Everyday Life Starting with Food Wars

The squid sizzles in the oil, its surface gradually tightening as the filling expands inside the squid tube, making the squid's skin smooth and plump.

After frying, he poured in half a cup of white wine, burned off the alcohol over high heat, then added the stock he had prepared beforehand with tomatoes, onions, and bay leaves, covered the pot, and simmered it over low heat.

Chen Yuxing brought out the same type of squid, but his method of processing it was completely different from Takumi's. He cut the squid tube open, split it in half from the middle, and then cut diagonally to make crisscrossing diamond-shaped cuts on the inside of the squid. The blade made a slight hissing sound when it cut through the squid meat. After the cuts were finished, the squid slices were laid flat on the cutting board, and the surface of each slice looked like it was engraved with a fine grid.

"Making decorative knives?"

Daigo Aoki leaned out from the audience and said, "Isn't that how you get fired?"

"It's a dry pot."

Satoshi Isshiki chimed in, “In Chinese cuisine, the use of decorative cuts isn’t just for stir-frying; it’s also common in dry pot dishes. The purpose of making decorative cuts is to increase the surface area of ​​the ingredients, allowing the sauce to penetrate into the cut lines. At the same time, squid cut with decorative cuts will curl up when heated, forming a shape similar to a lychee flower. When heated, the cut lines crack, and the sauce seeps into the meat layer through the cracks, making the texture more bouncy and the flavor more intense.”

Chen Yuxing then cut the squid tentacles into short sections, put all the processed squid into a strainer to drain the water, and then poured oil into the pot, about twice as much as he usually does when stir-frying vegetables.

When the oil was heated to about 70% of its maximum temperature, he quickly dipped the squid slices and tentacles into the hot oil and swished them for about ten seconds. The squid instantly curled up in the hot oil, and the sliced ​​meat, cut with a decorative knife, rolled into pale pink lychee flowers. After swishing the squid, he took it out and drained the oil. The whole oil pot was still steaming.

Pour out most of the oil from the bottom of the pot, leaving only a thin layer, then add Pixian chili bean paste over low heat.

The moment the fermented soybean paste hit the pot, the red oil sizzled and burst open, releasing a strong aroma of fermented sauce that filled the entire arena.

The students sitting in the front row were choked by the aroma and kept sneezing, but after sneezing, they couldn't help but sniff hard. The salty and spicy aroma of fermented soybean paste is completely different from the spiciness of ordinary chili peppers. The special aroma of fermented soybean paste is amplified by the hot oil, turning the whole pot into a source of fragrance.

Add ginger slices, garlic cloves, dried chili pepper segments, and Sichuan peppercorns to the pot in that order.

The dried chilies are bird's eye chilies, cut into small pieces, with the seeds bursting out and rolling around in the red oil.

The Sichuan peppercorns were the same salt-roasted green peppercorns he had used at the Chinese Cuisine Research Association. They were uniform in size and released a refreshing, numbing aroma when dropped into the pot.

All the spices were sautéed in the chili oil for less than twenty seconds, and the aroma was already so strong that even people sitting in the last row could smell it.

The squid, which had been scrambled in oil, was poured back into the wok and stir-fried over high heat. Chen Yuxing tossed the wok with his left hand and held a spatula with his right. The squid rolled back and forth between the flames and the wok. The sauce and spices coated each squid flower evenly. The patterns on the cuts were fully developed during the stir-frying, and the sauce seeped into every crevice of the cuts.

Finally, he added a small spoonful of white sugar and a few drops of balsamic vinegar. The sugar supported the spiciness, and the vinegar enhanced the umami flavor, making it spicy but not pungent, and fresh but not fishy.

Before taking it off the heat, he sprinkled a large handful of celery stalks and onion chunks into the pan. The vegetables weren't fully cooked, so they remained crisp and crunchy when you bit into them.

Remove from the pot and plate. The dry-pot squid has no broth, so all the flavors are tightly wrapped around the surface of the ingredients. The squid is rolled up into a plate full of lychee flower-like rolls, with glistening red oil hanging on the cut lines. Dried chili peppers and peppercorns are scattered among them. The celery is bright green, and the onions are translucent. The whole dish is steaming hot.

The stuffed squid from Takumi's side was served to the judges first.

Five squid tubes were arranged side by side on a white porcelain plate. A layer of light orange tomato broth covered the bottom of the plate. The golden-brown charred marks on the surface of the squid tubes glistened under the light. He used a knife and fork to cut one of the squid tubes into thick slices, revealing the filling inside.

The pinkish-white squid meat is coated with golden breadcrumbs and bright green parsley flakes, and the melted Parmesan cheese stretches into thin strands within the filling.

The head judge forked a piece and put it in his mouth. The outer skin of the squid tube had a thin layer of caramelized aroma after being fried. When you bite into it, it is slightly crispy at first, followed by the soft and chewy squid meat after stewing.

The tentacle-like bits in the filling provide a subtle bouncy sensation when chewed.

The texture of the tentacle-like suckers gently bounced between my teeth, the salty aroma of Parmesan cheese and the oily flavor of pine nuts unfolded at the same time, the broth made from white wine and stock was sweet and not greasy, and the slight acidity of tomatoes brought all the flavors together to finish.

"A perfect Italian-style stuffed squid."

The head judge put down his knife and fork. "The cooking was excellent. The outer skin was crispy but not tough, and the filling was firm but not dry. As for the seasoning, the amount of white wine used was very restrained, without overpowering the natural sweetness of the squid. There were no flaws in this dish."

The other four judges nodded in agreement, with one of the female judges adding a comment: "The handling of the crumbly texture in the filling is very clever. It makes the filling more than just a soft, fluffy stuffing, but gives it a chewy texture."

Takumi stood before the judges' panel and bowed slightly, his expression unwavering; he knew exactly what he was doing.

The stuffed squid was indeed well done, but he stewed it for a little too long when reducing the sauce, and the outer skin of one squid tube was slightly too soft. These are details that the judges might not be able to detect.

Then Chen Yuxing brought up the dry pot squid.

When Chen Yuxing brought the plate to the judges' table, the judges from the first and second rounds had already fallen silent. By the time they reached the third round, they had developed a conditioned reflex of anticipation for Chen Yuxing's cooking. The head judge, with his gray hair, even picked up his chopsticks with a steady hand than before.

"Dry pot squid," Chen Yuxing announced the dish, taking a step back.

When the dish was served to the judges, they all involuntarily sniffed, the aroma of chili oil and Sichuan peppercorns hitting their nasal cavities like a punch.

The head judge picked up a squid flower. The patterns on the knife had fully unfolded after being stir-fried, and the sauce seeped into every crevice of the knife. The squid curled into a beautiful lychee flower shape, and the red oil dripped down the edges of the knife. He blew on it twice and stuffed the whole squid flower into his mouth.

His expression changed after the first bite, as if he were carefully analyzing the flavor, his brows furrowing slightly while the corners of his mouth turned up.

The squid's outer skin is chewy, and when you bite into it, the patterns created by the knife cuts give it several layers of texture.

The surface is salty and spicy with chili oil and fermented bean paste. Once you bite into it, you'll find the fresh sweetness of the squid itself. Chewing further in, you'll experience the numbing sensation of Sichuan peppercorns and the spiciness of chili peppers intertwined.

The spiciness danced on my tongue for about three seconds, followed by the numbing sensation of Sichuan peppercorns. It was a very refreshing numbing sensation, like the cool feeling of rinsing your mouth with ice water, which turned into a slight tingling numbness.

The head judge swallowed the whole squid flower, then picked up a piece of celery.

The celery was only stir-fried until it was 70% cooked. When you bite into it, there's a crisp crunch, and the refreshing texture completely washes away the intense spiciness from before.

Then he picked up the second squid flower.

Unable to stop, the entire plate of dry-pot squid was devoured by the five judges even faster than the seafood rice and beef shoulder from the previous two rounds. After finishing the last piece of onion in his spoon, the head judge put down his chopsticks, picked up his water glass, and took a big gulp.

"The squid is sliced ​​with a fancy knife and presented using the dry pot technique of Chinese cuisine. Doubanjiang (fermented broad bean paste), Sichuan peppercorns, and dried chili peppers—three different pungent seasonings—don't clash with each other in your hands. Instead, each finds its own place. Doubanjiang provides a savory base flavor, dried chili peppers offer a direct spiciness, and Sichuan peppercorns, at the end, use their numbing sensation to balance the spiciness and prevent it from getting out of control. What's even more remarkable is that the crisp texture of celery and onions cleanses the palate. After eating a plate of this spicy and numbing dish, there's surprisingly no greasy feeling left in your mouth. This dish achieves an extremely high level of completion in terms of both the layers of texture and the depth of flavor."

He paused for a moment, then added, "And you tossed it in a wok over high heat. I haven't seen many first-year students at Totsuki University who can control the heat like that."

All five judges raised their scorecards simultaneously; all five votes were cast, and the score was passed.

Takumi stood behind his cooking station and watched the whole process on the judging panel—the judge's slightly furrowed brow when he took the first bite, the speed at which he picked up food when he took the second bite, and the way he put down his chopsticks with sauce marks on his lips when he ate the last piece of onion. He put down his plate, walked to Chen Yuxing's judging panel, and looked down at the almost empty dry pot plate, with a thin layer of red oil and a few peppercorns remaining at the bottom.

He put down his plate and walked over.

"May I try some?"

He stood next to the judges' panel, pointing to the nearly empty dry pot plate.

Chen Yuxing glanced at the plate, which now only contained chili oil and peppercorns, and turned to him, saying, "That plate is almost empty. I'll make you another one separately."

After he finished speaking, he turned around and went back to the kitchen counter to start cooking again.

He heated the oil in the wok, added the fermented bean paste, and the red oil sizzled and burst open. He then sliced ​​the squid a few more times, making the same even cuts as before. Once the oil reached 70% heat, he quickly stir-fried the squid, cut the tentacles into sections, and then sautéed ginger, garlic, dried chili peppers, and Sichuan peppercorns in that order. He returned the squid to the wok and stir-fried it over high heat, finishing with sugar and vinegar. He then added celery and onions, tossed them in the wok a couple of times, and then took the dish out of the wok. The entire dish took less than fifteen minutes from start to finish. He placed it on a small plate and served it to Takmi.

"Try it."

Takumi took the plate, and his younger brother Isami ran down from the audience at some point, his chubby body squeezing next to his brother, holding up the support sign with a squid on it, his eyes fixed on the dry pot squid on the plate.

Takumi used a fork to pick up a squid flower, the red oil dripping down the edge of the knife. He blew on it twice and stuffed the whole squid flower into his mouth.

Then he fell silent.

He started chewing about five seconds later, chewing very slowly. The bouncy texture of the squid skin, the spiciness of the sauce through the crisscrossing cuts, the numbing sensation of the Sichuan peppercorns, the crispness of the celery, and the sweetness of the onion all changed his expression with each chew.

After swallowing the whole squid flower, he forked a piece of celery. The celery was only cooked to about 70% done. He bit into it with a crunchy sound, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

"The angle at which the slicing knife cuts is perfectly consistent. This ensures that each petal is uniformly sized after the pattern unfolds, resulting in even heat distribution and consistent chewing resistance. The temperature of the oil is crucial; the slightly charred aroma I smelled earlier was from the squid's surface protein solidifying instantly in the hot oil when it reached about 60% of its maximum temperature. The fermented bean paste was added over low heat, and the chili oil was slowly rendered, allowing the fermented aroma of the bean paste to be fully released without any burnt taste. When tossing the pan, the celery and onions weren't completely coated in the sauce, only a thin layer of oil, so they remained crisp when bitten. Finally, the touch of sugar and vinegar softens the spiciness, while the vinegar enhances the umami flavor; both are used in very small amounts but are indispensable."

He put down his fork and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I lost."

He looked up, a bright light shining in his blue eyes. "If I compete with you again next time, I'll develop a new dish."

Chen Yuxing reached out his hand, and Takumi squeezed it firmly. Then he let go and finished off the rest of the dry-pot squid on the plate.

Isami was so anxious that he kept stamping his feet. Takmi left some food for him at the end. After Isami stuffed it into his mouth, his eyes widened and he mumbled, "This celery and squid is so delicious." Then he raised the sign with the squid on it and waved it vigorously at Chen Yuxing.

Just as Chen Yuxing was about to pack up the knives, a notification sound went off in his head.

Winning three consecutive matches triggers a hidden reward – unlocking the recipe "Dry-fried Shrimp" and adding the ingredient "One Pack of Shark Fin".

He glanced at the system notification, his hands still busy wiping the knife. The third match had just ended, and he only had half an hour to prepare for the fourth match. He didn't have time to look at the rewards carefully—tofu was his specialty, but this time his opponent was not to be underestimated.

Chapter 14 Wensi Tofu

Before the fourth match even started, people in the audience were already talking about Sakurai Yumi's name. Unlike her opponents in the first three matches, when she walked out of the tunnel wearing a plain-colored kimono, the noise in the entire arena dropped by half a notch.

She didn't bring a knife case, but only a wooden cooking box wrapped in a cloth.

Walking to the kitchen counter, she first untied the cloth and opened the food box. Inside, neatly arranged were homemade sesame tofu, a bottle of hand-ground sesame paste, a small bag of Yoshinomoto kudzu powder, and a few fresh perilla leaves wrapped in a damp cloth.

Sakurai Hiromi turned around, bowed slightly in the direction of Chen Yuxing, and performed a very standard Japanese bow.

Chen Yuxing nodded to her. This was the first time since the start of the show that an opponent had bowed to him before going on stage.

Sakurai Yumi didn't say much. After bowing, she turned back around. Her fair hands were almost translucent white under the light. When her fingers touched the sesame tofu dough, her shoulders slumped slightly—an instinctive reaction of a chef standing in front of the workbench, fully immersed in the task.

Kawashima Rei raised her hand: "Fourth round! Theme—Tofu! Time limit: 60 minutes!"

Hiromi Sakurai immersed her hands in ice water and washed them slowly, carefully rubbing each finger before drying them with a clean towel.

She started preparing the kudzu starch water. Yoshinomoto kudzu starch was dissolved in cold water, and the ratio was controlled very precisely. She dipped her finger in a little to test the consistency. The prepared kudzu starch water had no starch lumps or powder residue. It was a translucent milky white color in the bowl. Then she cut the pre-made sesame tofu into neat little squares, each about the size of a thumb.

She put the tofu cubes into the pot and simmered them over low heat. She didn't stir the tofu with a spoon the whole time, but gently shook the pot to make the tofu cubes swirl slightly in the water, ensuring that the edges of the tofu were not broken while the kudzu starch paste was evenly coated on the surface of each piece of tofu.

The preparation of the sesame paste is particularly meticulous. She uses a mixture of white and black sesame seeds, with the white sesame seeds providing a rich base flavor and the black sesame seeds adding aroma.

The sesame paste is diluted little by little with kombu broth, and then filtered twice through a very fine sieve. The resulting sauce is thick but without any grainy texture, and its color is a soft and calming warm gray.

After the tofu is cooked, put it into a shallow bowl, drizzle it with the prepared sesame sauce, sprinkle a few roasted white sesame seeds on top, place a perilla leaf on the side, and put a small amount of freshly ground wasabi paste under the leaf.

The sesame tofu was presented in a very simple way, with only three colors: white, gray, and green. The bowl was made of rough pottery, and its color was similar to the soil in the Far Moon Mountains. Someone in the audience whispered, "This is too plain," but was immediately stopped by the person next to them. "What do you know? This is how Shojin Cuisine is made." The voice was very low, with a hint of respect in its tone.

Hiromi Sakurai placed the tray in front of the judges' table, bowed, and said softly, "Japanese-style sesame tofu, please enjoy." Then she stepped back and folded her hands in front of her.

When the head judge took the sesame tofu, he first picked up a piece of tofu with his chopsticks and examined it against the light for a moment. The kudzu starch coating was very thin and even, and the surface of the tofu had a moist sheen. The sesame paste was spread on the tofu, with a calm and soft color.

He put the tofu in his mouth; the tofu was coated with a thin layer of kudzu starch, smooth but not sticky.

Once you bite into it, the sesame tofu has a delicate and soft texture inside. The rich aroma of sesame slowly spreads in your mouth, with a very stable feeling of being enveloped. From the tip of your tongue to your throat, the sesame fragrance sinks down and finally turns into a warm feeling in your stomach.

The slight spiciness of the wasabi paste is like a thin, bright line drawn on a thick curtain of sesame seeds, followed by the refreshing coolness of perilla, which gathers the lingering flavor of sesame seeds and brings it to a close.

"Textbook-level sesame tofu." The head judge put down his chopsticks. "This dish has no flaws. The ingredients and seasoning are just right, and the overall style of the dish is very consistent—simple, calm, and unassuming. You can tell it comes from a family of chefs with a strong foundation. The basic skills are very solid, and the seasoning is restrained yet precise."

The other four judges nodded in agreement. One of the female judges picked up a spoon, scooped up a little sesame paste, tasted it, and exclaimed, "The smoothness of this sesame paste has reached the level of professional shops." Another older male judge pointed to the perilla leaf and said, "The perilla is not just for decoration; its refreshing taste perfectly balances the richness of the sesame paste."

Sakurai Yumi bowed again, her face slightly flushed, her fingers gently clenching the hem of her clothes at her side.

That bowl of sesame tofu was her signature dish, which she had been making since junior high school. She had made it countless times in her home kitchen, in research groups, and in every assessment. She knew exactly how good this dish was.

The judges' evaluation was pretty much what she expected—no mistakes, solid basic skills, and precise and controlled seasoning.

But she also knew that every word of these comments described the same thing.

This dish is very standard, so standard that there are no surprises.

Then Chen Yuxing brought up the Wensi Tofu.

The tofu he used was soft tofu, the very tender kind, so soft it would crumble at the slightest pressure. With swift, precise cuts, he first sliced ​​the tofu into thin slices, then used a pusher to stack the slices and cut them into shreds, each shred as thin as a hair, clearly defined.

The shredded tofu spread out in the water, and a layer of light mist, like white clouds, floated on the surface.

After cutting the tofu into strips, he started preparing the soup base, using a vegetarian broth instead of stock.

The broth is made from dried shiitake mushrooms and kelp, with a touch of bamboo fungus for added umami, and seasoned with white pepper and a very small amount of salt. The broth is crystal clear with only a very pale amber color.

He took the tofu strips out of the water, gently shook them apart, and then put them into the vegetarian soup. The tofu strips slowly dispersed in the soup, each one floating up without sinking, sticking, or becoming mushy.

After serving, he added three or four finely chopped bamboo shoots and two goji berries to the soup. The bamboo shoots floating on the surface looked like a few light strokes of ink outlining withered branches in a traditional Chinese ink painting. The goji berries were a restrained red. The whole bowl of soup looked less like food and more like a meticulous painting that hadn't quite dried yet.

The head judge picked up the bowl, scooped up a spoonful of soup with tofu strips, and put it in his mouth. Then he paused.

The moment the shredded tofu touches your mouth, it melts on your tongue.

The tenderness was beyond what the word "smooth" could describe. The tofu strands were so thin that they would fall apart at the slightest touch, but in that instant, they released the sweetness of the vegetarian soup and the aroma of the tofu itself. The two almost colorless and tasteless flavors overlapped on the tip of the tongue, creating a very gentle umami.

The bamboo fungus strips have a slightly chewy and crunchy texture when you bite into them, and the subtle sweetness of the goji berries wafts through the soup like a faint floral fragrance.

The entire dish uses no oil, any animal ingredients, or pungent seasonings, yet its complexity is not diminished as a result.

The softness of tofu, the crispness of bamboo fungus, the clarity of the broth, and the sweetness of goji berries—these four textures exist independently yet intertwine in the spoon. After eating, there is no strong aftertaste left in the mouth, only a clean bean fragrance, like the refreshing sweetness that lingers in the throat after drinking a cup of fine green tea.

The head judge put down his chopsticks, took off his glasses, wiped the lenses, and put them back on. He looked at Chen Yuxing and asked, "What kind of soup base was used for this dish?"

"A clear broth made with dried shiitake mushrooms and kelp."

"How to slice tofu?"

"After soaking the soft tofu in cold water to set its shape, slice it into thin slices along the grain, then cut it into strips with a push knife, making two cuts without repeating the same distance. Rinse it in cold water to remove any surface debris."

The head judge remained silent for a while before turning to Sakurai Hiromi: "Sakurai, all the ingredients used in this dish are vegetarian—tofu, shiitake mushrooms, kelp, bamboo fungus, and goji berries. No animal ingredients are used, nor are any of the five pungent spices. In terms of ingredients, it fully meets the standards of Shojin Ryori."

Sakurai Hiromi nodded slightly, her expression still calm, but the force with which she gripped the hem of her clothes was noticeably stronger than before.

“But more importantly,” the head judge continued, “is the way this dish is made—cutting the tofu into thin strips as fine as hair, allowing the tofu itself to replace everything that needs to be added. The tofu is no longer a carrier of flavor; it becomes the skeleton of the flavor itself. Sesame paste, wasabi, and kudzu starch are no longer needed, because the texture of the tofu itself and its light bean aroma are enough to support the depth of flavor in the whole dish.”

Hiromi Sakurai nodded slightly, her lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

The head judge took off his glasses and wiped them again. The whispers of the four judges behind him had turned into a clear debate.

"I'll do it myself," Sakurai Hiromi finally said.