1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

Michelle had just put the last piece of steak in her mouth when she sat down in a relaxed, contented pose.

Catherine's barbecue skills were truly superb; he thoroughly enjoyed the meal.

Just as Dickens was about to pull him aside to continue discussing the artistic techniques of "The Mourning," the restaurant door was suddenly pushed open with a bang.

A figure burst in, his face filled with extreme excitement.

"Michael?"

Upon seeing the person who had arrived, Dickens was startled and nearly spilled the wine in his hand.

The man who arrived was Michael, but he was quite different from his usual gentlemanly demeanor.

Michael had huge dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes were bloodshot, but he was unusually excited.

He waved a freshly printed copy of the London Express in one hand and struggled to carry a heavy sack in the other.

"We did it! Michelle, we did it!"

Michael wanted to rush over and give Michelle a bear hug, but when he saw the untied plates on the table, he abruptly stopped the car.

"You're simply my lucky star!"

"This issue's newspaper sales are a full 30% higher than last week's 'Sleepy' issue!"

"All of London is talking about 'The Mourning,' about George, and about that soft hat I didn't have time to buy!"

He took a breath and put the burlap sack on the ground with a thud.

"To celebrate the big sales, I brought you something nice." Michael said mysteriously, looking extremely proud.

"This was obtained from his greenhouse by a noble friend of mine; it's something most people never even see."

Dickens, Catherine, and Mary were all intrigued and gathered around.

Michelle looked at the sack with curiosity, but with a more composed demeanor.

We're from the 21st century, what haven't we seen?

Michael untied the bag and pulled out a round, bright red object.

This thing glows bright red in the sunlight, looking fresh and juicy.

However, the atmosphere in the restaurant changed abruptly the moment they saw what it was.

"Love Apple?" Catherine exclaimed, her face showing obvious alertness.

Mary's eyes widened, a mixture of curiosity and fear in them.

Dickens, on the other hand, furrowed his signature eyebrows and leaned closer to examine it closely, as if studying some rare species.

"Michael, where did you get this stuff? You can't just eat this!"

Catherine's tone turned serious: "I heard from the gardener that this plant belongs to the nightshade family and is related to the highly poisonous mandrake. It can only be planted in the garden for decorative purposes."

"Huh? Poisonous?" Michael's smile froze on his face. He looked at the bright red fruit in his hand, then at Michelle, with a completely bewildered expression.

"My friend didn't say that. He said this thing is called a 'love apple,' and it's very rare..."

In 1837 England, tomatoes were indeed a rarity.

It is called the "Love Apple".

It came all the way from South America, but because of its bright appearance and the stereotype that "solanum plants are poisonous," it has always been regarded as an ornamental plant in the gardens of the nobility.

In addition, the cold and damp weather in Britain means that tomatoes, which prefer warmth and are not cold-hardy, must be carefully cared for in greenhouses, making cultivation very expensive. Ordinary people rarely even see them, let alone eat them.

Therefore, even though tomatoes were introduced to Europe from South America as early as 1590, and then to England from Europe, they never became a staple food.

Seeing the way the others looked like they were facing a formidable enemy, Michelle almost burst out laughing.

This so-called "love apple" is nothing more than the tomato that we commonly see in later generations.

He picked up a tomato, weighed it in his hand, and then smelled it. Instantly, a familiar sweet and sour fragrance filled his nostrils.

Michelle almost burst into tears.

It's been weeks, do you know how I've gotten through these past few weeks!

Even in later generations, British cuisine was only known by the stereotype of "fish and chips".

Especially now, when food is scarce.

After transmigrating, he had long been fed up with black bread, oatmeal, roasted potatoes, and all sorts of monotonous meat chops. He dreamed of a bowl of braised beef brisket with tomatoes, or a plate of scrambled eggs with tomatoes.

"Mrs. Catherine, Michael, Mr. Dickens," Michelle cleared her throat, successfully drawing everyone's attention.

"This stuff isn't poisonous."

Meeting Catherine's suspicious gaze, he calmly continued, "Not only is it not poisonous, but it's also very delicious."

"Michelle, are you really sure?" Catherine was still uneasy.

"I'm sure." Michel smiled, shaking the tomato in his hand. "If you trust me, I'll cook you all a dish you've never tried before."

"Michelle is right, it's definitely not poisonous. It's a common food in Europe. In London, many salons serve tomato dishes."

At this point, Dickens came out and endorsed Michel.

"But you actually use this to cook?"

"You know, there aren't many chefs in those salons who can cook this kind of dish."

Dickens' curiosity was completely ignited, and his big eyes sparkled with a childlike light.

Michelle's gaze swept over the remaining steak on the table, and the outline of a dish began to take shape in her mind.

"I use this with beef to make a special dish."

Love, apples, and beef?

This unusual combination left the four British men present looking at each other in bewilderment.

"Mr. Michel, can you cook?"

Mary asked in a low voice, her eyes full of admiration.

How can an author who can write such great stories also cook?

"I know a little bit," Michelle said modestly.

Seeing Michelle's confident demeanor, Dickens slapped his thigh, his face revealing an excited expression that suggested he was ready to watch a good show.

"Darling, let him try! I'm willing to take a risk for Michel's genius! Even if it really is poisonous, dying together with a genius writer would be a romantic ending."

Catherine was both amused and annoyed by his words, and could only reluctantly agree.

So, under the astonished gaze of the Dickens family, Michelle rolled up her sleeves and went into the kitchen.

He first used a knife to make a cross-shaped cut on the top of the tomato, scalded it with boiling water, easily peeled off the skin, and then cut it into small pieces. Next, he cut the remaining steak into pieces.

Soon, a sizzling sound came from the kitchen—the sound of butter melting in the pan.

Immediately afterwards, a rich and unique aroma wafted out from under the kitchen door.

It wasn't just the aroma of meat, nor the fragrance of vegetables, but a sweet and sour flavor that was both assertive and gentle.

In the living room, the four people who had been chatting fell silent without prior arrangement.

The taste was like an invisible hand, tickling the hearts of those present.

"Oh God, what's this smell?"

Michael sniffed hard, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed the saliva secreted in his mouth.

Dickens even stood up and paced back and forth in the kitchen doorway, seemingly observing Michelle's progress.

"Is Michelle casting some kind of spell? Why does it smell so good?"

Finally, Michelle emerged from the kitchen carrying a huge soup platter.

On the plate, the rich, bright red broth coats the tender, stewed beef chunks, and is garnished with a few bright green parsley leaves. Just looking at it makes your mouth water.

That sweet and sour, domineering aroma became even stronger!

Several people sat around the dining table, looking at the "Love Apple Stewed Beef" dish they had never seen before, and for a moment no one dared to touch it.

"Try them all."

Michelle smiled and took the first spoonful into her mouth.

Ah, that's the familiar taste!

The familiar taste brought him back to the 21st century.

Seeing that Michelle was unharmed and even looked like she was enjoying herself, Dickens finally couldn't resist and scooped up a spoonful himself, just like Michelle did.

The moment the thick broth and tender beef entered his mouth, Dickens' eyes widened in surprise.

Sour! Sweet! Fresh! Delicious!

The sweet and sour taste of tomatoes perfectly balances the greasiness of the beef. The stewed broth is rich and flavorful, the beef melts in your mouth, and all the flavors explode on your taste buds like a magnificent symphony.

"Oh my God!"

Dickens let out a satisfied groan, then buried his head in his food and began to eat heartily, completely abandoning his usual gentlemanly demeanor.

Seeing this, Michael, Catherine, and Mary also started eating.

"It's so delicious!"

"Was this really made from that 'Love Apple'?"

"Mr. Michel, you are simply a genius!"

Praises rose and fell.

Watching the three people disappear in a flash, Michelle leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face.

A chef's happiness comes from seeing diners finish their food completely.

Conquering the stomachs of a great writer with everyday dishes that will become commonplace in later generations—that feeling is really not bad.

The meal was a great success, and Michael, patting his round belly, leaned back on the sofa and let out a satisfied burp.

"Michelle, you're not only a writing genius, you're a culinary genius too!"

Dickens also held a cup of black tea, his face showing a lingering, savoring expression.

Thank you so much to "Book Friend 20230819110707135" for the monthly pass, thank you very much.

As promised, the bonus chapter is here! Time to go to sleep.