Page 9

The box with the salted eggs in it sits in the middle of the table. I've no idea what to expect when we open them, but I'm excited to find out, especially as they're like nothing I've had before.

"Have you used a method like this on anything else?" I ask Nate as he finishes putting away a couple of bowls.

"No, it's new to me. It uses a lot more salt than most of the methods we use here."

"Hmm, it does seem a bit wasteful."

He shrugs. "We'll bake it after we're done and it can still be used for something. Maybe even more salted egg yolks if they're good."

"Father likes things salty, maybe he'll enjoy a custard like this," I muse.

"He might," Nate responds, setting a bowl of water down in front of me. "Want to do the honours?"

I'm sure my entire face lights up in response. I wipe away some of the salt and pull out one of the egg yolks. It's a vibrant orange and firm to the touch, though it still has a little bounce. Definitely not something I'm used to when it comes to egg yolks.

I knock off as much of the salt as I can and carefully lower it into the water to wash it. I half expect it to break, but it doesn't.

"It's not like I thought it would be," I say to Nate, slipping it into his hand.

A curious expression crosses his face as he examines it. "It isn't."

"How many do we need?" I ask as I clean the second one.

"Just two, but if you wash them all, we can put the others back in the icehouse. I might be able to get another recipe from Lady An's cook if we like this one."

I nod eagerly and keep washing off the rest of the egg yolks. A couple of them are a bit misshapen, but others look perfectly round with the bright orange I'd only ever expect from dried apricots.

Nate slides a pot towards me for the others, and I put them inside carefully, satisfied with how they've come out.

He takes two of them and puts them in a small pot. "I borrowed a steamer from Lady An's cook," he says, gesturing to the wicker-like basket, but that can't be right because it doesn't look dry enough.

"What's it made of?"

"She said it was bamboo."

"I have no idea what that is."

"A plant from Shengda, I think. I used one earlier, and I like it. I was going to ask Chef Martina if she thought we could buy some from the delegation."

"That's a good idea. If they're good, anyway."

Steam is already rising through the slats in the basket, and Nate wastes no time putting the bowl in it and closing the lid. He flips one of the hourglasses, and the waiting begins.

While the salted egg yolks steam, we collect several of the other ingredients we need to make a custard. It's almost second nature to me at this point, it's only the incorporation of the new ingredient that I'm mostly curious about.

"I think we're done," Nate says, carefully extracting the pot from the steamer. "Now we need to crush them."

"Crush them?" I echo.

He nods. "Hand me the knife?"

I grab it from the block and hand it to him, watching intently as he removes the egg yolks from the pot and puts them onto a board. He pushes the flat of the knife against them and they squish easily. After repeating the motion a few times, he pushes the remains into a pan.

"What now?" I ask.

"I think we make a custard the normal way," he responds. "Will you check the recipe?"

I nod and grab the piece of paper with his handwriting on it. "Yes, we just need to add the ingredients, then cook it."

"We can do that," he says as he pops the pan on the stove and leaves me to stir while he gets the ingredients ready for the dough.

I pay close attention, knowing that any slip, even for a moment, could end in disaster.

It isn't until the custard has thickened, and tiny bubbles appear at the edges that I remove it from the stove.

"Do you think we should try it?" I ask Nate.

"Maybe."

"I'm curious," I admit.

He passes me a spoon and I dip it into the pan, getting a small amount of it so I can taste. My eyes widen as the salty sweetness hits my tongue.

"That's good," I say. "Salted caramel good."

"You can't just say that," he responds, using his own spoon to swipe a taste. "Oh, that is good."

"Father would love that. I think he might want you to keep making salted custard if he tries this."

"If it goes well, maybe we could use it for some other custard dishes," he says.

"We should."

"But after we've done this one. I'm going to put this in the ice house."

I nod and let him leave, taking the time to wash my hands and look over the ingredients he's got ready for the dough. It isn't dissimilar to those that we used for the other dough, or for the breads we make here, but it's still interesting to put together.

I check the recipe and get the yeast mixture ready.

"Ah, good, you got started," Nate says as he comes back into the room.

"Just the yeast," I respond. "Is this going to be any different from the one we made the other day?"

"I think so, we're steaming it when we've assembled them, rather than baking them."

"Oh, right." I can't believe I forgot that.

He shrugs. "It's just what Lady An's cook said we were supposed to do." He empties the right amount of flour into a bowl, and adds the yeast mixture after checking that it's ready.

When he puts the bowl in front of me, I take it as an indication that I'm the one who is supposed to be kneading the dough this time. The dough is still rough when he gestures for me to stop and adds a bit of butter.

"How long do I need to knead for?" I ask.

"Not long. Just make sure the butter is mixed in, and then it's time for proving."

"Oh." That's not a method I've used before getting the recipes from Lady An's cook, but I like the idea of finding out if it's going to work or not. The pork buns worked perfectly, and they used a similar method, even if it wasn't the same.

I put the dough into a proving box and cover it, sliding it over to the perfect spot by the oven.

The two of us tidy up, talking a little about what we expect from the recipe, but not much more than that. Time passes quicker than I expect it to, and Nate is soon bringing the custard back from the ice house.

"It looks good," he says. "Probably your best custard yet."

I look into the pan, easily admitting that he's probably right about that. "Though the one I made for the custard tarts was good."

"Oh, yes. But I think it was the pastry that stole the show on those."

I snort. "You would say that. You made the pastry."

"Ah, so I did," he teases as he mixes the custard so it's easy to handle. "We've got to make it into seven portions."

"Seven?" I echo. "What a strange amount."

"It's considered a lucky number in some parts of Shengda," he responds. "That's what Lady An's cook said when I asked her about it."

"Oh, well, then seven it is." Mostly because that's what we should do if the recipe says we should.

I roll a custard ball between my hands, the heat of them making it stickier than before. I set it on a plate that will go back into the ice house until we're ready for them and move on to the next one.

Once we're done, I pick up the plate and head out to it.

The cool evening air makes the hairs on my arms raise, especially compared to the heat of the kitchen, and it's even worse when I enter the cool of the icehouse.

I have no idea how it works, but I'm grateful for its existence, especially when it helps us with our baking.

Nate is already kneading the dough when I return to the kitchen, and I stop in the doorway to watch him. He uses his body weight to push his hand and the dough forward in a method I don't think I've seen him use before.

He looks up and catches me watching him, giving me a curious look that I assume is him wanting to know what I'm thinking.

"Why are you doing it like that?" I ask.

"Lady An's cook said that it needed the irregular air bubbles taking out of it. She gave me a method for checking too." He shapes the dough into a ball and grabs his knife, slicing through it.

I step closer so I can take a look, surprised to find some large air bubbles around the edge of the dough.

"It needs more," he says.

"Let me," I respond. "You shouldn't do all of the kneading."

"Be my guest."

"How is it that you were doing it?" I ask, realising I should have checked that first.

"Use the heel of your hand and push with your weight," he says. "Here." He steps closer and puts his arms around me, using one hand to guide me.

We're surprisingly close, and I can smell the clinging scent of the fire and baking bread on his clothes. It's nice, and there's a part of me that's tempted to lean closer to him even if I don't understand why.

He clears his throat and steps back. "You get the idea."

I nod and carry on kneading until we check it and the dough no longer has the large bubbles. It only takes us a few minutes longer to have it divided into the seven pieces we need.

The dough is drier than the other one we made, but it's fairly easy to work with.

I follow the instructions scribbled on the recipe, folding the dough in half, pressing it into itself, and then repeating until a smooth surface forms. It's surprisingly soothing, and I think I could do this for hours, rather than just for seven wrappers.

"Do you want to roll them out while I get the filling balls?" Nate asks.

"Sure, if that's all right?"

"Yep." He disappears out to the ice house while I use a rolling pin to flatten the dough balls, lifting up the wrappers so that I can make the edges slightly thinner.

I'm done with five of them by the time Nate gets back, but he waits until I've done the final two to start filling them.

It's satisfying to push the cold custard into the centre of the wrappers, making sure there's no air trapped between the components.

I wet my finger and run it around the edge so that I can pinch the bun together, and stick it on a piece of baking paper.

After a quick reshape to make sure that it isn't too flat, I step back to admire my handiwork.

It looks a little wonky, but I like how smooth the cream surface of the dome is.

I've not made anything exactly like this before, so it's interesting to see the different parts of the process.

"All right, now we have to wait for them to prove," Nate says. "Twenty minutes in the steamer, then we can turn it on."

I nod and carefully move each of them into the steamer, being careful not to let any of them fall. The last thing I want is to ruin the work we've done, especially when it's already taken a good amount of time.

Just a little more to wait and we'll be able to taste the rewards of our labour.