"What is this?"
O’Neal pointed at Chen Yu’s plain noodles and squawked.
Chen Yu unhurriedly took out the latest issue of *The Lancet* and started flipping through it. He lifted a mouthful of noodles with his chopsticks, ate it, and only then explained, "They’re noodles."
’So uncultured,’ he thought. ’It’s not like Americans don’t eat plenty of pasta.’
"I know they’re noodles." O’Neal’s eye twitched as he pointed at the bowl. "But I’ve never seen noodles like this."
Chen Yu ignored him. ’There’s a lot you haven’t seen,’ he thought.
"Don’t look at me. Focus on eating your own food."
O’Neal looked at the plain noodles, then back at the pile of green and purple leaves on his own plate. ’Eat my ass,’ he thought.
"I’m not eating!" O’Neal shoved his plate away.
Chen Yu still paid him no mind. ’Fine by me,’ he thought. ’You’ve got plenty of fat. You won’t starve.’
Nearby, Burnett’s eyes lit up. He immediately signaled for the camera to push in and focus on the sulking O’Neal.
Watching Chen Yu eat mouthful after mouthful, O’Neal couldn’t help but ask again, "Chen, is it good?"
"It’s alright," Chen Yu shrugged.
O’Neal pouted. "I don’t believe you. Not unless you let me try some."
Chen Yu didn’t waste any words. He just pushed the remaining plate of leaves in front of him and tapped the table, gesturing for him to continue.
O’Neal looked at Chen Yu, then back at his plate. A "Fuck!" escaped his lips. He shot to his feet and yelled at the camera, "I’m done filming! Mark, did you see that? He’s eating the good stuff himself and won’t give me any!"
Behind the camera, Burnett wasn’t panicked at all. On the contrary, he was thrilled, hastily gesturing for the camera to stay on O’Neal.
In that moment, he had already envisioned the perfect dramatic teaser for the first episode’s opening: O’Neal’s weight-loss plan hits its first major crisis as he furiously declares he’s done filming.
Instant TV drama.
Muttering, O’Neal stomped angrily out of the frame. Burnett waved a hand, and a camera crew immediately followed him.
As if he hadn’t seen a thing, Chen Yu continued to eat his noodles at a leisurely pace.
Off-camera, Burnett excitedly called, "Cut!" then yelled to Chen Yu, "Chen, that was brilliant! You’re a true genius."
He really knew how to create drama for the show.
Looking thrilled, he sat down across from Chen Yu and urged him to hurry up and finish so they could film an interview segment afterward.
Chen Yu frowned slightly. ’A genius?’
Burnett quickly gave a few instructions to his assistant director. When he was done, he couldn’t help but glance at the bowl in front of Chen Yu again, sniffing the air. "Chen, what kind of noodles are these? I’ve never seen them before."
Chen Yu glanced at him.
Burnett gave a sheepish smile, as if to say, *Well, what are you going to do about it?* He then adopted a serious expression. "Chen, I think I should try some. That’s the only way I’ll understand why Shaq is so angry and be able to better complete our filming plan."
"Stop."
Chen Yu cut him off directly. ’If you want to eat, just say so. No need to come up with so many excuses.’
He finished the last two bites of his noodles in a few quick slurps and drank some of the broth.
The essence of these plain noodles was all in the broth.
"Wait here."
Chen Yu got up and went to the kitchen.
The seasonings were ready-made. As for the noodles, Chen Yu had made them himself and still had some left, but probably only enough for one bowl.
He brought the water to a boil, dropped the noodles in, and scooped them out just thirty seconds later.
He drained them, placed them in a bowl, and set it directly in front of Burnett.
Burnett’s eyes shone, and he couldn’t help but ask, "Where’s the fried egg?"
Chen Yu chuckled and simply shook his head. "There isn’t one."
’I’m not about to start spoiling you. And you want a fried egg?’
Burnett smiled awkwardly and quickly dug in.
After just one bite with his fork, his eyes lit up.
Savory, salty, with a hint of scallion and a faint sweetness—it was a perfect match for his palate.
He didn’t stop. Soon, the only sound in the dining room was his loud SLURPING.
Chen Yu sat back down and continued reading his journal.
Actually, Jiangnan-style flavors like these plain noodles, with their hint of sweetness, were very suitable for the American palate.
Not to mention Burnett was British. He’s British. What kind of good food could he possibly have eaten before?
Just then, O’Neal, having presumably vented his frustration, returned.
And he was dumbfounded.
"Where’s mine?" O’Neal was stunned.
Burnett had already wolfed down the last of the broth and set down his bowl with satisfaction. He looked at O’Neal, then shot a thumbs-up at Chen Yu. "Delicious."
O’Neal nearly went ballistic.
As a result, during the subsequent training session, as he did weighted crunches with a barbell plate, he muttered nonstop. He swung the plate again and again as if he were trying to smash someone with it.
"Chen, what did you do? Why is Shaq holding such a grudge?" Nelson, who was standing nearby, couldn’t help but ask in a low voice.
Chen Yu had also called him over to assist with the training.
Who would say no to an extra paycheck?
Chen Yu shook his head. "Nothing much. I just made some food, ate it in front of him, and didn’t give him any."
Nelson froze for a second, then instantly understood.
"Chen, did you do that on purpose?" Nelson said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He knew very well that Chen Yu could cook Chinese food; he had freeloaded at Chen Yu’s house for many meals during their past get-togethers.
Plus, Chen Yu’s hands, accustomed to holding a scalpel, were exceptionally steady, allowing him to carve ingredients into all sorts of beautiful decorations.
"How could I?" Chen Yu said, shaking his head decisively.
’I didn’t think that far ahead,’ he thought. ’But now that I consider it, it does seem to have an effect. At least watching me eat has killed O’Neal’s appetite.’
The morning’s shoot wrapped up quickly. O’Neal was so famished his stomach felt like it was touching his spine. He weakly asked what was for lunch.
"Here."
Chen Yu had already placed the prepared nutritional meal in front of O’Neal.
After just one glance, O’Neal let out a "Fuck!"
But there was nothing he could do. This was the path he had chosen, and it was too late for regrets.
"Chen, I hate you," O’Neal said, fiercely chewing a piece of grilled chicken breast he had speared with his fork.
"Hmm?"
As the chicken breast hit his tongue, O’Neal’s eyes suddenly widened.
’Wait a minute. This flavor... it’s way better than I expected.’
Tender, juicy, with a crispy grilled exterior, and most importantly, perfectly seasoned.
Even the accompanying vegetables were full of flavor.
And the roasted potatoes seemed to be sprinkled with some salt and pepper, making them taste surprisingly good too.
"Chen, this is delicious!" O’Neal said, giving Chen Yu a thumbs-up as he wolfed down his food.
The most agonizing part of a diet meal, or a nutritional meal, was usually the taste. It often tasted like chewing on wax and was just generally awful.
But the meal in front of him was clearly much easier to get down.
The only problem was the portion size was a bit small.
Behind the kitchen counter, facing the camera, Chen Yu spoke with a serious expression, "Controlling your diet while trying to lose weight is an extremely difficult task. At times like this, you can appropriately season the nutritional meals to boost your appetite. Of course, the basic principles of low sugar and low salt must not change. At the same time, common condiments like salad dressing and peanut butter must be strictly prohibited. They all contain an incredible amount of calories and also have trans fats."
"This is an important point."
Chen Yu held up a finger.
In the United States, what many ordinary people imagined to be a healthy diet was just vegetables mixed with salad dressing.
The vegetables were healthy, sure, but salad dressing was a calorie bomb.
Many people weren’t aware of this, mainly due to the marketing tactics of food companies.
After all, in the United States, it wasn’t rare for companies to engage in deliberately false advertising to make money.
As he spoke, Chen Yu was also preparing his own lunch.
Everything was prepped in advance, so all he had to do was heat it up in the microwave.
Nelson was already sitting eagerly at the dining table, waiting to eat.
There was a bowl of fragrant, freshly steamed rice.
Of course, Americans ate rice, but they generally didn’t consider it a staple. And when they made it, they usually just boiled it with butter or used those instant bags that you cook directly in water.
The rice cooker was a Japanese invention, and while they were produced in the United States, very few households had one.
Chen Yu himself used to eat boiled rice. It was only after going to China and seeing rice cookers everywhere that he was utterly amazed.
Most importantly, he had learned the secret to adding the right amount of water when cooking rice.
From then on, he was hooked. He not only bought a rice cooker but also switched to imported rice.
The rice in the United States was mostly brown rice. Healthy, yes, but the texture was truly terrible.
Then came the main dishes.
Shanghai-style Braised Pork Belly, made according to the authentic recipe taught to him by Yao Ming’s mother, was a glossy red color, rich but not greasy.
A small bowl, enough for three or four pieces per person.
Then there was Pineapple Sweet and Sour Pork.
This was another dish he had tried during a trip to Shanghai and found it to be a revelation, completely different from the version he was used to.
He later asked Liu Yudong’s wife and learned the correct way to make it.
Both of them were from the south.
Finally, there was a small bowl of Potato and Beef Brisket Stew, which had always been Chen Yu’s personal favorite, a comforting taste from his mother.
Of course, there was also a plate of stir-fried greens with garlic, which he had also prepared in the morning.
Today was the first day of shooting. Later, Chen Yu planned to bring over his cooking utensils and other things. The food would taste even better if he cooked it on-site.
Before Chen Yu could say a word, Nelson had already used the serving spoon to quickly scoop up some Sweet and Sour Pork.
It was his favorite. A must-have whenever he was a guest at Chen Yu’s house.
O’Neal, who had nearly finished his nutritional meal, had stopped eating the moment Chen Yu started bringing out the dishes. He stared blankly as Chen Yu set down the four plates, his eyes fixed on the glistening red Braised Pork Belly and the golden-orange Sweet and Sour Pork. He blinked hard and pointed at the dishes. "What is that?"
Chen Yu ignored him. Nelson, beside him, took the initiative to introduce the food.
"This is Sweet and Sour Pork, my favorite. And this is Braised Pork Belly, which is also exceptionally good."
He then pointed to the potato stew. "Potato and Beef Brisket Stew. I feel like it’s even better than the stews we make. Chen definitely puts some secret ingredient in it, but he won’t tell me what."
"And finally, the greens. Hmm, you definitely won’t like this."
O’Neal’s eyes were practically glowing. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He looked back at the nutritional meal in front of him and suddenly lost all appetite.
"That uh..."
He began tentatively, but Chen Yu cut him off before he could finish.
"No. It’s high-fat and high-oil. Not suitable for you."
That one sentence almost made O’Neal pop a blood vessel.
"I think it’s fine. How about this? I’ll just have one bite. I’ll just increase my training volume this afternoon to make up for it," O’Neal retorted.
Chen Yu paid him no mind. He used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of braised pork. With a gentle pinch, the fatty part separated from the lean meat, a sight that made O’Neal’s eyes go wide.
Just then, Burnett, who had been behind the camera, walked over with a bowl, not saying a word.
"Uh, I need to taste this for the audience, to see if it’s any good."
Before Chen Yu could refuse, Burnett had already scooped up a spoonful of Sweet and Sour Pork and quickly stuffed it into his mouth.
After chewing for a couple of seconds, his entire demeanor changed.
"Fuck, how can this be so delicious!"
Across the table, O’Neal was not doing well either.
Slamming the table, O’Neal shot up in a rage and roared, "Chen, you’re doing this on purpose! I’m protesting! I’m going on a hunger strike!"

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