After the divorce, he took care of his child and sold fried rice; his ex-wife was filled with regret

As a seasoned gourmet from the North, I could tell the difference at a glance. The slices of meat were cut extremely thinly without falling apart, with a rosy color and white fat that looked like clear marble veins.

There's no excess blood, and the meat is dry and firm. It's absolutely the freshest, freshly slaughtered lamb, perfectly aged.

"It looks pretty good," Old Jin said stubbornly, his hand moving faster as he picked up his chopsticks.

He picked up a slice of meat and put it into the clear broth. The meat turned white, and after counting to five, Old Jin scooped it out. He didn't dip it in any sauce, but put the mutton, which had just been rinsed in plain water, directly into his mouth. His teeth snapped together. Old Jin's chewing motion suddenly stopped.

The first impression is its tenderness. The lamb fibers are crisp and chewy as they break. Then, a burst of pure, sweet juice explodes in your mouth.

The fat melts, releasing a rich meaty aroma. There's absolutely no gamey smell.

Old Jin, refusing to believe in superstitions, deliberately closed his mouth and exhaled through his nose, trying to catch the smell of mutton.

There was nothing there, only a lingering fragrance in his mouth. Old Jin swallowed it, and a comfortable warmth immediately rose in his stomach. He stared at the empty chopsticks for half a minute, stunned.

Across from him, Li Dayong looked at him with a smile. "Old Jin, how's it going? I won't get my 20% profit, right?"

Old Jin took a deep breath and didn't reply.

Without saying a word, he picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a large mouthful of bright red mutton, and threw it all into the clear broth pot.

As soon as the meat slices turned white, I immediately scooped them out, coated them thoroughly in the 80% sauce, and stuffed them into my mouth.

"Phew—it's hot!" Old Jin exhaled sharply as the heat burned his scalp, his teeth chattering rapidly. The aroma of sesame paste mixed with the sweetness of the mutton created a flavor so intense it sent shivers down his spine.

He didn't have time to speak, his chopsticks moving back and forth between the white porcelain plate and the hot pot.

Li Dayong panicked and quickly grabbed his chopsticks to snatch the meat. The two bosses, who usually chatted and laughed at the dinner table, finished off a half-pound plate of meat in less than five minutes, with the boiling broth.

It was lunchtime. The sleet outside was falling even harder, and the restaurant was packed with people.

Almost everyone who enters doesn't even glance at the menu, heading straight for the 888 yuan mutton hot pot on the wall. Seven or eight copper hot pots are set up inside. The fire pipes are burning brightly, making the entire hall feel like a warm room.

Old Jin ate until he was sweating profusely. He took off his mink coat and suit, leaving only a thin shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

He shoveled the bits of meat from the dipping sauce bowl into his mouth, then wiped the sweat from his brow with a tissue: "That feels good." The bone-chilling cold had vanished, and even his knees no longer ached.

He turned to look at the kitchen. "Dayong, I'm impressed."

Old Jin picked up his teacup, took a sip, and said with complete admiration, "I've eaten mutton my whole life, but today I've finally seen the real deal."

"The quality of this meat is far superior to the special supply from my hometown. 888 yuan a pot isn't expensive; in Beijing, it would cost twice as much and people would be scrambling to eat it."

Old Jin lowered his voice and leaned closer: "Where does this boss get his supplies from? Can we...?"

"Stop." Li Dayong interrupted him without any politeness, his face serious. "Old Jin, let's talk about the building materials business. But don't pry into Old Lin's background or have any ulterior motives."

Li Dayong broke the toothpick in half and threw it into the trash can. "Just a few days ago, some big, clueless company tried to cut off his supply chain with money. Now the branch manager is hiding from his creditors everywhere."

Upon hearing this, Lao Jin immediately put aside his thoughts and laughed it off.

In the kitchen, Lin Fan frowned slightly as he watched the dwindling meat in the refrigerator. The lamb was being consumed too quickly; the lean meat from two sheep wasn't enough for the way they were eating in the dining room.

"Ding." Su Xiaoxiao placed the new order on the serving table: "Brother Lin, add half a jin for table number three, and order a new pot for table number seven."

Lin Fan opened the cabinet door, took out the last piece of shaped lamb leg, and placed it on the cutting board. "Xiao Xiao," Lin Fan called out.

"Sold out already?" Su Xiaoxiao was taken aback. "That's all the meat we had." Lin Fan plated the sliced ​​meat. "Serve these up, and cancel the rest of the orders."

Su Xiaoxiao took a rag and went to the front door, erasing the line of words on the blackboard. The guest who had just entered was alarmed:

"I drove all the way here just for this pot of mutton! Even just some scraps will do."

"We're really out, not even a single ounce left." Su Xiaoxiao helplessly spread her hands. The customers in the hall who hadn't had any meat complained, but no one caused trouble; they could only accept their fate.

Lin Fan washed the cleaver clean and hung it back on the knife rack. The sheep on the farm reproduce quickly, but it takes time for them to reach adulthood.

He had made up his mind. This exquisite charcoal-grilled mutton hot pot would have to be offered in limited quantities starting tomorrow.

Keep things consistent every day, and set firm rules. Maintain consistent quality, and this business can last.

……

Meanwhile, in the western part of Jiangcheng, the bustling Xinbei business district...

The dry, cold wind, mixed with ice particles, blew through the gaps between the tall buildings, stinging the faces of passersby.

The pedestrians on the street were all holding umbrellas, hunching their shoulders and hurrying along.

But at the end of this commercial street, there is a three-story restaurant with antique-style decoration, which is now brightly lit and bustling with people.

Above the restaurant's main entrance hangs a black wooden plaque with gold lettering that reads "Shuweitang Hot Pot".

This is the largest and most popular authentic Chongqing hot pot restaurant in Wuhan. Even the busiest restaurants in Wuhan have to give way to hot pot in the winter.

Thick, transparent windproof awnings were erected in the long corridor outside Shuweitang.

Inside the tent were more than a dozen high-powered umbrella-shaped heaters, and over a hundred people were sitting on plastic stools waiting for their turn, holding numbered tickets. The greeters at the entrance were using a megaphone, their voices hoarse from shouting.

As I stepped into the building after lifting the heavy cotton curtain, a wave of heat immediately hit me.

The hall had more than forty square tables, all of which were occupied.

The red oil broth was bubbling violently, the rich aroma of beef tallow mixed with the numbing sensation of Maowen peppercorns and the spiciness of Shizhu red chilies, filling every corner of the hall.

The waiter carried the dishes and ran down the aisle. Although there was a non-slip mat on the floor, it was still covered with oil.

Zhao Chengming walked steadily in the lobby on the first floor with his hands behind his back.

It was two or three degrees below zero outside, but he was only wearing a simple black short-sleeved shirt with the collar open, revealing his strong neck.

In his early fifties, he maintained a very robust physique, showing no signs of weight gain.

He is the owner of Shuweitang and the fourth-generation inheritor of authentic Chongqing hot pot.

The Zhao family started out selling "water eight pieces" at the Chaotianmen Wharf in the late Qing Dynasty. By his generation, the recipe for the base ingredients had been refined over a hundred years.

When I got to table number eight, a group of young people were eating and sweating profusely.

"Boss, your hot pot is really authentic!" A young man with dyed yellow hair picked up a piece of blanched tripe, dipped it in a saucepan of sesame oil and minced garlic, stuffed it into his mouth, and gave Zhao Chengming a thumbs up as he chewed.

"Eating this in the dead of winter makes you sweat all over, it's amazing! It's so much better than that trendy restaurant on East Street."