Chapter Forty-Nine: A Birthday Celebration

Making a cake demands the highest quality flour, but in the Tang dynasty, although flour was available, it wasn’t divided into categories like low-gluten flour; the only option was decent quality regular flour. Eggs and sugar were not lacking—the eggs were the finest free-range, and there was no way to find eggs from farmed chickens. The sugar, however, was trickier; Tang dynasty sugar was not the sparkling white granules of later times, but rather a slightly yellowish coarse sugar, considered a luxury item. None of this could be helped.

Separating the egg whites from the yolks, the whites were whisked until they formed fish-eye bubbles, then the yellow sugar was added, continuing to whip until the mixture became thick and solid. Xiaomei was asked to place it in the ice cellar to chill—every wealthy household had an ice cellar, otherwise one would feel embarrassed to greet others.

Then the yolks were beaten smooth, sugar, milk, and vegetable oil (since salad oil did not exist in ancient times) were added, followed by the flour, mixed until uniform. Once the chilled egg whites were nearly ready, they were folded in. Every Tang kitchen had a homemade oven, mainly used to bake flatbreads, but today Lin Ren used it to bake a cake.

There was no telling what the finished cake would look like; Zhen Qian had no confidence in its color or texture—these were beyond his control.

Xiaozhu and the others were clueless about what Zhen Qian was busying himself with; the word “cake” was new to them, but they were used to Zhen Qian’s novel terms and regarded them with curiosity rather than surprise.

Next, the marinated beef was retrieved. There wasn’t much fuss in grilling steaks, but since the Tang dynasty had no habit of using knives and forks, the cooked steak was cut into small pieces for the sake of the girls’ table manners.

Dishes like stir-fried beef strips and oxtail hotpot came out one after another, with the longest time spent on braised beef. Peppercorns, cinnamon, bay leaves, cloves, nutmeg—dozens of spices were tossed into the pot as if they cost nothing. Wang Sheng watched in horror, thinking this could no longer be called wasteful; this pot of thirty to forty pounds of beef simmered down, and the spices alone cost several silver coins. Was this even food for humans?

Despite his thoughts, the aroma from the pot made Wang Sheng unable to resist praising, “Food should be refined and meticulously prepared—only someone like Young Master could possess such skill. I wonder how you acquired these talents after losing your memory?”

Braised beef required slow simmering, and after an hour even Zhen Qian couldn’t help but swallow. Selecting a piece and cooling it on ice, he sliced off a portion and tasted it, chewing slowly, “Excellent! This is the flavor!”

Wang Sheng followed suit, slicing several pieces—one for himself and the rest for Xiaozhu and Xiaomei, who were eager to try. “So tender!” he exclaimed.

The two gluttonous girls’ eyes lit up; the spices’ aroma had been enticing, but the braised beef was irresistible. The flavors of the spices danced on their tongues, and the springy beef seemed to continuously release its tempting aroma, making each bite a delight.

At that moment, Xiaozhu glanced at the ceramic pot set aside. When it was removed from the oven earlier, the blend of milk and egg aroma nearly drove everyone mad with hunger, but Zhen Qian kept it covered, insisting it would only be revealed at mealtime.

Xiaozhu’s heart felt like a cat was scratching at it—curious, excited, and full of anticipation, wondering what new dish Zhen Qian had created.

From noon until the hour of Shen, they worked tirelessly, from sourcing ingredients to dividing the beef, finally producing eight beef-centered dishes. Nearly four hours passed before they sat at the table; preparing a feast in ancient times was no easy task.

Since it was Xiaozhu’s birthday, even the usually quiet and reclusive Madam Wang was invited. Along with Song Yi’s grandchildren, the upper floor was suddenly crowded with ten or so people, making the second floor feel cramped.

Zhen Qian’s reputation had spread, and each guest brought small gifts—trinkets, cloth, even cherished snacks. Xiaozhu felt even more shy amidst the generosity.

“Let’s begin!” Zhen Qian announced. “Today is Xiaozhu’s birthday. I’ve made some dishes, and since the upstairs can only seat so many, I’ve sent food to the others in the courtyard—there’s no way to invite everyone, lest we disturb the Zhen family. There will be more chances to celebrate together in the future!”

With that, Zhen Qian brought out the mysterious ceramic pot. Lifting the lid, an aroma wafted out.

Juni was quick as a cat, pressing her finger into the soft, golden-hued cake, “What is this?”

“Cake!”

“Cake...? What’s a cake?”

Even Zhen Qian couldn’t answer, “A cake is a cake—a kind of dessert. I made it especially for Xiaozhu’s birthday. Try it, and if you like it, I’ll make it again!”

He sliced the cake into small pieces, placing one on each plate. He considered singing a birthday song or lighting a candle, but the atmosphere didn’t quite suit such gestures—if it were just Xiaozhu and Xiaomei, perhaps it would be appropriate.

Juni couldn’t wait, stuffing the cake into her mouth, resembling a pig devouring a ginseng fruit, utterly lacking in ladylike manners. Even Madam Wang frowned.

“It’s delicious! Can I have another?”

“No, one piece each—the rest is for others,” Zhen Qian teased her, finally handing his own piece to Juni, “Greedy ghost, can’t you savor it slowly? Can you tell what it’s made of?”

Juni rolled her eyes and refused the piece, instead targeting her husband Wang Tiezhu’s share, “Give me half!”

Wang Tiezhu knew no resistance, at least not in front of Juni, and cheerfully handed over his remaining cake, “Eat, my dear!”

Everyone fell silent, watching this comical couple, their mouths watering at the feast.

“This is stir-fried beef strips—smooth and delicate!”

“This is grilled steak—tender and juicy!”

“….”

“This must be oxtail hotpot? Delicious!” Wang Qun commented, holding a piece of oxtail bone. “Oxtail and offal are usually discarded, but Young Master has turned them into delicacies!”

Zhen Qian had always loved oxtail, often going to the market to order it specially; it was tremendously popular and impossible to get without connections.

“Do you remember the last time you had tripe and kidney? Offal is valuable and nutritious. Next time you buy beef, bring back the offal—I’ll make it delicious for you!”

“This skill… it’s the alchemy of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary,” Wang You commented, quoting a classic.

“Young Master, did you really learn these cooking skills in your dreams? Why can’t I dream of such things?” Juni asked.

Zhen Qian changed the subject with a laugh, “Then what do you dream of?”

“I dream of lots of food, martial arts masters, and you cooking a feast but not letting me eat…” Juni played the role of the table’s jester.

Juni’s boisterous nature contrasted sharply with the calm wisdom of Madam Wang; together, they seemed nothing like mother and daughter. Add in the simple, grinning Wang Tiezhu, and the meal was filling even before it began.

“Juni, haven’t you been learning to cook lately? If you want something, just make it yourself!”

Juni retorted, “You don’t teach me, and Wang Uncle is always busy cooking for the courtyard, never has time for me. If I weren’t clever enough to pick up a few tricks, you’d have laughed at me long ago.”

“Clever?” Zhen Qian muttered to himself. As a woman, she couldn’t even sew, yet dared to boast of her clever hands in front of everyone. Truly, he wondered where Juni’s thick skin came from. “I wouldn’t dare laugh at you. Xiaozhu and Xiaomei have a cookbook—you can borrow it!”

“I can’t read! Borrowing it would be pointless. Are you mocking me?” Juni protested.

Zhen Qian was speechless; if he continued, he’d burst out laughing. “Hey! Why hasn’t Master Zhen returned yet? Wang You, did you send someone to look?”

Wang You, wrestling with an oxtail bone, looked up suddenly, “I sent someone a quarter-hour ago; he should be back soon.”

Just as they worried about Qin Meng, he burst upstairs, panting, “I’m back!”

Seeing Qin Meng sweating profusely, Zhen Qian reassured him, “Go wash up and sit—we’re celebrating Xiaozhu’s birthday, I made some dishes…”

“Thanks to Xiaozhu, I won’t hold back today,” Qin Meng, a carnivore at heart, grinned from ear to ear at the sight of so much meat.

“You rascal, today is Xiaozhu’s birthday. All you think about is eating—haven’t you considered giving her a gift?” Juni scolded.

Qin Meng scratched his head, “Do I need to give a gift too?”

“Forget it, don’t trouble the boy,” Xiaozhu quickly interjected, embarrassed.

Qin Meng thought for a moment, his expression odd, “Birthday gifts are for elders to give to juniors, or between peers. I’m a junior; Xiaozhu is my foster father’s concubine, so she’s my elder—I don’t need to give a gift!”

Xiaozhu’s face burned. Everyone at the Zhen family knew she was Zhen Qian’s concubine, but without an official title, it was only spoken privately—not something to be announced in front of everyone. For a moment, not only Xiaozhu but the whole group blushed, even the instigator was left speechless.

“Mischievous imp!” Zhen Qian scolded, smacking Qin Meng’s head, “Food won’t keep your mouth shut!”