Chapter 22: Cooking

"John, I'm back."

"You're back."

There was no scene of embracing and weeping, nor any expression brimming with hot tears.

To put it shallowly, the two had only met by chance a month or two ago; their bond wasn't strong enough for that.

To put it deeply, greetings between two grown men were just this simple and unadorned; it was impossible to conjure up any nonsense.

So, standing behind the bar and wiping a wine glass, Old John didn't even lift his eyelids, simply asking, "Just got off the boat?"

"Just returned to port this morning. Handled a few things, then came back."

Old John also knew the situation of crab fishing boats; a quick calculation in his mind told him Henry's condition. He casually said, "If you need rest, go to your room. Don't lie around in the bar like a homeless man. I don't take in people like that."

At the same time, he handed Henry a glass of whiskey, paying no mind at all to issues like legal drinking age.

"Got it." Henry downed the whiskey in one gulp and ran to the room behind the bar.

Although he could continue working, to avoid being too shocking to the world, he should just follow the crowd and go rest properly now.

Working continuous high-intensity shifts for several days straight was super overtime he hadn't experienced even before crossing over. Even with a Kryptonian constitution, it felt a bit off.

You see, the Bering Sea in winter still has sunlight. One could say Henry was in a state of working while recharging. For his constitution, it not only consumed little energy but provided more energy replenishment than working in the bar.

But energy replenishment is ultimately not the nourishment the body needs. While mentally exhilarated, one can force oneself to act. Once one relaxes, it's like a power cut, and the whole person falls unconscious.

How long he slept was unknown; anyway, this guy was finally woken up by the urge to pee. Since his body recovered to a certain extent, Henry had resumed normal excretion, unlike before when he only took in and never let out.

When Henry woke up, disregarding the poorly heated house and the low temperature, he ran to the toilet in just a tank top and loose shorts.

Then, when he came out, he noticed the bar had already closed for the night. Old John, with a resentful look, sat up from the sofa by the wall and looked at the person just woken by the need to pee.

"John, why are you sleeping here?" As the words left his mouth, Henry realized he was asking something he already knew the answer to.

Sure enough, Old John's sharp tongue arrived on schedule. He said, "When you first arrived, I could drag you around with just one finger. I damn well suspect that during this time, I've been feeding you fuckin' pig feed."

"Lying on my bed, I'd struggle even to kick you off. You bastard still dare to ask why I don't lie in a bed? Even if you've washed your butt clean, I damn well have no interest in a man like you."

"Yes, yes. Next time I really wash it clean, I'll let you inspect it, see if I really have no interest. Is that fine?" He replied with a nonchalant remark.

But the main task now was to get himself something to eat.

So Henry started rummaging through the fridge. He had bought some ingredients from the store when he returned, and now it was just the right time to cook them.

Since the old man was awake, Henry naturally wouldn't just make his own portion. He casually asked, "Want some? I'm starving."

John, sitting by the bar, shook his head and said, "No thanks. Eating in the middle of the night isn't good for an old man's digestion."

Henry shrugged and started preparing his own meal.

Speaking of which, before crossing over, he lived alone. Besides eating out, he would occasionally cook something for himself. Not for nutrition or to save money, but simply because he wanted to eat.

Wherever he saw a strange recipe, if he couldn't find a good restaurant, he might as well make it himself. For instance, he had watched a German family drama about ethics, featuring red wine braised chicken.

Rather than being moved by the father-daughter love that went from nothing to something in the movie, he was actually craving the dish in the film. To be honest, at first, he went for the movie's title.

But he couldn't find any restaurant serving that dish. If he wanted to eat it, he might as well make it himself!

For example, to eat a mouthful of the golden fried rice that appeared in an anime, he even specially practiced wok tossing.

Whether that golden fried rice ultimately satisfied or disappointed him, anyway, he had at least entered the door of culinary arts.

During the month or so since Old John took him in, Henry had prepared food a few times.

His meager skills certainly wouldn't upgrade him directly into a master chef who could make glowing fried rice just by crossing to the other side of the ocean.

Ultimately, the cuisine of his homeland relies on various spices to suppress flavors. Even tasteless things like bear paws and shark fins can be made flavorful.

And for the European and American world of a hundred or eighty years ago, spices still belonged to the category of luxury goods. They could at most use salt and ubiquitous herbs for seasoning.

For a major state whose economic pillar is fishing and oil, agricultural and livestock products must rely on imports from Canada or transport from the US mainland over thousands of miles. Alaska certainly didn't give this half-baked chef any room to show off.

Fortunately, the true character of American food culture is heavy oil, heavy salt, large portions, and filling!

As long as one doesn't seek food and meat controlled by big grain merchants, one can still find ingredients with excellent quality from small-scale farmers. It is undeniable that small-scale farming products also carry the risk of hitting a dud.

But for Henry, who possessed a super sense of smell, these were not big problems.

After a period of discrimination, the current Henry could skillfully exclude spoiled or soon-to-be-spoiled ingredients.

Further eliminating ingredients with obvious chemical tastes and too many negative strange odors, Henry could pick out materials with inherently excellent quality.

For instance, the large chunk of steak he took out now could be made quite delicious just by dry-frying.

Combined with his vision, smell, and the control ability brought by his super brain, every time he prepared a dish was a process of optimization, constantly searching for the possible optimal solution.

If those scientists knew he used his Superman-level super brain to research cooking, many would probably be so jealous they'd want to commit suicide.

But Henry didn't care about any of that. Everything he had was simply to serve his own enjoyment.

What's with that PUA catchphrase, 'Endure the hardest hardships to become a superior person'? Anyone who listens is stupid. In the real world, it's 'Endure the hardest hardships, and the boss buys a Mercedes,' right?

When all the steaks were fried, a pot of macaroni on the side was also cooked.

Speaking of which, in this place called Alaska, the starch source is either macaroni or potatoes. Although there are other types, they are either too expensive or taste bad. So Henry had adapted to the local food culture.

Bringing the prepared food to the table, Old John didn't run off to sleep; instead, he opened a bottle of red wine and waited.

It was from California, tasty and reasonably priced.

Pouring himself and Henry a glass of red wine, the old man just watched his wall of glory, recalling his own past events. At the same time, he muttered to himself.

New book seeking follows, favorites, and recommendations. Thank you~~

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(End of this chapter)