America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Sofia tilted her head and struggled to spell out the words as Chen Ming moved.

"S...O...N...O...F...S...O...U...L."

"Child of the Soul?"

Sofia's expression was even more confused than before, as if she were looking at an abstract painting.

"What do you mean by that? Are you saying you're the godfather of soul music? Or are you saying you sell the kind of poisonous food that can send you to heaven?"

"It sounds more like the name of a third-rate rock band, or some cult that preaches the end of the world... It's too vague and doesn't make any sense of what they're selling."

"You don't understand, this is called artistic conception."

Chen Ming took two steps back, looking at the line of glittering silver words on the car body, a smile appearing on his lips.

"The soul represents the inner essence, while the child signifies inheritance and rebirth. This is not only a pursuit of the essence of food, but also resonates with my current...other identity."

"Georgia~"

"..."

Sofia opened her mouth.

I could understand each word individually, but when they were put together, it sounded like gibberish.

"Whatever you want, just don't make me wear a nun's habit to sell hot dogs for you."

……

Over the next two days, Chen Ming obtained a health permit by affiliating with a kitchen, and then spent some money to rent a storage room with a window in the stairwell of the apartment building.

The reason for not using the apartment's kitchen was twofold: firstly, they were worried about someone stealing food, and secondly, the food Chen Ming was going to make had a rather strong smell.

Five o'clock in the morning, at the meat wholesale market.

While other restaurant owners were scrambling to buy fresh steaks and lamb chops, Chen Ming headed straight to a corner and, at prices practically like scrap metal, swept up two hundred pounds of beef bones, butter, and offal...

In the United States, these things usually end up in one of two places: either as pet food or as industrial waste.

But in Chen Ming's eyes, this was simply a highly profitable commodity—offal was cheap, and as long as it was braised in a large pot with plenty of oil and spice, the fishy smell could be perfectly covered up. Moreover, it was durable, easy to heat up, and served very quickly.

Anyway, he didn't really intend to get rich from the food truck. He just chopped up these things, put them in fried rice, and sold them in poor communities. Who would care what the scraps of meat in them actually were...

Back in the cramped storage room, Chen Ming looked at the mountain of entrails in front of him but didn't rush to cook them.

The slaughtering process in the United States is different from that in China. Most livestock are not bled during slaughter. In addition, due to issues with feed feeding, the meat here—especially offal—has such a strong, pungent smell that it can practically blow your skull off.

To transform this pile of "biological weapons" into an irresistible delicacy, conventional methods of removing the fishy smell are simply not enough.

Fortunately, Chen Ming can even handle human corpses.

With a blank expression, he tore open several large bags of cheap chili powder and braising spices, then poured several bags of MSG and salt into the bucket, adding so much seasoning as if he were concocting a chemical poison...

For lower-class Americans whose taste buds have been destroyed by high-sugar, high-fat diets, so-called "umami" is equivalent to tasteless dog poop; what they need is a direct, stimulating assault on their palates.

Three times the spiciness, three times the saltiness, and enough dark soy sauce and heavy oil to mask any unpleasant odors... and a touch of technology.

He doesn't need to wash things too thoroughly, preserving more of the original flavor of the ingredients.

Heat oil in a wok.

As large chunks of butter melted in the pot, Chen Ming dumped the blanched offal into the dark red broth, covered the pot, and turned the heat down to low...

The rest is up to time.

evening.

After a full twelve hours of preparation, the braised dish that Chen Ming had high hopes for was finally served as "offal fried rice" and presented to Sofia.

"Give it a try, the first product of 'Child of the Soul'."

Chen Ming took off his apron and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Sofia looked down at the plate of food in front of her, somewhat hesitant.

I must admit, the fried rice looked fantastic.

The rice grains are distinct, glistening with soy sauce and chili oil, garnished with vibrant green scallions and bright red chili peppers, while finely chopped dark brown meat radiates an enticing heat...

If you don't think about the fact that this "meat" was originally cheap offal piled up in plastic baskets, it would definitely be a mouthwatering meal.

But the problem is, she saw it.

She even witnessed Chen Ming pouring half a bag of unknown white powder and some strange reagents in small bottles into the braising liquid...

"Chen, are you sure you didn't add any weird 'meat' to these things?"

"Do you think I would put something so expensive into cheap fried rice? You'll know once you take a bite."

"Okay, I'll just have one bite. Just one bite."

She closed her eyes and put the fried rice, which glowed with an eerie red light, into her mouth.

Chew, once or twice.

Sofia suddenly opened her eyes, her expression as if she had been punched in the stomach.

"Holy..."

She mumbled a curse, her mind contorting as she tried to vomit, but her throat betrayed her by swallowing.

Then comes the second spoonful.

"What the hell does this damn stuff taste like?"

Sofia breathed out her breath as she took a big gulp of the iced cola next to her.

"It's salty and spicy, and my mouth is full of cheap grease... But how can this damn flavor be so addictive? I feel like my brain is screaming, but my tongue wants another bite."

"This is the power of culinary skills and technology."

Chen Ming leaned against the counter, smiling like a middleman selling contraband.

"With ethyl maltol and a powerful meat enhancer, I can make even offal smell like Wellington steak, let alone shoe insoles... So, do you think anyone would buy this for a dollar?"

Sofia almost spat out the cola she had just drunk.

"One dollar?!"

"That's right, one dollar. Cash only, excluding tax."

"Are you crazy?!"

"Now even the starting price for homeless people begging is two dollars. What can you buy with a dollar? It's hard to even buy a hot dog at 7-Eleven... After deducting gas and labor costs, are you doing charity?"

"Pretty much, isn't that what charity is all about?" Chen Ming shrugged.

"I would price it at five dollars on the menu, but actually only charge one dollar, selling it to the poor to create the illusion of a queue..."

"When the time comes, I'll tell the IRS that my business is so good that I sold everything at the original price. Who will bother to verify whether I sold it for one dollar or five dollars? That way, my money can be legitimately converted into income from selling fried rice."

"...You're a born criminal, Chen."

Sofia shook her head, then naturally reached for the remaining fried rice on the plate with her spoon.

"Although the logic is absurd, the taste is indeed—"

The plate was pulled away in an instant.

"What are you doing?" Sofia frowned.

"I remember someone swore a solemn oath."

Chen Ming slowly scooped a spoonful of fried rice and put it into his mouth.

"If you eat what I make, you'll jump off the Federal Bank building—Miss Sophia, for your own safety, you'd better not eat this meal."

"That's rhetoric, do you even understand rhetoric! Besides, I've already taken a bite, give it to me!"

"One dollar discount, no credit."

"Fuck you, Chen!"