Chapter Five: Eating Comes with Conditions

At least it isn't chaff and wild vegetables, Fei Qian comforted himself.

Swallowing a bite of millet cake and sipping a bowl of mutton soup, he sighed inwardly. While the ancient, pristine flavor—devoid of any preservatives—was top-tier, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. Even though seasoning mutton with a bit of cinnamon branch was arguably the pinnacle of Han Dynasty gastronomy, it was a luxury most could not afford. Still, it was much better than the bean-based gruel he had been forced to eat when he first arrived in this era.

Yet, after consuming this diet for so long, he found himself missing even the MSG-laden, oily hot pot broths of the future. As for the Sichuan classics—twice-cooked pork, shredded pork in garlic sauce, husband-and-wife lung slices, boiled beef, kung pao chicken, mapo tofu—or the Jiangnan delicacies like West Lake vinegar fish, Longjing shrimp, braised pork, water shield soup, Nanjing meatballs, or triple-layered duck—not to mention dishes like Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, Arhat’s vegetarian feast, or the extravagant Dragon-Phoenix and Shaowei banquets—all he could do was imagine them and swallow his runaway saliva.

In the long history of Chinese culinary development, the invention of any dish is inextricably linked to the social productivity and tools of its time. Initially, Fei Qian had believed that with his experience as a casual foodie from the future, he could at least rival the imperial chefs or, failing that, easily become a head cook. Instead, he had been soundly defeated by the primitive kitchenware.

Three things are crucial to modern Chinese cuisine: stoves with precise heat control, thin-walled woks with excellent thermal conductivity, and an abundance of vegetable oil. Only when these three conditions are met can a variety of dishes flourish, with frying, sautéing, and stir-frying evolving into ever-changing delicacies.

The nomadic Xiongnu and Xianbei tribes, even well into the Tang and Song Dynasties, lacked mature stoves. They relied solely on campfires, meaning their only cooking methods were roasting or boiling. The people of the Han Dynasty had a few more options, such as steaming and stewing, but it remained monotonous. Does anyone know the most famous, top-tier royal dish—the one served only during major festivals or celebrations, the one that makes every Han citizen’s eyes light up with longing at the mere mention of it?

The illustrious "Five-Tripod Feast!" During the reign of Emperor Wu of Han, Zhu Fu Yan once said: "If a man cannot eat from five tripods while alive, he shall be cooked in five tripods when dead!" Such was the profound love for the Five-Tripod Feast!

Do not imagine it to be an exquisite or complex dish; in reality, the Five-Tripod Feast was simply meat boiled in water across five bronze tripods.

Ideals are plump, but reality is skinny. The Han Dynasty had no iron woks; those did not appear until the Tang Dynasty. Tripods were reserved for the nobility. Most people in the Han era cooked with copper cauldrons or clay pots—thick, round-bellied vessels with tiny ear-like handles. When cooking, the handles became as hot as the bottom of the pot. Unless one had mastered the "Iron Sand Palm," one shouldn't even think about flipping the pan, lest it shatter.

By the way, vegetable oil was scarce in the Han Dynasty. The most common was sesame oil, which Zhang Qian had brought back from the Western Regions. It was called "Hu Ma" (foreign hemp), and given that it was an import, one can imagine the price.

Fei Qian had made an effort to enter the culinary world at the start. When he declared his dissatisfaction with the food and insisted on cooking for himself, Uncle Fu let him indulge his whim once. However, when Uncle Fu saw him pouring expensive sesame oil into a copper cauldron, his eyelids twitched uncontrollably. When he saw Fei Qian turn a perfectly good bunch of wild greens into charcoal because the thick copper vessel made heat control impossible, he could no longer bear it. From then on, Fei Qian lost his kitchen privileges, and a rising star in the culinary world was extinguished.

However, Uncle Fu was open to small-scale improvements. For instance, steaming the millet cakes and then lightly roasting them—Uncle Fu agreed this was acceptable. "After roasting, it’s much crispier and tastier. Indeed, my young master is clever." Or adding cinnamon branches to the boiled mutton to remove the gamey smell—Uncle Fu agreed to this too, though he always added the spice in secret, fearing someone might steal his young master's "secret recipe."

Thus, food was truly scarce in ancient times. It was precisely for this reason that only the upper class and those in power could eat until they were rotund and broad-bodied—what was commonly known as "auspicious stoutness." One of Uncle Fu's wishes was for Fei Qian to gain some of this "auspicious" weight; he always felt that Fei Qian had become too thin after his major illness.

Whenever Fei Qian ate, he would ask Uncle Fu to join him, but Uncle Fu would always smile and shake his head. Watching Fei Qian eat brought him more joy than eating himself. In his heart, as long as the young master ate well, slept well, and remained healthy, that was all that mattered.

It was fortunate that Fei Qian had sold a few glass ornaments; otherwise, let alone boiled mutton, even eating bean-gruel would have been a struggle. Sigh, if only there were chili peppers. If he couldn't have boiled beef, he could at least make boiled fish or boiled mutton.

Speaking of beef, Fei Qian suddenly remembered something and asked, "Uncle Fu, Young Master Cui sent his calling card yesterday, inviting me to visit his estate in the next few days. What do you make of this?" Of course, Cui Hou claimed in his note that the main purpose was to enjoy the mountain scenery, drink tea, discuss the classics, and exchange scholarly views. Only at the very end did he briefly mention that a cow on their estate had "fallen to its death," and he invited Fei Qian to come over for a meal.

Although the Han government explicitly forbade the slaughter of draft oxen, an ox that "fell to its death" was naturally exempt. In the Han Dynasty, a full-ox feast was akin to a meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant in the modern era; ordinary people rarely had such opportunities. Thus, Cui Hou's invitation was quite high-class.

"The Cui family... I have heard rumors about them," Uncle Fu hesitated, feeling it was better to speak up. "There is a respectable family north of the city. It is said the Cui family took a liking to their heirloom emerald and insisted on buying it, but were refused. Shortly after, the son of that family was accused of colluding with the Yellow Turban rebels and thrown into prison. The family had nowhere to turn until someone tipped them off to offer the jade to the Cui family, after which they immediately received a verdict of 'insufficient evidence.' Furthermore, it is said that Cui Hou is on good terms with many of the city's swashbucklers, and there are many skilled fighters on his estate..."

Fei Qian frowned. "In that case, would it be better not to go?"

Uncle Fu shook his head. "The Cui family are, after all, descendants of a former Minister over the Masses, and they have many connections at court. If you refuse without cause, it might be problematic." He had a point. Even if the family was in decline, a lean camel is still bigger than a horse. They were not a force that someone like Fei Qian, who merely held the title of a branch member of the Heluo Fei clan, could oppose.

To put it in modern terms, if a family of a former cabinet-level official invites a reserve government trainee to a banquet and the trainee acts entitled by refusing to go, the consequences would be dire.

Yes, refusing would be a slap in the face. In the Han Dynasty, such behavior could turn friends into enemies. The most classic example was Tian Fen and Dou Ying during the reign of Emperor Wu. Tian Fen was the Chancellor, and Dou Ying held the title of Marquis of Weiqi. Once, Tian Fen met Guan Fu, a close friend of Dou Ying, and jokingly said, "Guan Fu, I would like to visit the Marquis of Weiqi with you, but since you are in mourning, perhaps not."

Guan Fu, failing to realize it was a joke, replied earnestly, "If you wish to see the Marquis, it must be for a great matter. How could I let my personal mourning hinder a matter of state? Let us agree to go tomorrow at noon."

Tian Fen was highly annoyed; why couldn't this man understand a joke? He grunted and left. However, Guan Fu believed the Chancellor had agreed and told the Marquis. Dou Ying spent the night preparing, cleaning his courtyard and streets, and readying food and wine. The next morning, he and his wife waited at the gate from morning until noon, and from noon until night, but no one came.

Dou Ying asked, "Didn't you say the Chancellor was coming?" Guan Fu was puzzled, "Yes, he said he would." He rode to the Chancellor's residence only to find Tian Fen had long forgotten the matter and was sleeping soundly. Dou Ying considered this a great humiliation and began to oppose Tian Fen at every turn.

In the Han Dynasty, "face" was often taken much more seriously than in the future.

Ultimately, he had to go. Fei Qian felt a headache coming on. If Uncle Fu's information was true, the sudden invitation was likely a case of "courtesy before force." The Cui family, like they had with the emerald, had likely set their sights on his glass. If he were forced to hand over the glass-making technology, would it cause a butterfly effect? And what if the Cui family was insatiable?

Fei Qian couldn't help but curse inwardly. Why was it that in all those television shows and novels, other transmigrators could invent things so easily, and everyone around them—from emperors to peasants—was so kind and simple-minded that they believed any nonsense? Yet, for him, the moment he made a little glass, he was being targeted and had to worry about his physical safety at every turn. What kind of situation was this!

He could only deal with problems as they arose. What else could he do? Many things were not yet ready, and running away now would be too premature.

"Since I cannot avoid it, I will go!" Fei Qian made up his mind. He would treat it as a small test. If he couldn't even survive such a test, how could he survive the threats of the many powerful figures to come? Perhaps, however, there was another way—to reach out to the main branch of his clan.

The so-called "big fish eat little fish, little fish eat shrimp." If he was a little shrimp, he just needed to find a big fish to intimidate the Cui family. In the future, if you didn't want to listen to your boss, you at least had to suck up to your boss's boss.

"By the way, Uncle Fu, where is this Cui estate? Do you know? How far is it from the city?"

"I know it. It is not far. About eight or nine li outside the North Gate, right at the foot of Mount Beimang."

Fei Qian nodded. That wasn't too far. But wait, Mount Beimang... why did that place sound so familiar?