitating also began ordering vegetable pots and adding bowls of chicken.
Some grouped up to order a chicken pot together, each paying an extra ten wen for vegetables.
Even the man who had originally ordered just a vegetable pot came back to buy a bowl of chicken to add to his pot. After finishing, he praised, “Meat is still better than vegetables!”
The cold-faced young man in blue instructed his attendant to buy two chicken pots and two vegetable sets—one for each of them.
Lin Xiaoman and Lin Erhu had only prepared ten clay stoves. Some customers had to wait for previous diners to finish, while others simply bought bowls of chicken to eat on their own.
Uncle Jiao from the steamed bun shop came over wanting to order a pot, but before he could, Lin Xiaoman said, “Uncle Jiao, we don’t have any steamed buns here. Why don’t you bring some over to sell?”
Uncle Jiao hadn’t expected to get business this way. Grinning, he hurried back to fetch some buns and had his son, who was busy in the shop, steam several more baskets, completely forgetting about trying the hotpot himself.
By then, the large pot of chicken was nearly sold out. The table with the young man in blue ordered two more chicken pots. Lin Xiaoman gave them generous portions and waived the vegetable fee.
The attendant thanked her and relayed this to the young man, who glanced over at Lin Xiaoman.
Perhaps because he had eaten something delicious, the young man’s expression was no longer so cold. But his face, usually as pale as white jade, was now flushed red from the spice. His eyes shimmered with moisture, and sweat dripped down his cheeks and chin.
It was clear he loved spicy food but couldn’t handle it well.