Gourmet: The Master Chef Just Wants to Leisurely Set Up a Stall - Chapter 71

Guo Gaoang had initially embarked on his food-blogging journey driven by curiosity and passion. Back then, he would watch various food bloggers living carefree lives, earning money doing what they loved, and he envied them deeply—it seemed like the kind of life he wanted.

So, he decided to give it a try himself.

Money wasn’t an issue for him. At first, he explored restaurants in his free time, treating friends to meals while snapping photos of dishes or shooting restaurant review videos on the side.

However, in the interest of aesthetics, he mimicked other bloggers by waiting for all the dishes to be served before obsessively rearranging the plates and taking endless photos from different angles.

At restaurants where the food arrived quickly, this wasn’t too much of a problem—his friends wouldn’t complain. But more often than not, restaurants would bring out a few dishes first, then another batch half an hour later. By the time everything was on the table, the food would be cold. And that wasn’t even factoring in the long process of arranging the plates and taking pictures.

Over time, his friends grew impatient, making him feel awkward. In his rush, his photos turned out poorly, and when he uploaded them online, they failed to attract much attention.

Determined to improve, Guo quit his job after just six months and invested money in professional training, learning photography techniques, video editing, and even marketing strategies.

The person who trained him also introduced him to the current food-bloggers group. After getting familiar with everyone there, Guo started tagging along on their restaurant visits.

It was only then that he realized how different the reality of food-blogging was from what he’d imagined.

In the videos, there was always a table full of vibrant dishes, beautifully presented, making viewers’ mouths water. Bloggers would calmly enjoy each bite, zooming in for close-ups that showcased the rich ingredients, making people feel instantly happy.

But real-life food-blogging was nothing like dining at a restaurant. It involved filming each clip repeatedly. The same line, the same motion of holding up a dish—sometimes even taking a single bite would require several takes.

If someone spoke in the background, you had to start over. If the lighting wasn’t perfect, you had to start over. If your enunciation was off, you had to start over.

A whole group of bloggers would gather around a table laden with dishes, first snapping pictures of the entire spread. Then, each person would take turns sitting in front of the camera, with others helping to adjust the lighting and angles.

Once one blogger finished filming, they’d get up, let the next person arrange the plates again, and start a new round of filming.

A typical restaurant visit could take two hours or more—at least ninety minutes were spent filming in turns, twenty minutes arranging the plates and finding the right angles, and just ten minutes scarfing down the food together afterward.

Reality, as it turned out, was far more practical than glamorous. Slowly but surely, what Guo had thought would be a free-spirited career became just another version of clocking into work.

Even now, he still remembered why he’d fallen in love with food-blogging in the first place.

He had wanted to share the food he loved with ordinary people—people who were overwhelmed by the chaos of daily life—so that they could take a bite at the end of a busy day and feel a sense of comfort and healing, just as he had.

Not like nowadays, where every shot was formulaic, drenched in filters and saturated colors, accompanied by robotic scripts. Some bloggers even praised the food before it had been served if it was a paid promotion.

What kept him going was his memory of that initial passion—the desire to become the kind of food blogger who shared food that genuinely moved and healed people’s souls.

Zhao Xiaojing’s fried skewers were exactly that kind of food.

They made him forget commercial motives and simply relish the moment when each bite took him by surprise. It was food so good that he forgot to take any pictures by the end of the meal.

Such food didn’t deserve to disappear because of him or because of the bitterness of two inexperienced newcomers.

Reinvigorated, Guo picked up his phone and contacted the blogger who had asked him to bring those two newcomers today.

He also carefully compiled and edited a complete account of the entire incident and forwarded it to other bloggers he knew.

…

Meanwhile, Zhao Xiaojing remained completely oblivious to the drama unfolding in her group chat.

Her workdays were always fulfilling, leaving her little time to check her phone.

After finishing her shift at noon, she immediately set about preparing for her fried skewer orders—washing, marinating, breading… By the time she was done with all that, her evening shift was about to begin.

Her mind was constantly occupied with improving her culinary skills. She only remembered to check her messages once she’d finished her basic training for the night or when she was standing outside the supermarket, waiting for customers to pick up their orders.

Today was no different.

She had just finished a second round of deep-frying for dinner when she found a moment to slip away and seek out Sun Dehai for some pointers.

“Master Sun, I’ve been practicing the large wok flip you taught me last time. Over the past couple of days, I’ve managed to flip sand without spilling it. Even my fancy pan-shaking doesn’t make me lose any sand anymore. Can you take a look?”

“So soon? Great! Show me!”

Sun Dehai chuckled in mild surprise.

When he’d first taught Zhao Xiaojing how to flip a wok, he joked that she’d probably have it down by the time construction at the site ended. Of course, he’d exaggerated on purpose, worried that if he said it would take longer, she might lose motivation.

In truth, he figured three months would be enough time for her to build up strength in her arms. As for mastering finesse like flipping and shaking the wok—that would take much longer.

But here she was, barely more than a month later, already asking for feedback on her technique. From simply holding an empty wok to practicing with air flips, then moving on to small-scale flips with sand, and now onto advanced pan-shaking and even large flips—she had come so far.

Sun Dehai had stopped being shocked by her rapid progress long ago. Every time she came to him for advice on refining her movements, she had significantly improved since their last session.

Smiling, Sun Dehai watched as Zhao Xiaojing grabbed an empty wok, added two scoops of rice, and began practicing flips—first doing simple flips, then elegant pan-shaking techniques, followed by the large flip she’d mentioned.

Initially curious, Sun Dehai stood by, ready to offer tips. But as he watched her progress, his eyes widened in disbelief.

This improvement was way too fast!

Though he had grown used to Zhao Xiaojing’s efficiency in learning, mastering the large flip in just two days was something else entirely!

And it wasn’t even like he’d given her an official lesson on it. He’d casually demonstrated it while pointing out some flaws in her pan-shaking technique just two days ago!

“Xiao Zhao, what did you say earlier? That you barely managed to pull off a large flip? You call this barely?”

Sun Dehai stared at Zhao Xiaojing’s near-perfect flip technique in utter disbelief.

“Yeah… I don’t think my 180-degree flip is very smooth yet,” Zhao Xiaojing replied as she forcefully pushed the wok forward, sending the rice flying up before quickly pulling it back. The rice tumbled perfectly back into the wok without spilling a single grain.

“You’ve only been practicing for two days—what do you mean ‘not smooth’?!”

Sun Dehai felt like tearing his hair out.

“Look at yourself! In just two days, your push-pull-lift-drag combo is already so precise and clean. Xiao Zhao, you really have a natural talent for this!”

“You’ve mastered almost all aspects of wok-flipping already! Now you just need to work on pressing down with your right hand spoon more firmly against the base of the wok and practice until your movements are smoother. Once you do that, you’ll have officially mastered this skill!”

Seeing Zhao Xiaojing’s bewildered face—clearly unaware of how extraordinary her progress was—Sun Dehai couldn’t stop showering her with praise.