"'Polish, Polish, Polish Kind,' I actually forgot to prepare it, damn it! It was always Pu Aihua who did it before. I thought I had done it, but... it still wasn't done!"
Chef Abel, frustrated by his own negligence, ripped off his tall chef's hat and clenched it tightly in his hand.
The time required for the "Polish Kind" is too long; starting from scratch now would be completely too late.
"Chef Abel, how about this, let's change the kind? Or just add yeast directly, to make do on the fly."
Chen Fei had heard Teacher Shen Fei ramble about the little tricks of bread making more than a few times.
Even if he hadn't eaten pork, he had at least seen a pig run—he knew a bit, including what the so-called "Polish Kind" was all about.
The "Polish Kind" was nothing more than a refrigerated fermentation starter. This small pre-fermented dough under low temperatures could, to a certain extent, enhance the overall taste of the bread.
Chef Abel rejected the idea without question, "Change kind? How to change? Which kind to change to? No no no, my 'Baguettes' must use the 'Polish Kind.' Adding yeast directly is even worse; that would ruin my reputation!"
Then he paced anxiously in place.
As time ticked away by the second, Chen Fei was not ready to give up and tentatively said, "How about 'water roux'?"
"Ah? What the hell is 'water roux'?"
Abel was momentarily stunned, searching through his mind and realizing he had never heard of such a "kind".
"I have a friend who is a teacher; she is great at baking. She taught me that bread made with 'water roux' is fluffy and tasty, really fragrant and delicious."
Chen Fei spoke from experience, with utter sincerity, guaranteeing the truth of his words.
Teacher Shen Fei's little bread had a simple mix of ingredients—flour, eggs, butter, milk powder, and yeast—but the bread she made was fluffy and soft, with a rich wheat aroma accompanied by the fragrant smell of milk that made people crave for more, so much so that he once accidentally ate a whole metal wing nut.
"Fluffy, no no no, my 'Baguettes' are firm!"
Abel was a stubborn chef, sticking to his recipe, unwilling to make any changes.
Chen Fei once again brought two "sticks" and clanked them against each other in his hands.
Clang! Clang!
A clear clashing sound was unmistakable; this was truly crazy.
Didn't he have any idea?
To even dare call this thing bread?
Are you serious?
"..."
Chef Abel's gaze grew distant, his face flushed shyly, and he modestly said, "Paired with my Gaulish thick soup, it will be absolutely delicious."
These two "sticks" were along the same lines as the lamb soup buns—without the lamb soup, the bun is also a weapon.
"Then let's change the way we eat it, my 'Baguettes,' not yours."
Chen Fei gradually took the upper hand.
Chen Fei glanced at the dough mixer clanking away, then back at Chef Abel, and finally looked at his own hands.
What happened to the promised kneading technique, and you end up showing me this?
The legend of high-class cuisine instantly shattered the illusion.
Chen Fei didn't even need to peel the potatoes himself; his job was to roughly brush them under the tap with a brush and then dump them into a potato-peeling machine, waiting for each soft, pink potato to be peeled and dispatched.
Slicing, cutting into strips, or shredding—there were specialized machines for all that.
Full manual processing wasn't even an option; machines were more cost-effective.
The peeled potatoes were steamed vigorously in a steaming cabinet, then mashed, shaped into potato cakes using a molding press, sprinkled with dry flour, and left to be fried as dawn approached. Dipped in a bit of salt and pepper, they were an excessively fragrant first-class treat.
After assigning Chen Fei his tasks, Chef Abel busied himself with his own work. The kitchen was filled with the noises of banging and clanging for a full hour before finally taking a brief respite.
By then, the dough in the mixer had successfully formed a gluten film and was kneaded into long strips by Chef Abel and Chen Fei together. They lined up the strips on large baking trays, stacking them in the big oven, and started the automatic proofing and baking program, which lasted two hours in total.
The bakery's large oven could bake a hundred "Baguettes" at once, and after cooling off by morning, they'd be ready to serve at breakfast.
An entire "Baguette" required several people to share, and twenty kilograms of whole wheat flour could produce eighty "Baguettes." Considering that not everyone would opt for bread, this quantity was just right to serve over two hundred people across the base.
They kept busy until midnight, and by 12 a.m., all the ingredients necessary for breakfast were finally prepared.
After placing the last freshly baked new-style "Baguette" on the stainless steel cooling rack, Chen Fei dusted off his hands, ready to bid Chef Abel farewell.
Chef Abel handed him a "Baguette" and a large chunk of stewed beef, winked, and said, "Come early tomorrow, help me out for two hours each day, and I'll pay you... I'll pay you... two hundred, not a penny more."
It might not have been enough money, but there were always perks in the kitchen. With the chef's authority, it didn't really break any rules.
Without Pu Aihua to assist him, he had no choice but to ask Chen Fei for help. It was a necessary compromise, and he probably still needed to confirm this expense with Morris Morgan, the executive manager at the Aircrew Base.
Looking at the still-warm bread and beef in his hand, Chen Fei didn't hesitate and said, "Deal!"
A whole "Baguette" along with the beef was enough for two meals, and with a bit of saving, even three was not out of question.
After finishing the small bread that Teacher Shen Fei gave him, his next meals were secured, and he had a little extra income from the kitchen. Only a fool would refuse.
As dawn broke, people started to arrive at the base's mess hall.
The brightest star of the 911 Aircrew Base, the flamboyant Major Chekhov, arrived at the cafeteria surrounded by a crowd. The pilots didn't need to pay for their own meals; it was buffet style, and they could take whatever they wanted.
The raunchy Big Bear, as usual, casually took a "stick" in hand, waving it around while boasting brashly and obscenely.
"Think of it, Chekhov has roamed the Jianghu for over forty years, seen countless women, and no girl could resist when they saw my big treasure sword, they were always ready to throw themselves into my arms..."
As he spoke, the "big treasure sword" in his hand suddenly began to wobble and inexplicably went limp, flopping down dispiritedly.
The room fell suddenly silent, then erupted into a roar of laughter, his bragging instantly deflated.
Chekhov Leonidovich Ivanov's face turned ashen.
For over forty years I've roamed the Jianghu, and never have I been so embarrassed...
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