Absinthe

Chapter 30: Frozen Eggs

I enjoyed the next few days tremendously. With the help of Rob, I was able to identify the kind of chef

that I was. I am a Filipino chef through and through. And he was right. Despite my keen interest in

patisserie and molecular gastronomy, my dishes all gravitate to the Filipino's play on sweet, salty, and

sour base flavors.

I was also super proud of the recipe I'd developed for the dish I would be serving Chef Maxwell on

Friday. Rob came over to the condo every day to assist me with the tasting, and I couldn't be any

happier with the results. Derrick's mood considerably lightened as well, and he often joined us in the

kitchen to help out.

On Thursday, I started with my prep. I had a handsome cut of skin-on pork belly, locally called liempo,

braised in light soy sauce, apple cider vinegar, star anise, garlic, bay leaves, some kosher salt, sugar,

and freshly ground black pepper for about three hours. Then I chucked it into the fridge to cool

overnight. I also had a few eggs frozen to -18 degrees for a surprise. I was incredibly excited about the

whole thing.

The following day, I placed my prepped liempo in an ice box and had it refrigerated again as soon as I

got to Chef Maxwell's. Of course, I did not forget my frozen eggs, either. Wait, that sounded wrong, but

there's no other way to describe them.

I barely noticed that it was once again time for us to take on Chef Maxwell's challenge. I scanned the

area and, sure enough, nobody had time for anybody else. The other three were focused on their

ingredients and their preparations.

I should be, too, I thought.

I got my pre-braised liempo and made deep scores across it to guide me when I cut it to serving sizes

later. Afterward, I made light crisscross scores across the entire length of the liempo skin that would

create a neat diamond pattern once it has been crisped up.

After my oil reached 170 degrees, I fried the meat for about 6 minutes. After reheating the oil to 190

degrees, I flash fried the liempo to make it extra crispy on the outside while retaining the juices inside.

Next up was my adobo sauce. In developing the recipe for it, I corrected the contrasting ratio of my

base flavors: salty, sweet, and sour. I accomplished that by using soy sauce, coconut vinegar, and full

fat coconut milk. You could barely taste the sweetness, but I already had a solution for that.

I took out the frozen chicken eggs and peeled them carefully. I took a syringe and injected some honey

and chicken broth mixture I'd made deep into the yolk, dusted the eggs with potato starch, dipped them

in a simple egg wash, and rolled them over a combination of chicharron and bread crumbs.

Then I deep-fried them tempura-style.

I'd tested them with Rob, and he had been head over heels for them! The frozen eggs, though deep-

fried in smoking hot oil, had runny yolks flavored with honey and chicken broth. And once he had

broken the eggs open, the flavored yolks oozed out and covered the dish with a burst of delectable

sweetness. Genius, right?

I recycled Jiwoo's, I mean the half Korean asshole's idea of plums in jasmine rice to add sweetness to

the dish in contrast to the savory flavors of the meat.

After cooking, I neatly plated everything and topped the dish with crispy fried garlic, cilantro, scallions,

and some Szechuan pepper.

Done!

As instructed, I rang my bell, and an attendant came for my dish. Before I exited the kitchen to wait for

Chef Maxwell, I looked around the room and saw everyone concentrating. I was not really sure what

they were doing, but I figured that Vivi would play to her strengths and present a washoku dish.

Judging from the different types of raw fish at her station, I thought she was going in for the kill with

sashimi and other subtle Japanese dishes. It seemed she had given up on Chinese cuisine. What a

shame.

Nico, on the other hand, had a lot of ingredients and pots boiling at the same time. Even his oven was

on. Of course, that's pretty standard for most French cuisine, which was what I assumed her was going

for.

And as for the other apprentice, I didn't really understand what he was doing. I could see a lot of fruits

and some baking ingredients, and I also spotted meats and sauces. Talk about incoherence! Oh well. I

no longer cared about what happens to him anyway.

I did not wait long in the reception area since Chef Maxwell had me called soon after.

"Please tell me who you are as a chef."

"The answer I came up with to that question is simple, Chef Maxwell: I'm a Filipino chef. A Filipino

cuisine chef."

Chef Maxwell eyed me meaningfully. He hadn't made any movement to taste the dish.

"I aspire to be a world class pâtissier, but despite most pastries originating from French cuisine, my

cooking represents the unique flavor contrasts of Filipino dishes. Every single dish I've served up to

now have made full use of contrasting saltiness, sweetness, and sourness, allowing me to play with the

taste buds. The lava cake I earned compliments for had a unique blend of chocolate, lemon yogurt,

duck fat, and beetroots to highlight that three-flavor contrasting base."

Chef Maxwell still said nothing. He just kept staring at me with his hands calmly resting on his lap.

"And my cooking is practically a combination of both Eastern and Western influences, which, I think, is Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

the essence of Filipino cooking."

I stopped talking, too, and decided to wait for Chef Maxwell to do something. Anything. After several

minutes, he finally spoke.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked. "It would be difficult to continue incorporating those features of

Filipino cooking into what the world currently considers haute cuisine."

"That may be right, Chef, but I have also dreamt of elevating Filipino desserts until they can stand tall

and proud against their international counterparts."

"And your interest in scientific cooking would prove to be helpful in that regard." Chef Maxwell smiled.

"Modern Filipino cuisine, molecular gastronomy style—very promising, BJ! Now, allow me to have a

taste."

He reached for the utensils and started eating. I was happy that he, as if on instinct, pierced open my

chicharron eggs, which covered the entire dish in sweet and savory yolk.

"Oh my, oh my! How did you do that? How did you deep-fry the eggs without overcooking the yolk? Did

you fry it with the shell, cracked it open, and refried it with the breading?"

Hold up. Did he just say to fry eggs with the shell on?

"Huh? Is that possible, Chef? I didn't think of that. That sounds easier, though."

"I'm afraid not," Chef Maxwell said. "In theory, the air pocket inside the bottom part of the egg shell will

expand very quickly and result in an explosion. So how did you do it?"

"Um, I froze the eggs so I could peel them. They had to be pretty old eggs because when I tried doing

the same thing with fresh eggs, the shells were practically impossible to remove. Older eggs are a lot

easier to deshell once they're frozen. Then I deep-fried them so the yolk would remain soft and runny."

"Unbelievable!" exclaimed Chef Maxwell. "And in freezing the eggs, you also concentrated the flavor

and the aroma of the yolk. This is genius!"

I started internally freaking out over the fact that Chef Maxwell loved my dish.

"And what is the extremely crispy and savory crumble that I taste? Is that chicharron?"

"Yes, Chef."

Chef Maxwell continued to throw compliments at my dish, from its flavor profile, texture, and nutritional

composition to the techniques I used and how I plated the food. I couldn't be happier with the results!

That kind of happiness was close to pure ecstasy. I had done my best, so I knew I deserved it.

"Now, for the other challenge. What kind of chef do you think I am?"

And just like that, my world fall apart. I'd totally forgotten about it! I had not spent a single waking

moment thinking about Chef Maxwell's cooking style. If I failed, I would have to take on janitorial duty.

Fuck!

"Well, judging from the kind of dishes in your restaurant..." I started. "I mean, they keep changing

depending on the season. Your dishes greatly respect the ingredients and their individual

characteristics. At first glance, you'd think it's akin to washoku, but when you look at the

meticulousness and level of refinement involved in bringing out the best flavors in each of those

ingredients, I would say that you are a French cuisine chef."

I was so screwed.

Chef Maxwell nodded. "I see. You may wait in the classroom as I finish judging your co-apprentices'

dishes. It shouldn't take long."

I left the room feeling utterly stupid about my answer. But whatever. At least I managed to do well on

the first one. It was a shame I couldn't see how Nico and the others would be judged. It would have

been a real treat to see a certain someone fail again. Was he seriously attempting to bake after what

had happened the last time? Ha ha, as if he was going to succeed.

I must have dozed off while waiting because I felt Nico nudge me awake. I looked around and saw the

other dude already sitting in another chair. He must have finished earlier than Nico. Well, at least he

had the decency to stay away from me.

"Vivi's coming out real soon. We finished almost at the same time," Nico said.

True to what he said, Vivi entered the room after a couple of minutes, followed by Chef Maxwell

himself.

"Splendid! Splendid! Well done, everybody!" Chef Maxwell clapped as he approached us. "I must say

I'm quite impressed. You've all proven that I wasn't wrong when I chose you four to be my apprentices.

"And now, for the best dish for this challenge. Congratulations are in order for Jiwoo Garcia! His dish

was truly excellent. I have no words."

Neither did I! How I the world did that jerk manage to beat my Crispy Pork Adobo With Magical

Chicharron Egg Surprise with his lame-ass baking skills?

"For that, as promised, you win a 14-course dinner meal for yourself and a chosen guest. I'll also pop

open a good bottle of champagne for you," Chef Maxwell said with a wink. "Just let me know the date,

and I'll arrange for the restaurant to be closed that day."

"Thank you, Chef."

"As for the second challenge, surprisingly, three of you got it correct. And one of you answered a totally

ridiculous one that I think I should change the punishment to a year's worth of janitorial duty instead!"

Holy fuck. I was truly done for. Help me, God!

"That person, my dear apprentices, is none other than Jiwoo Garcia as well!"

Nico and Vivi burst out laughing. "I knew you were going to guess wrong!" Nico said.

"Stop it! I told you I'm not good at this kind of thing," Jiwoo complained.

We were dismissed shortly after that, and we all headed back to the kitchen to tidy up. We were all

pretty tired, so none of us talked while cleaning. The short nap I had in the classroom did not recharge

my batteries. In fact, it made me sleepier and slower. Before I knew it, everyone else was done, and I

was the only one left in the room.

I took my time washing my face and changing out of my uniform before finally heading to the parking

lot. But the devil was there. Right in front of my car.

"Took you long enough," he said.

"I'm exhausted, and I want to go home. I don't have time for whatever bullshit this is."

"You should sleep. I'll drive. You don't look like you can."

And as fate would have it, I couldn't stop the yawn that was building up inside me.

Jiwoo chuckled. "See? C'mon, give me your keys."

"I said I don't have time for your bullshit, Mr. Garcia. Would you please fuck off?" I asked as politely as I

could.

Jiwoo forced a smile.

"Please?" I repeated.

"I'm sorry, BJ. I really am."

"Well, you're three months too late, pal. I don't need your apology anymore," I said, opting to skip the

drama. Believe me, I spoke with the straightest face I could muster.