Anyway.
Zheng Siyuan took a bite of the Fermented Rice with Steamed Buns made by Qin Huai.
Soft, slightly sweet, elastic. You can't taste the alcohol, but you can smell the faint aroma of wine, a mix of rice wine and the steamed bun's fragrance, a wonderful taste that spreads from the tip of the tongue to the tip of the nose.
This is a flavor he can't reproduce.
His father probably couldn't do any better either.
After all, his father hasn't made any serious snacks in years, without daily practice, his pastry skills have either regressed or remained stagnant for decades.
Tough indeed.
Zheng Siyuan sighed inwardly.
His father's skills are not good enough to take on any apprentices.
.
Qin Huai was tasting the cold tea he brewed himself.
If he were to grade his cold tea, it would probably be: deadly, could die, don't feel like dying, terribly bitter, bitter, drinkable.
The only drinkable one is the Dried Tangerine Peel Tea.
