The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly became stagnant.
A rich aroma of rice porridge wafted from the wok.
The bubbling sound of simmering was rhythmic.
Fu Yu looked at Zhao Meng through the hazy steam.
Zhao Meng also looked back at him.
Their eyes met.
Fu Yu: Chef Zhao?
Zhao Meng's eyes widened in a tiger-like glare, desperately signaling: Why are you looking at me! Look at the pot! It's burning!!
Reminded by Zhao Meng, Fu Yu recalled that he had forgotten to stir as a pretense earlier!
He really couldn't afford to be careless!
Knowing that the wok wouldn't burn no matter how he adjusted the heat because it would stay at the perfect temperature, he had been negligent.
Fu Yu hurriedly tried to remedy the situation.
He picked up the wooden spatula and began stirring alternately in the two woks.
Zhao Meng breathed a genuine sigh of relief.
Looking at Fu Yu's stirring technique, it seemed there was no burnt bottom.
What a relief!
Simmer on low heat.
