Jack pulled out the bulging wallet from his pocket and handed it to Ethan without hesitation.
After counting the total income of $2,065 and deducting the cost of the drinks they'd given away and the one for Mr. Martinez.
"Excluding costs, eighteen hundred bucks! Damn! This money is way too easy to make. Less than half an hour's work equals what many people make in a month. Dude, you're basically a business genius!" Jack threw his arm over Ethan's shoulder, extremely excited.
Ethan swayed from the motion. He tilted to the side, shook off Jack's arm and said, "This is nothing, man. Stick with your boy, and I guarantee you'll be the one riding the wave to success."
"What the hell?"
"You calling me what now?"
Jack didn't quite understand what Ethan meant, but it felt like he was being insulted somehow.
Ashley and Sarah looked at each other, both shocked by this number, left speechless. Ashley counted on her little fingers and muttered softly, "Eighteen hundred dollars... That's enough for me to buy so much food."
She looked up at Ethan, her eyes full of admiration.
And so, the drink-selling business continued until the last weekend before the SATs.
From Monday to Friday, they still went to class and reviewed regularly, only setting up their stands on weekends.
Calculated out, there would be four more weekends total before the SATs hit.
After the last stand closed, Ethan checked the account book for this period of time—it had made him a total of over ten thousand dollars.
Ethan took the profit of over ten grand, while Jack only took a few hundred bucks, and he was still happy about it, not having the slightest thought that he'd gotten less.
Although the two would mess with each other constantly, even if Ethan didn't give him a single penny, Jack would happily help out.
But Ethan naturally wasn't that stingy—now just wasn't the time.
Of course, all of that was for later...
Subsequently.
The group packed up all their equipment and rode to Ethan's house.
The cargo bike was still driven by Ethan.
Jack and the two girls each rode regular bicycles.
They parked the bikes in the yard.
They didn't need to unload the stuff from the cargo bike—just park it in the yard. After all, they'd be using it again next weekend anyway, so there was no point in moving everything back and forth.
Ethan invited Sarah and Ashley to go rest in the living room for a bit while he ran to the kitchen to get busy.
The sound of pots and pans clanging quickly echoed out, mixed with the little tune he was humming.
Jack skillfully opened the drawer under the coffee table, pulled out some premium tea, and brewed tea for the two girls. "Try this. It's Uncle Robert's favorite."
As he spoke, he handed teacups to Sarah and Ashley, steam rising between the three of them.
On the other side.
In the kitchen.
Ethan poured the washed rice into a basin and let it soak, the water gradually spreading over the white grains.
He turned around and picked up a kitchen knife, skillfully peeling the white radish. The snow-white radish spun in his hand as the peel fell away in long strips. The ribs had already been washed and drained on the side, gleaming with a faint pink luster.
The radish pork rib soup should be simmered over low heat to let the flavors seep into the broth little by little. It took a long time to stew properly, but at this point, there obviously wasn't enough time, so he'd have to use the pressure cooker.
As soon as he poured the ribs into the pressure cooker, he heard rustling footsteps from the living room—the two girls poked their heads in, wanting to help.
"Nah, nah, nah, the kitchen's too small! There's no room to turn around!"
"Today's a proper feast, and I can't have anyone messing it up."
Jack's voice floated over from the living room, accompanied by the crisp sound of a teacup lightly tapping the table.
Ethan smiled and shook his head, tossing a few slices of ginger into the pot. When the pressure cooker lid "clicked" and locked into place, the sound of steam began like a soft whistle of protest.
After Jack saw Ethan start the soup, he told the two girls to refill their tea after they finished their cups. Then he headed out to the large outdoor stove in the yard—he needed to start the fire to help Ethan out.
He was way too familiar with this process. As soon as Ethan's pressure cooker got going, the outdoor stove needed to be fired up.
His understanding with Ethan had always been like this—they were so in sync that one could tell what the other was thinking without even speaking, let alone when it came to the steps of making this home-cooked feast.
In the yard, a traditional brick stove sat in the corner, its iron pot polished to a bright shine.
This was a specialty of Southern cooking that Ethan's family had brought with them—maintaining these traditional cooking methods even in their California home. Many families with Southern roots would have a large outdoor stove like this, whether they lived in a modest house, a nice suburban home, or anywhere in between.
This large pot was always used during holidays and special occasions, because many traditional Southern dishes needed to be made in a cauldron like this. Without it, the taste would always be just a bit off.
So the setup was a normal modern kitchen inside the house for everyday cooking, and then this outdoor kitchen with the large stove in the yard, which was basically used during holidays and special gatherings.
Jack squatted down and quickly stuffed a few handfuls of dry kindling into the stove.
The flames in the stove happily licked at the bottom of the pot. Ethan came over with a basin of rice and a small basin of pork belly. "Yo Jack, go to the kitchen and grab the pickled vegetables and other side dishes."
Jack squatted down and added a piece of firewood to the stove, making an OK gesture. "You gotta fry up the pork belly first, right?"
"Yo! Look at Jack go! Our young master Jack has actually learned to cook traditional Southern food!"
Ethan deliberately teased him.
"Man, whatever."
"I've been watching Aunt Linda do this since I was a kid. I'm not blind."
After saying that, he headed to the kitchen, not forgetting to turn around and add, "Your pork belly's cut all wonky, by the way. Looks terrible."
Ethan laughed and cursed as he poured a spoonful of oil into the pot. Some colorful language floated out along with the sizzling of the marbled meat, mixed with the crackling sound of firewood in the stove—it was all particularly vivid.
This traditional Southern-style one-pot rice was quite particular, with all the secrets hidden in each step of the process.
Ethan picked up the spatula and greeted the pork belly with hot oil—"sizzle"—and the fatty parts began to blister.
When the pork belly was stir-fried to a golden-brown edge, his wrist flicked, and the pickled vegetables Jack had brought over went into the pot together.
Of course, if you were making other flavors of this one-pot rice, you'd add different side dishes for stir-frying—like sweet potato, green beans, etc.
Then he put in the rice that had been soaking for a while. As the spatula flew, each grain of rice got coated in the shiny pickle juice, stir-fried together with the pork belly and main vegetables, plus various necessary seasonings. Finally, adding water was the most delicate step—just enough to cover the rice by about one knuckle's worth.
Of course, the mastery and handling of each step here made all the difference. The final taste would vary greatly, which was why with the same steps, some people made it so delicious while others made something even a dog would turn its nose up at.
The most perfect one-pot rice would have grains that were soft but not mushy, full of flavor. The bottom of the pot should be as thin as paper, golden-brown and crispy. When you poked it with chopsticks—"crack"—not too thick or blackened, not even a little bit.
Otherwise, it couldn't be considered perfect traditional one-pot rice.
Of course, Ethan couldn't achieve perfection quite yet.
There are 20 advance chapters ahead in my Patreon. If you are interested can check it out.
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