The Magical Food God of Hogwarts

Chapter 52 Rita Skeeter's Tears

All four were so shocked that they were speechless. Even Hannah and Tonks, who were mentally prepared, were speechless as they looked at the white jade chrysanthemum that quietly bloomed in the chicken soup.

They stared blankly as Lucas ladled a bowl of chicken soup from another simmering pot, then gently lifted the poached chrysanthemum-shaped chicken breast and placed it into the bowl.

Repeat this six times.

Six porcelain bowls, each containing a bowl of chicken soup and a chicken breast adorned with a chrysanthemum-shaped decoration. Five bowls were presented to Skeeter, Bozo, Hannah, Tonks, and Tom, while Lucas himself picked up the remaining bowl.

"Please try it, my guests."

But no one moved. Only Bozo circled the porcelain bowl, taking photos from various angles, then put down his camera, his eyes filled with amazement and fascination.

Everyone stared at the bowl of golden, clear chicken soup, and the chrysanthemum-shaped chicken breast floating in it, its petals unfurling like carved white jade. No one dared to dip a spoon in. They felt that even the slightest touch would ruin its beauty.

Lucas took a small sip, nodded, and said again, "Please try it."

Skeeter finally asked in a trembling voice, "What...what's the name of this dish?"

Lucas hesitated for a moment: "Chrysanthemum chicken soup."

Of course, it originally had a very beautiful Eastern name, but unfortunately you can't understand it, so I can only say it this bluntly.

"Chrysanthemum chicken soup...yes, that's definitely the name it should be," Skeeter murmured in admiration. "Let's eat, what are we waiting for?"

But she didn't move despite making the suggestion, until Tonks finally decided to move the chrysanthemum-shaped chicken breast and carefully put a spoonful of chicken soup into her mouth.

Her hair instantly turned a dreamy pink, as if countless tiny points of light were shimmering between the strands.

Then, everyone simultaneously stretched out their spoons.

As the smooth broth filled his mouth, Bozo had only one thought in his mind.

Oh, Merlin.

The chicken soup was so clear, yet incredibly rich and flavorful. The aroma was concentrated in the broth, without a trace of greasiness or off-flavors. Swallowing the soup, a warm sensation started on the tip of the tongue and flowed throughout the body, soothing every pore with unparalleled comfort.

They couldn't stop; for a moment, the kitchen was filled with the soft clinking of spoons against porcelain bowls. After downing most of a bowl of chicken soup, they felt warm all over, and their absorbed minds began to stir again, allowing them to utter even deeper praises.

What a pure and perfect bowl of chicken soup! It wasn't made the typical London method of simmering carrots, celery, onions, leeks, and parsley together. Instead, it concentrated all the essence of a whole stewed chicken into the soup—so fresh, fragrant, rich, full-bodied, and smooth...

Everyone felt an immense sense of satisfaction. Bozo took a deep breath, suppressing the heartache of damaging the artwork, and touched the white jade chrysanthemum with a spoon.

With almost no resistance, the delicate petals separated easily. These paper-thin slices of chicken breast had perfectly absorbed the essence of the chicken broth, becoming plump and glossy.

When a small cluster of petals, along with chicken broth, is put into the mouth, another wonderful taste bursts forth.

The chicken is as tender as tofu, requiring no chewing at all. Just a gentle touch with the tip of your tongue and it melts in your mouth, leaving only the ultimate freshness and sweetness.

Can chicken and chicken soup alone really be this delicious?

Bozo, holding the porcelain bowl, could no longer contain his admiration. He recalled his earlier disdain for Lucas and felt utterly ashamed.

Merlin, I used to think Lucas was just putting on an act and laughed at his cooking skills. Now it seems, which restaurant in Diagon Alley could make this chrysanthemum chicken soup?

Originally, he was only forced to report on his cooking skills, but now that he has tasted this bowl of soup, Skeeter will surely write an article with genuine sincerity.

Bozo looked over at Skeeter, who was quietly holding a bowl of chicken soup, her crocodile skin handbag, which she always clutched, now lying wide open at her feet.

Bozo was stunned.

The heavily made-up reporter kept her eyes tightly closed, and a single tear slowly slid down from behind her glasses.

Rita Skeeter, who had seen all sorts of situations and freely sketched other people's lives on paper, actually cried.

As the chicken soup slid into her mouth, its pure, warm, and unadulterated flavor gently melted away the barriers in the depths of her memory.

It was a cold, rainy day. As a child, she had caught a bad cold and was lying in bed with a high fever, her throat so sore that she couldn't swallow anything. Her mother had been busy in the kitchen for a long time and finally brought out a bowl of steaming chicken soup.

Her wizard father died young, leaving behind her Muggle mother and herself. The family was poor and heavily in debt. She didn't know how her mother managed to buy the chicken, only that the chicken soup had no side dishes, it was just a bowl of pure chicken soup.

She will always remember how delicious and comforting that bowl of soup was when her mother sat by her bedside, gently blew on it with a spoon, and fed it to her spoonful by spoonful.

From that moment on, she made up her mind to make a name for herself and give her mother a better life.

However, by the time she published her first report in the Daily Prophet and received her first payment, her mother had already passed away.

......

Now, this bowl of soup before me, so full of purity and warmth, brings forth so many memories like a fountain, and I can't stop them.

I miss you so much, Mom.

Her glasses fogged up, and hot tears uncontrollably slid down her cheeks. Then, without pausing, she finished the bowl of chicken soup, sip after sip.

Setting down the porcelain bowl, she wiped away her tears with a handkerchief and asked in a trembling voice, "How did you do this? I've tried so many times, but it always ends up with a fishy smell or is too oily... How do you make a perfect, pure chicken soup?"

Lucas gazed into her expectant eyes.

"The most crucial thing is the heat. High heat, medium heat, low heat—you have to keep a close eye on it all the time. It can take several hours to simmer a good bowl of chicken soup."

Skeeter bit her lip, fighting back tears.

So that's how it is. So back then, Mom was constantly watching the stove in the kitchen...

"If you want to learn, I can teach you," Lucas said with a smile, "but it will take a long time for a beginner. If you don't have time to learn, let me know in advance, and I can make you another one."

Skeeter was startled. She stared blankly at the red-haired boy, and then suddenly laughed.

"Thank you, Lucas."

"I will write this report carefully, I promise."

"Just wait and see what tomorrow's Daily Prophet will bring."

A strange silence fell over the entire kitchen. Everyone was savoring the unparalleled deliciousness and the warmth it brought.

Hannah suddenly held up her clean, empty bowl and asked hopefully, "Lucas, can I have another bowl?"