Chapter 33: Spicy Malatang Skewers!
After gritting her teeth and purchasing the specialized Malatang skewer table, she was left with only a hundred and fifty points.
Ling Jing spent another 50 points on ten round stools, arranging them around the skewer table.
Technically, this long table was designed to seat eight, but squeezing in ten was entirely doable.
With this setup, the dining area was filled to the brim.
A modest walkway remained between the skewer table and the dining tables reserved for the one-pot stew on the right, just enough for people to move back and forth.
Alright, that would do.
For now, her rudimentary restaurant couldn’t fit another thing anyway.
Her point balance had plummeted down to a hundred.
A complete return to square one overnight.
From the Mall, Ling Jing spent 20 points on three catties of beef marrow bones and 40 points on a large stainless-steel stockpot.
She spent 10 points on an extra-large bag of whole milk powder and another 10 on a pack of Malatang soup base.
She then paid 5 points for five hundred wooden skewers, followed by 10 points for a large jar of sesame paste.
Her remaining 5 points went toward disposable paper plates.
Every last point she had was wiped out clean.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to spend a fortune on scallions and garlic anymore; the Item Exchange Box had plenty of both in stock.
Nearly two thousand points had sounded like a fortune, but the moment she tried launching a new concept, money flowed out like water.
It was nowhere near enough.
If funds permitted, Ling Jing would have loved to set up a dedicated condiment bar stocked with bird’s-eye chilies, sesame oil, oyster sauce, and the like.
Evidently, that was out of the question for now. She would have to wait until she earned those points back.
Well then, the coins were spent, and it was time to get cracking!
Darkness settled over the wasteland.
Behind the high walls, the residents retreated to their shacks, waiting for the city guards’ evening headcount.
Some were wracked with anxiety and despair, while others reminisced about the piping-hot meals they had tasted that day. Still others were brimming with vigor, ready to head back out to the fields and hustle again tomorrow.
Outside the perimeter, in the kitchen of the Chinese Restaurant, Master Chef Ling was already hard at work.
She picked out some potatoes and fed them into the automatic vegetable slicer, setting the dial to “Slices.”
Buzzzzz— The slicer whirred into action.
Ling Jing turned around, filled the stockpot more than halfway with water, tossed in the three catties of beef bones, clapped the lid on, and set it to simmer.
Over at the cooktop, she placed the iron wok over the burner and heated the lard.
Tossing in the scallions, ginger, and garlic, the aromatics crackled and bloomed. The moment the fragrance rose, Ling Jing tipped in the diced vegetables prepped on the counter.
Having a proper commercial kitchen made the work infinitely smoother.
The prep counter was spacious, and seasonings were within arm’s reach.
Flipping on the range hood, the greasy fumes were sucked away with a low roar, keeping the smells clinging to her clothes to a minimum.
Once the one-pot stew was evenly tossed, water added, and the lid secured, the automatic slicer had finished processing the first two potatoes.
Ling Jing loaded two more potatoes into the chute, picked up a handful of wooden skewers, and began skewering the sliced potatoes.
The finished skewers were laid neatly inside a clean wooden washbasin.
The basin had been scavenged by that little girl Lina while she was merrily hunting for potatoes. She had brought two back, only to find no scavengers wanted them—everyone complained that the basins held too little produce and tied up both hands.
Ling Jing, however, had happily taken them. They might be poor transport tools, but they served wonderfully as kitchenware.
Once scrubbed down, they were perfect for holding raw ingredients.
When Ling Jing had pressed two City Coins into the girl’s hand, the kid had refused at first, hesitating for ages before accepting, insisting the wooden basin wasn’t worth that much.
The girl simply had no concept of Mall prices—a sturdy wooden basin like that sold for four City Coins in the system store.
Ling Jing had picked it up for half price, and the little girl had thanked her profusely for it.
A win-win on both sides.
Slicing two large potatoes yielded twenty skewers.
The automatic machine cut the slices thin and even; one large potato yielded roughly forty slices.
Ling Jing threaded about four slices per skewer. The thickness was consistent, though the surface area varied.
Whenever she hit smaller slices, she slipped an extra piece onto the skewer to ensure fair portions.
By the time she finished threading the batch in her hands, the machine was already done with the next round.
Ling Jing collected the newly sliced potatoes, fed two more through, and followed them with clean leaves of Chinese cabbage.
Another forty potato skewers threaded, and the one-pot stew was nearly ready.
Ling Jing washed her hands, portioned the stew into takeout containers, and placed ten servings into the glass display cabinet by the entrance. The remaining six servings were set onto the kitchen shelving, reserved for restocking once the cabinet emptied.
Scrub the wok, prep the vegetables, and start another batch!
Spoon in the lard, sauté the aromatics, add the pork belly and vegetables—Ling Jing moved through the motions with practiced ease.
With another pot of stew bubbling away, Ling Jing skewered the sliced cabbage and checked on the stockpot simmering with beef bones.
A rich, hearty aroma of bone broth was already billowing from the rim.
Ling Jing gave it a stir with the long-handled ladle—freshly brewed beef bone broth made this way wasn’t milky white, but rather a rich, translucent gold.
Tossing the block of Malatang seasoning into the pot, the broth instantly blossomed into a fiery, shimmering orange.
How to achieve a creamy, milky-rich base with her current inventory? Time for a chef’s secret.
She snipped open the bag of whole milk powder, measured out roughly a quarter of it, and dissolved it thoroughly with warm water from the electric kettle.
Stirring until every lump and grain had smoothed away, she poured the entire mixture into the stockpot.
A velvety, milky aroma rose instantly, harmonizing with the pungent spices of the Malatang base and the savory depth of the beef marrow.
Ling Jing waited for the broth to reach a rolling boil, carefully scooped out a spoonful with a wooden spoon, blew on it, and took a sip.
Mhm, perfect. That was the flavor.
It just needed a pinch more salt, since this broth had to impart flavor to the skewers cooked in it.
She added salt and let the pot continue simmering over the bones.
Turning back to the prep counter, she threaded thirty cabbage skewers. Once the cabbage was done, she prepped sixty skewers of oyster mushrooms and fifty skewers of fresh bamboo shoot chunks.
The stew in the wok finished cooking, and Ling Jing ladled it out.
This batch yielded another fifteen portions, which she stacked onto the racks.
Saying nothing, Master Chef Ling buried her head and continued skewering.
Forty skewers of sweet potato slices, sixty of lotus root, fifty of cauliflower, forty of winter melon, fifty of white radish, and thirty of bracken fern.
Five hundred skewers. Her supply of wooden sticks was completely exhausted.
The two wooden basins were piled high, forming vibrant little mountains of food.
Her lower back throbbed with a dull ache from all the hunching.
Ling Jing rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck, and clicked off the burner under the stockpot.
As the proprietor, quality testing was an absolute necessity.
She hadn’t eaten dinner yet; from the moment the stall closed that afternoon, she had been running nonstop until now.
Stepping into the dining hall, she uncovered the six compartments on the left side of the skewer table.
Ladle by ladle, she poured the simmering broth into the wells.
Thanks to the hard work of the locals, the Item Exchange Box held a respectable variety of produce.
Though there was no meat, seafood, tofu, or fish balls—none of the traditional staples of a Malatang spread—the vegetable skewers she had prepared covered ten distinct varieties.
Ling Jing picked two skewers of each kind, lowering them into the steaming wells where the broth simmered in rhythmic bubbles.
The skewers bobbed and rolled in the creamy, chili-slicked broth.
Outside the windows, the wasteland lay shrouded in pitch-black darkness, mutated vegetation twisting into grotesque silhouettes in the dead of night.
Inside the Chinese Restaurant, beneath the warm, brilliant glow of the lamps, the sharp, savory aroma of Malatang mingled with plumes of white steam curling toward the ceiling.
Ling Jing mixed herself a dipping sauce of sesame paste, minced garlic, and chopped scallions on a paper plate, setting it on the table.
She pulled out a cooked potato skewer first.
Dipping it through the sauce, she brought it to her mouth—fresh from the fiery broth, the potato slice was slick with rich sesame paste, carrying the savory undertone of beef broth beneath a searing wave of spice.
The flavor was exquisite, completely distinct from the roasted potatoes.
The bamboo shoots emerged tender and hearty, preserving their natural sweetness while deeply infused with the savory broth; the oyster mushrooms quivered with soup, releasing a burst of hot, savory juice the moment her teeth sank in; the lotus root remained wonderfully crisp, made addictive by the fiery heat. Crunch, crunch—Ling Jing finished two skewers in the blink of an eye.
Ten different ingredients, and every single one was a triumph.
Twenty skewers vanished into her stomach in no time.
She was left sweating lightly, her cheeks flushed with heat.
This broth was a resounding success.
Above all, being able to savor the authentic taste of Malatang in the middle of an apocalyptic wasteland felt downright sublime!
She eyed the empty compartment where the soup was still bubbling merrily away.
Master Chef Ling had busted her back today, pulling off so many monumental upgrades—treating herself to a little extra wouldn’t hurt, right?
Not in the slightest.
She answered her own question.
Getting to her feet, she strolled back into the kitchen to grab another twenty skewers.
Tonight, she was eating her fill!
