Chương 62: The Craving in That Single Moment

Chris moved through the market like a calm hunter, sifting endlessly through the "prey" before him. His mind ran at high speed; the ingredient theory he'd just learned and the cooking experience accumulated in his past life let him quickly assess the potential of every ingredient. Soon his gaze was drawn to a stall selling nothing but Mexican chiles. A dozen-odd varieties of chiles sat on the stall, every color and shape—from the mild Poblano to the fiery Habanero, all of them there.

One in particular, a slender, blue-green chile, caught his eye.

"That's a Hatch chile," the vendor—a Mexican man with a handlebar mustache—introduced warmly.

"Air-flown from New Mexico, and it's exactly the season now. The flavor's special—a little smoky, a touch sweet, the heat just right. Use it for grilled meat or salsa and it tastes incredible!" Chris picked one up and held it to his nose. A distinctive aroma, a blend of green grass and charcoal fire, slipped into his nostrils. This was it. His instinct told him this was an excellent ingredient, with enormous room to work.

He immediately started up the Dish Simulation in his mind, trying to build a dish around this Hatch chile. [Plan one: Hatch chile roast chicken. Make the chiles into a marinade for the chicken, then roast.] [Result: 85% completion (B). Decent flavor, but the form is traditional, not striking enough.] [Plan two: Hatch chile seafood stew. Use the chile's smoky flavor to pair with scallops and shrimp.] [Result: 82% completion (B). Higher risk; the chile's flavor may overpower the sweetness of the seafood.] [Plan three: Hatch chile molecular cuisine. Turn the chile juice into a foam or gel, paired with low-temperature slow-cooked meat.] [Result: 83% completion (B). Technically feasible, but may draw Vane's criticism as "flashy but hollow."] Three plans, all hovering around 85% completion, and not one of them could make him feel any awe. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"How exactly should I use it?" Chris fell into hesitation. Like a programmer facing complex code, he tried to find the optimal solution through logic and calculation. Just as he wavered, his gaze swept across the far end of the market. Ethan had already chosen his ingredients. He carried a basket holding fresh trout, some high-end-looking wild mushrooms, and a handful of emerald herbs. His direction was perfectly clear—refined cuisine in the Pacific Northwest style. It fit his consistent elite line completely.

Sarah, meanwhile, had been drawn to an Italian deli stall. She was chatting happily with the owner, tasting different kinds of salami and Parma ham. By the looks of it, she meant to continue her "home" theme and make a warm-hearted Italian dish. Chris noticed that the other contestants, whether Ethan or Sarah, chose their ingredients with a strong personal style and an emotional drive. They were choosing by "feel." Only he was still using "calculation."

"Who am I, really?" That ultimate theme interrogated his heart once more. Was he a programmer? A data analyst? Or a cook? Just as his thoughts tangled, a rich, charred sweetness forced its way into his nose and broke off his thinking. He followed the aroma and saw, not far off, a gray-haired old Mexican woman making handmade tortillas on a scorching griddle. She pressed the masa dough into thin rounds with practiced ease and laid them on the iron.

The tortillas swelled fast in the heat, their surfaces branded with handsome scorch marks, and that plain, warm aroma came from there. The instant he saw that tortilla, an image from far away flashed through Chris's mind. It was his past life, when he'd still been the programmer named Li Wei. Countless late nights, after finishing overtime, he'd dragged his exhausted body out of the office tower and bought a roasted ear of corn, or a steaming bowl of oden, from a street stall at the edge of the city.

Those foods had no refined technique, no high-end ingredients. But in that lonely city, they had been his most real comfort. Beyond the endless code and the cold screen, they were the only flavor that reminded him he was still alive. In that moment, Chris suddenly understood something. He stopped calculating completion percentages. He stopped analyzing flavor combinations. He walked toward the old Mexican woman's stall and said to the self still hesitating inside him: Stop overthinking.

Just make the thing you most want to eat right now. He'd made his decision. He would take "the craving in that single moment" as the starting point of this dish. He went back to the chile stall and bought the freshest Hatch chiles. Then he went to the butcher and picked out the plumpest chicken thighs. Next he found fresh corn, sour cream, cilantro, and lime. What he was going to make was a dish that fused Mexican street flavor with his own precise cooking technique.

A dish that could represent his past—and prove who he was now. He carried his basket full of ingredients toward his station. The confusion was gone from his eyes, replaced by a resolve he'd never had before.