This is a drama with a premise begging to be a sleek, modern fantasy-sports hybrid—and yet it looks like it crawled out of a VHS tape from 1987. The biggest culprit is Chu Ying’s makeup: part “ethereal 11th-century ghost,” part “community theater eyeliner enthusiast.” It’s a creative choice that sort of works in context, but it does take a moment to adjust when your ancient spirit looks like he borrowed from an ’80s glam kit.
The real triumph here is the acting. The child cast didn’t just perform—they owned their roles, and the adult actors carried those same quirks and rhythms with eerie precision. Too often in dramaland, growing up equals a full-on personality transplant, but here it felt seamless, like the characters had truly aged rather than been swapped out. That continuity alone makes the story more immersive.
About Ending:The scene at the beginning of ep 1 and the last part of ep 22 are the same. Even the way he straightens…
I believe it's because any type of reincarnation or Time travel is banned in China so they have to reframe it as either a Dream sequence or a fictional world within a novel. A lot of dramas had to do this, like Joy of Life , The Romance of Tiger and Rose, Save Myself and so many others. Any kind of supernatural elements like ghosts, spirits, demons are also restricted so the productions have to do a workaround to be able to pass Chinese censorship and making the whole drama a dream sequence is the most common method.
I would blame the scriptwriter Zhao Lin who penned both but with different directors.
Not sure, because A Familiar Stranger and The Killer is Also Romantic are also penned by Zhao Lin and they are in my top 10 favorite short length series. 🤷♀️
Fermat’s Cuisine isn’t trying to be prestige television, and Takahashi Fumiya isn’t here to win Oscars—but he is here to deliver, and he absolutely does. His performance has that raw, earnest quality that makes you believe in Gaku’s journey from math-obsessed recluse to culinary prodigy. Watching him apply formulas to food could’ve been a gimmick, but instead it’s clever, oddly satisfying, and surprisingly moving. His transformation is, dare I say, chef’s kiss—a quiet triumph that sneaks up on you.
What elevates the drama beyond its premise is the palpable camaraderie. The cast clicks in a way that feels lived-in, and the standout dynamic is between Gaku and Asakura Kai, the enigmatic chef who recruits him into the culinary world. Their bond is layered with mentorship, tension, and mutual respect, grounding the story in something deeper than just kitchen theatrics. It’s about people—about building trust, finding purpose, and learning to communicate through flavor.
And speaking of flavor, the food is practically its own character. Every dish is shot with reverence, sizzling and gleaming like it’s auditioning for a five-star review. You’ll want to pause and rewind just to admire the plating. The multicultural cast and global influences add richness to the world, making it feel inclusive and refreshingly modern.
For those hoping for a BL angle—this isn’t that dish. At best, Gaku might lean gay-coded or asexual, given his obliviousness to the affections of his female friends. But that’s not the story Fermat’s Cuisine is telling. It’s about heart, growth, and the quiet magic of finding your place—served with warmth, sincerity, and just the right dash of spice.
This is the second Zhao Yi Qin drama that left me emotionally unmoved, despite its glowing reviews and dreamy premise. The story, inspired by the classic Liang-Zhu romance, had potential, but once again, Zhao’s performance didn’t pull me in—and the open ending only added to my frustration. I’m not here for ambiguity masquerading as depth. If you’re wondering how I feel about this one, just refer to my review of his other work: the review summary remains unchanged. https://mydramalist.com/755723-hard-to-find#comment-22557646
Beautiful visuals, decent pacing, but ultimately forgettable. I wanted to care. I didn’t. And I’m not sticking around for a third try.
This drama has one of those titles that feels like it was slapped on by a marketing intern pulling an all-nighter. Let’s be honest: the name has absolutely nothing to do with the plot or the themes. Nobody’s chasing gold, no one’s breaking banks, and the closest thing to “money” is probably the costume budget—which, let’s face it, looks like it was borrowed from three different dramas and a cosplay rental shop. And yet, here’s the kicker: it works.
The best way to describe this drama is as a Temu version of Love Between Fairy and Devil. You recognize the design, you clock the cheaper materials, but then you’re shocked by how well it holds together. For something that should feel like a discount knockoff, it has an oddly cohesive charm. The production clearly knew its limits, stayed within them, and still delivered something surprisingly polished.
Of course, what really carries the whole thing is the leads. Their chemistry isn’t just believable—it’s infectious. Every look, every banter, every quiet moment is the kind of soft, funny, sweet energy that makes you grin at the screen like an idiot. Toss in the unexpectedly wholesome father-daughter bond, and suddenly you’re emotionally invested in a story you swore you weren’t going to take seriously.
And then, because the drama couldn’t resist, there’s even a sly wink at bromance between the uncle and the guard—just enough to fuel fan theories without ever committing. It’s that extra sprinkle of charm on a cake you already enjoyed.
Overall, this drama doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it doesn’t need to. It knows exactly what it is: a low-budget fantasy romance that entertains without overreaching. Sweet, fun, and easy to watch—sometimes that’s all a drama needs to be.
I haven't watched this drama but I cracked up reading your entertaining review. You write so well, and should…
Don't let my review stop you. As this is a matter of taste. I see several reviews that gave this 10 out of 10. I believe that I'm not as generous as others giving away 10s and I am more indiscriminate. So see for yourself if you like it or not and be the judge.
Isn't there another site just for animations? myanimelist
Even MyAnimeList is stricter than My dramalist hahaha, they will not include Kpop Demon Hunters, because if all animation is included there, it would also include all the animated movies from Disney, Pixar etc. There's even several Donghua (Chinese animated movies/shows) titles that are not included there because of their restriction.
One of the main stars is a prominent kDrama actor. I'm so glad this movie is on MDL, because i can add it to my…
If this is the case, why they didn't include titles like Dr Ken, Lost, Hawaii Five O reboot, The Mentalist, - all US productions with prominent Korean actors, or Animated movies Turning Red and Raya the Last Dragon, also with prominent Korean voice actors?
I think they're under a trial period at least that's what they send me when I edited some of the information.
Ah....so when it's convenient for them, they can bend the rules, but refuse to add some platforms, links, because it's not in line with their guidelines. Good to know.
As much as I love KDH, I believe that this should not belong here. First, it's animated. Secondly, only certain country productions are included here. If this is allowed, it will open floodgates to all other productions that are not part of current guidelines.
I've been trying to add certain things and they get rejected and this one somehow gets a pass just because it's popular? Double standard much.
Review summary:I really tried with this drama. I gave it my best sleepy-eyed effort, but this drama had me dozing…
I really tried with this drama. I gave it my best sleepy-eyed effort, but this drama had me dozing off every ten minutes like clockwork. It took me longer to crawl through three episodes of this than it did to binge a 40-episode melodrama with five love triangles and a reincarnation subplot. At some point, I realized I wasn’t watching—I was surviving. And then I gave up.
To be fair, I’m not here to drag the entire production. I could feel the directorial intent—there’s a quiet, deliberate artistry to the pacing, the framing, the pauses. But had I actually checked the tags before hitting play, I would’ve spotted “slice of life” and politely backed away. That genre and I have an unspoken agreement: I don’t touch it, and it doesn’t bore me into a coma. The one thing that kept me chugging through the first 25% was Umi. The child actor playing her? A revelation. Precocious without being cloying, emotionally intuitive, and just plain adorable—she’s the kind of kid who could carry a drama on her tiny shoulders. And here, she basically does.
Mizuki, her mother, is another story entirely. The show frames her as a free-spirited woman in control of her own life, but her choices land more as selfish detours dressed up as independence. Giving birth without telling the father isn’t some whimsical quirk—it’s a seismic decision. The ripple effects hit everyone around her, years later, and the drama treats it like a poetic mystery instead of the emotional grenade it truly is. Autonomy is valid; accountability is not optional.
Between the snooze-fest pacing and the ethical frustration, I couldn’t go further. Beautifully shot? Absolutely. Quietly poignant in parts? Sure. But I need more than aesthetic sadness and soft piano to keep my eyes open.
I really tried with this drama. I gave it my best sleepy-eyed effort, but this drama had me dozing off every ten minutes like clockwork. It took me longer to crawl through three episodes of this than it did to binge a 40-episode melodrama with five love triangles and a reincarnation subplot. At some point, I realized I wasn’t watching—I was surviving.
I picked up this drama expecting breezy fluff—idol drama comfort food with pretty faces and maybe a love triangle tossed in for flavor. What I got instead was a grim, hypocritical mess wrapped in pastel posters and trauma bait. It’s like the show lured me in with soft lighting and then slammed me with a brick labeled “cheap suffering.” The tonal bait-and-switch isn’t just jarring—it’s ethically exhausting.
By the 30% mark, the female lead had already been sexually assaulted by multiple people. And just when you think the script might offer her a lifeline, her so-called savior turns out to be another predator—only this time, he’s the male lead, so apparently it’s fine? The show’s logic is nonexistent, its morality thinner than rice paper, and the romance is just a parade of red flags shot in slow motion. It’s not “destiny”—it’s delusion dressed up as fate.
The mixed messaging gave me emotional whiplash. One moment it’s trauma, the next it’s swoon, like the writers couldn’t decide if they were making a PSA or a fantasy. I dropped it before my brain cells filed for emotional compensation.
Idk. The guy that “rescues” FL from sexual harassment, literally sexually harasses her non stop. I wish they…
Omg! I thought I was the only one who thought this!! Such like mixed messages. Like SA is okay if the guy is the hot but not when the guy's not the MC. Smh!
Review Summary:If I’d bailed after the first five minutes of this drama, I wouldn’t have blamed myself. Liu…
Let’s be real: Sang Lu is a grown woman living like she’s one sparkly sneeze away from starring in a Sanrio crossover. But somehow, it works. Watching her pastel invasion quietly upend Feng Yan’s cold, curated life was oddly healing. Their marriage may have been arranged by meddling grandparents, but the emotional trespassing? That was all her. One minute he’s in his luxury minimalist man-cave, next he’s surrounded by plushies and chaos—and not hating it.
The best twist? Sang Lu isn’t some rich heiress playing house. She’s just a regular woman thrown into a wealth-marinated world she never asked for, and she handles it with more class than half the people born into it. She doesn’t chase status or money. What she does care about is effort, decency, and calling people out based on their character, not their income bracket. Her so-called ridiculousness? It’s magnetic. And like Feng Yan, you’ll fall for it before you realize what’s happening.
So no, this wasn’t the drama I expected. It’s softer, sillier, and sneakily sincere. Sang Lu might look like a walking plushie aisle, but underneath all the fluff is a woman with real emotional clarity—and an uncanny ability to transform cold hearts and colder bedrooms.
If I’d bailed after the first five minutes of this drama, I wouldn’t have blamed myself. Liu Nian’s Sang Lu hit every “too much” alarm—animated voice, an alarming attachment to stuffed animals, and accessories that looked like they were designed to blind aircraft. It felt like a case study in chaos wrapped in pink bows. But plot patience? It paid off. Because the very woman I nearly wrote off ended up carrying the entire drama on her glitter-dusted, emotionally perceptive shoulders.
Review Summary: I went into this drama thinking it would be perfect background noise while I folded laundry—inoffensive,…
I went into this drama thinking it would be perfect background noise while I folded laundry—inoffensive, mildly moody, and ultimately forgettable. A couple of episodes in, I was still waiting for the leads to spark something—anything. It was like watching water refuse to boil. But then around episode four, it started to simmer. And when it did, it cooked. The pacing sharpened, the fight scenes stopped looking like rehearsal footage, and the emotional stakes finally hit their stride. I did a double take. Was this… good now?
To its credit, the drama kept building. Characters grew more layered (okay, most of them), and the story struck a satisfying balance between political intrigue, swordplay, and genuine emotional resonance. Somewhere around episode fifteen, I was cautiously optimistic that this might sneak into my top five of the year. But alas—it didn’t quite stick the landing. Not because the actors dropped the ball (they didn’t), or the production values dipped (they stayed strong), but because the script tripped over its own ambition. Between the brooding monologues and sudden plot pivots, it forgot how gravity works.
Yes, I’m talking about that cliff fall. I don’t care how skilled you are in martial arts—if you plummet from that height, your bones don’t just politely rearrange themselves on impact. I’m all for narrative hope, but let’s not hand out happy endings like party favors just to appease the masses. A good ending should feel earned, not airlifted in by last-minute plot convenience. And while we’re here, kudos to the writers for resisting the urge to throw in that hinted amnesia arc. One more tired trope and I’d have thrown hands.
So no, it didn’t make my top five. But this drama still surprised me, entertained me, and reminded me that sometimes, it’s worth waiting for the water to boil—even if the pot wobbles at the end.
I went into this drama thinking it would be perfect background noise while I folded laundry—inoffensive, mildly moody, and ultimately forgettable. A couple of episodes in, I was still waiting for the leads to spark something—anything. It was like watching water refuse to boil. But then around episode four, it started to simmer. And when it did, it cooked.
2 
The real triumph here is the acting. The child cast didn’t just perform—they owned their roles, and the adult actors carried those same quirks and rhythms with eerie precision. Too often in dramaland, growing up equals a full-on personality transplant, but here it felt seamless, like the characters had truly aged rather than been swapped out. That continuity alone makes the story more immersive.
Review continued in the spoiler below:
What elevates the drama beyond its premise is the palpable camaraderie. The cast clicks in a way that feels lived-in, and the standout dynamic is between Gaku and Asakura Kai, the enigmatic chef who recruits him into the culinary world. Their bond is layered with mentorship, tension, and mutual respect, grounding the story in something deeper than just kitchen theatrics. It’s about people—about building trust, finding purpose, and learning to communicate through flavor.
And speaking of flavor, the food is practically its own character. Every dish is shot with reverence, sizzling and gleaming like it’s auditioning for a five-star review. You’ll want to pause and rewind just to admire the plating. The multicultural cast and global influences add richness to the world, making it feel inclusive and refreshingly modern.
For those hoping for a BL angle—this isn’t that dish. At best, Gaku might lean gay-coded or asexual, given his obliviousness to the affections of his female friends. But that’s not the story Fermat’s Cuisine is telling. It’s about heart, growth, and the quiet magic of finding your place—served with warmth, sincerity, and just the right dash of spice.
Beautiful visuals, decent pacing, but ultimately forgettable. I wanted to care. I didn’t. And I’m not sticking around for a third try.
The best way to describe this drama is as a Temu version of Love Between Fairy and Devil. You recognize the design, you clock the cheaper materials, but then you’re shocked by how well it holds together. For something that should feel like a discount knockoff, it has an oddly cohesive charm. The production clearly knew its limits, stayed within them, and still delivered something surprisingly polished.
Of course, what really carries the whole thing is the leads. Their chemistry isn’t just believable—it’s infectious. Every look, every banter, every quiet moment is the kind of soft, funny, sweet energy that makes you grin at the screen like an idiot. Toss in the unexpectedly wholesome father-daughter bond, and suddenly you’re emotionally invested in a story you swore you weren’t going to take seriously.
And then, because the drama couldn’t resist, there’s even a sly wink at bromance between the uncle and the guard—just enough to fuel fan theories without ever committing. It’s that extra sprinkle of charm on a cake you already enjoyed.
Overall, this drama doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it doesn’t need to. It knows exactly what it is: a low-budget fantasy romance that entertains without overreaching. Sweet, fun, and easy to watch—sometimes that’s all a drama needs to be.
(Not on you though, this is just frustrating)
I've been trying to add certain things and they get rejected and this one somehow gets a pass just because it's popular? Double standard much.
To be fair, I’m not here to drag the entire production. I could feel the directorial intent—there’s a quiet, deliberate artistry to the pacing, the framing, the pauses. But had I actually checked the tags before hitting play, I would’ve spotted “slice of life” and politely backed away. That genre and I have an unspoken agreement: I don’t touch it, and it doesn’t bore me into a coma. The one thing that kept me chugging through the first 25% was Umi. The child actor playing her? A revelation. Precocious without being cloying, emotionally intuitive, and just plain adorable—she’s the kind of kid who could carry a drama on her tiny shoulders. And here, she basically does.
Mizuki, her mother, is another story entirely. The show frames her as a free-spirited woman in control of her own life, but her choices land more as selfish detours dressed up as independence. Giving birth without telling the father isn’t some whimsical quirk—it’s a seismic decision. The ripple effects hit everyone around her, years later, and the drama treats it like a poetic mystery instead of the emotional grenade it truly is. Autonomy is valid; accountability is not optional.
Between the snooze-fest pacing and the ethical frustration, I couldn’t go further. Beautifully shot? Absolutely. Quietly poignant in parts? Sure. But I need more than aesthetic sadness and soft piano to keep my eyes open.
I really tried with this drama. I gave it my best sleepy-eyed effort, but this drama had me dozing off every ten minutes like clockwork. It took me longer to crawl through three episodes of this than it did to binge a 40-episode melodrama with five love triangles and a reincarnation subplot. At some point, I realized I wasn’t watching—I was surviving.
Full review in the spoiler below:
By the 30% mark, the female lead had already been sexually assaulted by multiple people. And just when you think the script might offer her a lifeline, her so-called savior turns out to be another predator—only this time, he’s the male lead, so apparently it’s fine? The show’s logic is nonexistent, its morality thinner than rice paper, and the romance is just a parade of red flags shot in slow motion. It’s not “destiny”—it’s delusion dressed up as fate.
The mixed messaging gave me emotional whiplash. One moment it’s trauma, the next it’s swoon, like the writers couldn’t decide if they were making a PSA or a fantasy. I dropped it before my brain cells filed for emotional compensation.
The best twist? Sang Lu isn’t some rich heiress playing house. She’s just a regular woman thrown into a wealth-marinated world she never asked for, and she handles it with more class than half the people born into it. She doesn’t chase status or money. What she does care about is effort, decency, and calling people out based on their character, not their income bracket. Her so-called ridiculousness? It’s magnetic. And like Feng Yan, you’ll fall for it before you realize what’s happening.
So no, this wasn’t the drama I expected. It’s softer, sillier, and sneakily sincere. Sang Lu might look like a walking plushie aisle, but underneath all the fluff is a woman with real emotional clarity—and an uncanny ability to transform cold hearts and colder bedrooms.
If I’d bailed after the first five minutes of this drama, I wouldn’t have blamed myself. Liu Nian’s Sang Lu hit every “too much” alarm—animated voice, an alarming attachment to stuffed animals, and accessories that looked like they were designed to blind aircraft. It felt like a case study in chaos wrapped in pink bows. But plot patience? It paid off. Because the very woman I nearly wrote off ended up carrying the entire drama on her glitter-dusted, emotionally perceptive shoulders.
Full review in the spoiler below:
To its credit, the drama kept building. Characters grew more layered (okay, most of them), and the story struck a satisfying balance between political intrigue, swordplay, and genuine emotional resonance. Somewhere around episode fifteen, I was cautiously optimistic that this might sneak into my top five of the year. But alas—it didn’t quite stick the landing. Not because the actors dropped the ball (they didn’t), or the production values dipped (they stayed strong), but because the script tripped over its own ambition. Between the brooding monologues and sudden plot pivots, it forgot how gravity works.
Yes, I’m talking about that cliff fall. I don’t care how skilled you are in martial arts—if you plummet from that height, your bones don’t just politely rearrange themselves on impact. I’m all for narrative hope, but let’s not hand out happy endings like party favors just to appease the masses. A good ending should feel earned, not airlifted in by last-minute plot convenience. And while we’re here, kudos to the writers for resisting the urge to throw in that hinted amnesia arc. One more tired trope and I’d have thrown hands.
So no, it didn’t make my top five. But this drama still surprised me, entertained me, and reminded me that sometimes, it’s worth waiting for the water to boil—even if the pot wobbles at the end.
I went into this drama thinking it would be perfect background noise while I folded laundry—inoffensive, mildly moody, and ultimately forgettable. A couple of episodes in, I was still waiting for the leads to spark something—anything. It was like watching water refuse to boil. But then around episode four, it started to simmer. And when it did, it cooked.
Full review in the spoiler below: