The Game of Life-Chapter 624 - 622: Do You Want to Learn How to Make Stock?

Chapter 624: Chapter 622: Do You Want to Learn How to Make Stock?

“Mr. Jiang, you might be overthinking it. Granduncle Weiming’s sense of taste was already not very good, it really doesn’t affect his cooking,” Jiang Feng comforted.

Jiang Weisheng shook his head: “It’s different, just completely different.”

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“Master’s sense of taste wasn’t great before, but at least he could make out flavors, he could taste sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, and salty, he could tell if a dish was good or bad,” choked Jiang Weisheng, “Now Master can’t taste anything at all.”

Jiang Feng, of course, understood the difference. For a chef of Jiang Weiming’s level, a decline in taste wouldn’t substantially affect his cooking skills. As long as he could taste something, he could rely on his extensive experience to make dishes that met his standard.

But if one completely lost their sense of taste, even a deity would be helpless in controlling the seasoning.

There is only one Beethoven; most people remain mere mortals.

...

“No, that can’t be,” Jiang Feng found it hard to believe, “Did Granduncle Weiming tell you himself?”

“How could Master ever admit such a thing? I noticed it myself,” Jiang Weisheng wiped away tears from his face, “The day before yesterday, I made chicken soup for Master. I went to the market early in the morning to buy it, picking out the fattest hen, and during the stew, I even added the daylily that Master likes. I started stewing it in the morning and didn’t stop until evening. The chicken was too fatty and, as Master can’t eat greasy food now, I kept skimming the fat off the surface.”

“At noon, when I had to take Master his meal, I didn’t dare to leave; I called Jiang Yong over to carry the meal there.”

“That pot of chicken soup turned out so well, thinking that Master might want some chicken, I chopped the chicken into small pieces specially. Near the end, just before taking it off heat, the chicken meat would start falling apart by barely touching it with a spoon,” continued Jiang Weisheng, now speaking monotonously about the entire process of making the chicken soup.

“The chicken soup was beautiful by the time it was ready for serving. I was thinking about how Master had only been having plain congee for the past few days, and his mouth must have been tasteless, so I hurriedly wanted to serve the soup and take it to Master, but in my haste, I forgot to add salt,” said Jiang Weisheng with a downcast face, “I only remembered it after Master started drinking, and in my panic, I misspoke.”

“What did you say?”

“I told Master I had added too much salt.”

Jiang Feng: …

He seemed to know how Jiang Weisheng discovered that Jiang Weiming had lost his sense of taste.

“So, what did Granduncle Weiming say…”

“Master nodded and told me the soup was indeed a bit salty.”

Jiang Feng fell silent.

He didn’t know how to comfort Jiang Weisheng.

Taste, one of the five senses, might seem not as crucial as hearing or vision, but it is equally indispensable to humans.

To lose the sense of taste is to be deprived of the right to explore and experience the world with the tip of one’s tongue, to lose one of the simplest ways to find happiness and joy.

A life without tastes might as well be a flavorless existence. Ordinary people can hardly accept the loss of taste, let alone chefs whose livelihoods depend on their cooking and palates.

If there’s any profession that would find it even harder to cope with the loss of taste, it might only be professional food critics like Xu Cheng.

Jiang Feng couldn’t bring himself to say anything. In that brief moment just now, he had imagined if it had not been Jiang Weiming who had lost his sense of taste but Jiang Weiguo, what would he himself do?

“Granduncle Weiming, he…” Jiang Feng began but couldn’t finish.

“Mr. Jiang, you should find some time to discreetly ask the doctor. If Granduncle Weiming doesn’t want to talk about it, go ask on his behalf. It might just be temporary, and even if Granduncle Weiming really…” Jiang Feng paused, “Well,

there’s nothing we can do about it. After all, Granduncle Weiming is at such an age. And having just had a brush with death, as long as he is healthy, that’s what matters…”

“You know, Granduncle Weiming is also very worried about you right now.”

Jiang Weisheng hung his head, like a little schoolboy being scolded by the teacher: “I know, I just feel sad.”

“Let me be upset for a couple of days, just two days is all.”

The queue for the hot water tap moved forward a few steps, and Jiang Weisheng also advanced: “Feng, you go back and chat with Master; I can stand in line for the hot water.”

As he spoke, he wiped the tears off his face.

A hand can wipe away tears but can’t erase reddened eyes.

“Oh, Feng, do you have Jiang Yanlu’s contact information?” Jiang Weisheng asked.

“Jiang Yanlu?” Jiang Feng shook his head, because of the memories of Jiang Xiaoran that he had seen before, his impression of the entire Jiang Yanlu family was exceptionally poor.

Everyone here is as villainous as they come.

“Master has been in the hospital for so long, and he hasn’t even made a phone call,” said Jiang Weisheng, seemingly frustrated. “The master used to dote on him so much, yet he doesn’t show up nor make a call.”

“Ungrateful wretch!”

Jiang Feng nodded in agreement.

Actually, Jiang Weisheng and Jiang Feng were genuinely mistaken about Jiang Yanlu. It wasn’t that Jiang Yanlu hadn’t called Jiang Weiming; he had made the call right after Jiang Yong informed him of the news. Although he might not have acted like a dutiful son, over the phone, he was absolutely a filial one.

But the problem was, Jiang Yanlu’s number had been blocked by Jiang Weiming.

This sort of thing had happened several times before; every time Jiang Yanlu infuriated Jiang Weiming, he would block his number, only to unblock it after a couple of days. The last time he blocked the number was right before the New Year when Jiang Yanlu had called; logically, Jiang Weiming should have unblocked the number the second day after that incident, but the busy and colorful life of the Jiang family during the New Year made Jiang Weiming forget about it.

Afterward, a series of well-known incidents occurred, and gradually, Jiang Weiming became accustomed to not receiving calls from his eldest son, completely unaware that the real reason his son wasn’t calling was that his number was now on the blacklist.

And as a son who showed his filial piety through phone calls, Jiang Yanlu wouldn’t ask Jiang Yong for WeChat if he couldn’t get through on the phone.

A son of phone calls, after all, is no longer a dutiful son once the calls are not possible.

After criticizing Jiang Yanlu, Jiang Weisheng seemed to be in a much better mood. He urged Jiang Feng to hurry back to the ward to talk more with Jiang Weiming, as it was almost time for Jiang Weiming to turn off the lights and go to sleep.

When Jiang Feng returned to the ward, he found Jiang Weiming enjoying orange candy handmade by Sun Jikai, all smiles, with candy in his mouth and his eyes fixed on the TV.

“Never expected the Sun family kid to have such skills; the candy is almost as good as what’s sold in stores,” praised Jiang Weiming.

“The orange flavor is a bit too faint, not as good as the original flavor,” said Jiang Weiguo.

Jiang Weiming nodded, “Yes, the orange flavor is a bit too faint.”

It was supposed to be a flawless performance, yet Jiang Feng, having read the script in advance, spotted the last trace of acting in Jiang Weiming’s eyes.

Jiang Weiguo and Jiang Weiming chatted idly for a few more minutes. Wu Minqi and Jiang Feng, as the younger generation, couldn’t interject in the conversation and stood at the end of the bed. Wu Minqi tugged at Jiang Feng’s sleeve.

“What’s wrong with Mr. Jiang?” asked Wu Minqi in a low voice.

“I’ll tell you when we get back.”

“Alright, little brother, it’s getting late now, and you two must be tired after just getting back. Go wash up and sleep. You have work tomorrow. I’ll be fine here with so many people taking care of me,” Jiang Weiming started to see them off.

Jiang Weiguo stood up, “I will cook tomorrow’s meals.”

“Feng,” Jiang Weiming called out to Jiang Feng, who had already reached the door, “I have something I want to talk to you about. Stay a moment.”

Jiang Feng found it odd, tilting his head to tell Wu Minqi to wait for him downstairs, then approached Jiang Weiming.

Once Jiang Weiguo and Wu Minqi had left the ward, Jiang Weiming also said to Mrs. Zhu and Zhang Li, “Could I ask you to step out for a moment? I’d like to talk to Feng alone.”

Mrs. Zhu was a professional caregiver, complying with whatever the client wished as long as it didn’t go against the doctor’s orders. As soon as Jiang Weiming finished speaking, she put down what she was doing and left; Zhang Li nodded and followed her out.

“Granduncle Weiming?” Jiang Feng felt stunned with the grand preparations.

Could it be that Jiang Weiming was about to impart to him the Jiang family’s supreme secret of culinary arts, the ultimate martial skill?

“It’s nothing serious. I just don’t want them to know about those issues,” Jiang Weiming explained. “Did Weisheng find out?”

This truly surprised Jiang Feng. His acting wasn’t poor, and his lies were of a master level. How could he have been exposed by Jiang Weiming in just that brief moment before?

“When I mentioned that the orange flavor was a little faint, you instinctively looked at me,” Jiang Weiming said. “How did he notice?”

“Mr. Jiang forgot to add salt to the chicken soup he made for you a couple of days ago. He got nervous and misspoke,” Jiang Feng confessed honestly.

Jiang Weiming shook his head helplessly, “Actually, it’s no big deal. My sense of taste has been deteriorating over the years, and this day was bound to come.”

“Let’s not tell everyone about this for now. There’s been so much going on lately, I don’t want to worry everyone over such a small issue.”

“Alright,” Jiang Feng agreed.

“By the way, Feng, do you want to learn how to season stock and clear soup?”