Chương 4: Beef Stew with Bamboo Shoots

Zhou Miao rode his old-fashioned bicycle, carrying Zhao Tieying and Zhou Momo back home. Zhou Momo sat on the front bar, tilting her head to wave at Zhou Yan, calling out in her childish voice, "Brother, I'm going home."

"Okay," Zhou Yan replied with a smile. This old-fashioned bicycle wasn't just a means of transportation; it was also his father's transport vehicle, used to haul hundreds of kilograms of beef to the market every day. In this era of scarcity, having money wasn't enough to buy a bicycle; you also needed a bicycle ticket.

"Zhou Yan seems a little different today," Zhao Tieying said with a smile, her arm around Zhou Miao's waist.

"He seems more mature, and he's closer to his little girl. Being a hero makes a difference," Zhou Miao replied.

"These noodles are really delicious today. I've never had such good noodles in my life. He's really learned a thing or two." Zhao Tieying's smile grew even brighter, but she quickly added with some doubt, "But he learned his skills from Master Xiao. If the noodles in the factory canteen are this good, why would anyone still come to Wang Laowu's noodle stall?"

"That is a bit strange..."...

"Zhou Yan, are you planning to sell this restaurant?" Just as Zhou Yan was about to enter, Wang Laowu's voice came from behind. Zhou Yan frowned and turned around. He saw Wang Laowu, who was about 1. 56 meters tall, with a receding hairline, a slightly overweight build, and a shrewd smile. Zhou Yan: "Who said that? My restaurant is doing just fine, I'm not going to sell it." Wang Laowu's smile froze, and he said urgently, "You haven't had a single customer all day, and you call that doing fine?

How can you do business like that? Even if your parents are rich, they can't afford for your kid to squander money like this. Although what I say sometimes isn't nice to hear, but..."

"If you don't like it, just keep it to yourself, it's best to stay away from me." Zhou Yan took a step back, "I have trypophobia, I'm most afraid of people with many ulterior motives." Wang Laowu's noodle stall was located at the entrance of the silk factory, across from Zhou Yan's restaurant. Zhou Yan knew he didn't have good intentions, otherwise his mother wouldn't have scolded him earlier. He laughed again, "Instead of worrying about my shop, you should worry about how many hairs you still have on your head.

My restaurant will start selling noodles tomorrow, and you'll probably lose your hair even faster." After saying that, Zhou Yan turned around and went into the shop, closing the door behind him.

"Sell noodles?" Wang Laowu was stunned for a moment, then, after figuring out Zhou Yan's words, he became furious: "This spendthrift doesn't even know where to buy noodles, and he wants to sell them? Does he really think opening a noodle shop is that simple? His restaurant will definitely go bankrupt in less than half a month!" He wasn't interested in the shop with a monthly rent of 15 yuan, but he was eyeing the eight-immortal table and benches that Zhou Yan had made.

He could bargain down the price and buy a few sets; it would be much more cost-effective than having a carpenter make them himself. Zhou Yan went into the kitchen to take stock of the ingredients. There were about ten jin of flour left, enough for tomorrow. He needed to prepare the chili peppers, dried bamboo shoots, scallions, ginger, and other side dishes and ingredients in advance today, so he could have time to cook the toppings after getting the meat first thing tomorrow morning.

Before leaving, Zhou Yan counted the money he had. He originally had 3 yuan and 85 fen, his father secretly slipped him 2 yuan, Zhou Momo generously donated 5 fen, and his mother gave him another 10 yuan and 4 fen, for a total of 16 yuan and 4 fen. The money wasn't much, but it was all in one-yuan-and-fifty-cent bills, a thick wad in his hand. This was Zhou Yan's entire savings, his capital for turning his life around, and the weight of his parents' expectations.

Zhou Yan took the money, locked the door, and set off to shop. By the time he returned to the restaurant with bags of groceries, it was already dusk.

"A bicycle is great! When I make money, I'll definitely buy one first." Zhou Yan placed the large bags of dried bamboo shoots and vegetables on the eight-immortal table, shook his numb hands, and gulped down several mouthfuls of cold tea from the teapot on the table. There were so many places to go to buy groceries, and relying on walking was exhausting. At this moment, his desire for a bicycle reached its peak.

He bought ten pounds of dried bamboo shoots at 55 cents a pound, one pound each of small red chilies and green peppers at 15 cents a pound, and five pounds each of radishes and lettuce, spending one yuan, for a total of six yuan and eighty cents. He took out an account book from behind the counter and wrote down the expenses. He made himself a simple bowl of noodles, then found two large sheets of red paper and a calligraphy brush.

He wrote a new menu on one sheet and pasted it on the wall, listing only three types of noodles, each bowl costing six mao (0. 6 yuan), clearly priced. He wrote a new sign on the other sheet and nailed a wooden board to display it at the entrance tomorrow to attract customers. He soaked two handfuls of dried bamboo shoots and cut radishes into long strips to soak in a pickling jar.

The system's newbie gift pack not only included three types of noodles but also a pickling recipe; he could pickle them today and eat them the day after. After finishing all this, he washed up early, went upstairs, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the bed.... The next day, before dawn, Chef Zhou got up and went out to buy groceries. Zhou Yan always had a great passion for making money. He couldn't help it; he was terrified of being poor.

He took a Tiger Head brand flashlight and followed his memory to the Zhou Village Yankantou Slaughterhouse. Zhou Miao had already prepared the one jin (500g) of beef tenderloin, one jin of beef brisket, and ten jin of beef bones he wanted. The beef brisket and hanging tenderloin were priced at 1. 5 yuan per jin (500g), 1 yuan cheaper than the beef stalls outside. The beef bones were free—that's a real father!

On the way back, he stopped by the stone bridge to pick up a jin of spare ribs he had pre-ordered from Zhang Laosan.

"Zhou Erwa, why are you only buying a jin of spare ribs today? Don't you want the pork trotters or pork belly?" Zhang Laosan looked at Zhou Yan with some confusion. Zhou Yan had become a big customer lately, always buying not only meat but also pork kidneys, liver, and intestines.

"Uncle Zhang, I've switched to selling noodles. I'm buying ribs to make braised rib noodles. Come over and have some noodles when you're done here," Zhou Yan replied with a smile. Zhang Laosan had a good relationship with Zhou Miao, and today he charged him 1. 9 yuan per jin for the ribs, 20-30 cents cheaper than other places. The butcher was an important supplier for Sichuan restaurants, so maintaining a good relationship was essential, especially given their fathers' connections.

"Sure," Zhang Laosan replied, continuing to cut the meat. When Zhou Erwa's restaurant first opened, Zhou Miao invited him to eat there. It was the first time he had ever eaten such terrible Sichuan food; it was practically a waste of the meat. On the way back, Zhou Yan spent 30 cents to buy two bunches of small green vegetables. The villagers had picked them from the fields early in the morning and were selling them, tied with straw.

Each bunch weighed more than a pound, and the leaves still had dew on them—they were quite fresh. He got back to the restaurant at five o'clock. The beef brisket and ribs needed to be stewed for quite a while, and the beef bone soup needed to be prepared in advance. He didn't dare to delay, so he chopped the ribs into evenly sized pieces and cut the beef brisket into evenly sized chunks.

He lit the fire and started preparing the braised beef and braised ribs, while the soup pot in the middle was simmering the beef bone soup. He heated the oil in the pot, first frying the beef brisket until the fat was rendered and the skin was slightly browned. Then he added fermented bean paste, ginger, garlic, and Sichuan peppercorns, stir-frying to coat the meat with color. He then added a small amount of star anise, galangal, and cinnamon, and poured in cooking wine.

Once the aroma is released, add water to cover the beef, cover, and simmer for an hour. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. When the beef is tender, add the chopped dried bamboo shoots, allowing the rich beef broth to soak them in. Simmer slowly over low heat. Bubbling and simmering, the aroma of meat fills the air. Skim off the foam repeatedly, and a pot of thick, white beef bone broth is ready. The broken beef bones make the broth even richer.

Once the soup is cooked, the beef marrow is also a delicious dish. Looking at the time, Zhou Yan started kneading the dough again, just in time to serve the guests. Meanwhile, in the other pot, the ribs, coated in a thick sauce, were bubbling away. He immediately took them out and placed them in a large earthenware bowl he had prepared beforehand. The ribs, cut into thumb-sized pieces, were distinct and coated in sauce, looking incredibly tempting. Zhou Yan decided to try a piece.

The tender ribs trembled slightly when picked up, falling off the bone with a single bite. The slightly sweet sauce was rich but not greasy, the aroma of the meat and spices complementing each other perfectly. The oil from the ribs was the finishing touch; one slurp, and his soul soared to heaven.

"I'm a genius!" Zhou Yan's eyes lit up. This braised ribs had amazed him—a success on his first try! He placed the large earthenware bowl on the stove to keep it warm, and without a moment's hesitation, Zhou Yan quickly rinsed the wok and started stir-frying the double-pepper beef sauce. By the time the double-pepper beef sauce was ready, the braised beef sauce had reduced and was ready to be served. The latest novels are first published on 69shu. com! Zhou Yan tasted a piece of dried bamboo shoot.

The bamboo shoot was cut slightly smaller than the beef chunks, and it had absorbed the rich beef broth, making it crispy and fragrant—truly delicious! Having gotten up at four and been busy until six-thirty, Zhou Yan was starving. He quickly cooked himself a bowl of ramen, seasoning the bottom of the bowl first, then adding two spoonfuls of milky white beef broth, three ounces of noodles, and a spoonful of braised beef and bamboo shoots. He finished the hot bowl of noodles, even the broth, and felt instantly warm.

This braised beef noodle soup was absolutely amazing, flawless. Moreover, this braised beef with bamboo shoots could be a restaurant's signature dish on its own—perfect with rice! With the toppings and sauces ready, Zhou Yan stood at the restaurant entrance, carrying the sign he had written the night before. Jiaozhou Silk Factory, located on the banks of the Qingyi River in Suji Town, is a major taxpayer in Jiaozhou. It employs over two thousand people, 80% of whom are women.

The factory runs its own school for its employees and a hospital, offering excellent benefits. People in Suji Town are proud to work at the silk factory. It's already dawn, and workers are riding their bicycles to work. Some stop at the stalls near the factory gate for a bowl of noodles or steamed buns, while most go to the factory canteen for breakfast. The canteen serves breakfast, and it's even cheaper with coupons—a bowl of vegetarian noodles costs only one cent, much cheaper than eating out.

Zhou Yan, holding a wooden sign, stands at the entrance, immediately attracting the attention of some young female workers. He's 1. 8 meters tall, with a straight and strong physique, a neat buzz cut, and a sharply defined face. Even though he's only wearing a white cotton shirt, blue work pants, and an apron, the young women can't help but glance at him a few more times.

"Zhou Yan is so handsome! Long legs too, even better looking than movie actors!"

"Handsomeness can't put food on the table. He gave up a perfectly good canteen apprenticeship to become a self-employed individual."

"Zhou Yan is good-looking, but his cooking is truly awful. Selling noodles probably wouldn't be any better."

"Who in our factory still eats at Zhou Erwa's restaurant? Even the factory canteen food, no matter how bad, is still much better than his." The girls rode past Zhou Yan, laughing and teasing, their eyes bold, but none of them stopping. Those words reached Zhou Yan's ears, and the smile on his face began to falter. Little Zhou is really something, building such a solid reputation. It looks like he might have trouble even opening for business today. In the catering industry, reputation is everything.

Prejudice in people's hearts is a mountain. On the other hand, across the street, Wang Laowu's noodle stall already had seven or eight customers.

"Zhou Erwa, you're probably not going to sell any noodles. Quality over quantity is key; selling everything won't work. You have to be responsible to your customers." Wang Laowu grabbed noodles and threw them into the pot, not forgetting to mock Zhou Yan, his smile impossible to hide. Zhou Yan was selling noodles to steal his business, so Wang Laowu naturally seized the opportunity to tease him.

"Wang Laowu, you're yelling with your mouth open, spitting your saliva into the pot. That won't do. You still have to be responsible to your customers." Zhou Yan wasn't going to let him get away with it, replying with a smile. The customers waiting for their noodles to be served all craned their necks to look at Wang Laowu, their faces showing concern. Wang Laowu's expression changed, and he quickly waved his hands, saying, "No, no, that little brat was just talking nonsense."

Zhou Yan's lips curled slightly upward; business warfare is like that, simple and straightforward. Winning the argument wouldn't bring Zhou Yan any customers. Standing at the door, watching the bustling workers pass by, he was already thinking about how to turn around his reputation and attract more customers to his restaurant. He had many methods and approaches, such as offering free samples. Free food would definitely attract people, and he could use his skills to silence the doubters.

Or he could build a stove at the entrance, stir-frying toppings and pulling noodles on the spot. As long as the aroma of meat wafted out, discerning gourmets would naturally come to his door. The methods were simple and effective, but they cost money. And what Zhou Yan needed most right now was money. He had to sell all thirty bowls of noodles he prepared today, otherwise he wouldn't be able to pay the rent in three days. He couldn't very well ask his parents to borrow money for him again, could he?

He couldn't bring himself to say that. The flow of people at the factory gate was getting bigger and bigger. Wang Laowu's noodle stall had already served two rounds of customers, but Zhou Yan's stall hadn't even opened for business yet. Wang Laowu would occasionally glance at Zhou Yan standing at the door, his face beaming with joy. It was already 7: 30, and Zhou Yan figured there was no hope for this morning.

He needed to finalize the promotion plan by noon and start implementing it, otherwise the toppings and noodles he had prepared would be wasted, resulting in even greater losses. Just then, two bicycles emerged from the traffic and stopped in front of Zhou Erwa's restaurant.

"Deputy Factory Director Lin, this is Zhou Erwa's restaurant," one of them said. Zhou Yan looked in the direction of the voice and saw two middle-aged men. He recognized the slightly overweight man on the right—Zhao Dong, the director of the silk reeling workshop, who usually ate at the canteen and had a rather strong palate. The man on the left was tall, wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit over a white polyester shirt, with a square face, black-rimmed glasses, and neatly combed hair.

He had a pen in his pocket and a Shanghai brand watch on his wrist, exuding an intellectual air. He was pushing a brand-new old-fashioned bicycle with a red ribbon tied to the front. Was this Deputy Factory Director Lin Zhiqiang, who had been transferred here two years ago?

"Comrade Zhou Yan, right!" Lin Zhiqiang parked his bicycle, excitedly took two steps forward, grabbed Zhou Yan's hand, and said loudly, "I'm Lin Zhiqiang. You saved my niece yesterday, and I've come to thank you!"