Cai Hao, the Mastermind Behind 'Hao Jiu Hao Cai', Is the 007 of the Food and Wine World

[ 007 ]

Word has it that a mysterious figure has arrived at Hangzhou's Tianmuli, and those in the know are drooling. He is Cai Hao, the guiding force behind the country's most exquisite Chinese restaurant, 'Hao Jiu Hao Cai'. He once hosted a private banquet for David Beckham. Half the entertainment industry—Johnnie To, Carina Lau, Tony Leung, Eason Chan, Sammi Cheng, Sylvia Chang, Tang Wei—are fans. Recently, he’s been a core judge on the upcoming celebrity chef reality show *The Glory of the Chef*, where there's tension in the studio and smoke in the R&D kitchen. Perhaps he’s fallen for Hangzhou's misty drizzle? The JNBY boss Li Lin, who courted him with three visits, and the artist-gourmet Meimao, who made the introduction, just smile and say nothing.

'The Cooking Scientist Personality'

Cooking by Latitude

Cai Hao's journey is the stuff of legend. He speaks gently, gracefully, yet switches seamlessly between Teochew dialect, Cantonese, Mandarin, and English. Counting on my fingers, it's almost impossible to pin him down with a single label: international food and wine judge, taste designer, writer, world-class chef, renowned Chinese whisky connoisseur, devoted dad, wife-spoiler… Cai Hao is a respected figure in both culinary and celebrity circles.

An American-Chinese, his ancestral home is in the gastronomic heartland of Chaozhou, China. Wherever he goes, he brings his own Phoenix Dancong tea, then slowly sips whisky, eats, and talks business. He exudes a rare, earthy magnanimity, much like the Tao Te Ching's notion that 'by not competing, no one can compete with you.' He was once a civil servant, then resigned to study abroad, living in the US for over a decade. He also ran a factory, doing import-export of chemical raw materials. Returning to China, he switched gears and opened a refined Chinese restaurant in Guangzhou, breaking new ground for modern Chinese cuisine. Over the years, I've met many chef-entrepreneurs, but few maintain such a maverick style under a halo of glittering titles like Cai Hao.

Unlike traditional restaurateurs, he’s blunt, often prefacing with 'I have low EQ,' yet people line up with their own stools to hear his somewhat offensive truths. The old guard of Chinese cuisine, with its cultish secrecy around techniques and experience-over-science traditions, sparked Cai Hao’s desire for change. 'I'm not here to make a quick buck,' says Cai Hao, who wants to foster a more scientific and open culinary ecosystem. A decade ago, bigwigs may have rolled their eyes with 'Tell me your dream…' sarcasm, but now they greet him with genuine respect. In the murky waters of the F&B market, he’s a unicorn who doesn’t play by the rules.

Years ago, a veteran food journalist in Guangzhou was stunned in Cai Hao’s kitchen. Even newbies were tasked with the serious business of opening conch shells. In traditional Chaozhou restaurants, the conch master is one of the highest-paid, mysterious figures. Usually, only chefs with years of experience can do it; cutting alone takes ages to learn. The skill—opening many while maintaining perfect texture—seems wrapped in mystique. But Cai Hao taught his rookies to do it skillfully. 'In the past, we’d get several tables ordering conch slices daily. Relying on just one or two masters wasn’t feasible, so everyone pitched in. That’s standardization. The trick is simple. I tell them: most people slice by sight and touch, but your fingernail is a great tool. When slivering the meat, scrape with your nail. If it makes a gritty sound, it’s tough and should be discarded; if it’s smooth, it’s tender and ready to eat. That’s it.' Sometimes, old chefs used such petty tricks to keep apprentices in thrall for a decade.

Understanding ingredients, finding the scientific secrets, and solving problems—that’s Cai Hao’s greatest joy. Standing before you, he’s refined and bookish, but given a choice, he’d rather browse a wet market than a bookstore.

His mother, a daughter of a prominent family, adored good food and cooking. When friends visited Shantou, they insisted on having her home-cooked meal first—light, pure, exquisite. Growing up in such a home, Cai Hao developed an extraordinarily discerning palate early on. Years of overseas life then obsessed him with systematization and standardization. 'Western societies see procedures as the best way to drive things forward. Chinese are very casual, rarely pinning down details, often mistaking sentiment for rationale. The scientific approach is truly understanding ingredients.' He likes to treat ingredients like a chemist, infusing cooking with chemical engineering knowledge.

Doggedly pursuing flavor and demanding the best ingredients, Cai Hao is dubbed a 'Taste Designer.' 'Going to the market teaches you nuances. Bitter melon can be seasonal or hothouse. To understand it, I tested bitter melons monthly for one and a half years—when they're most bitter, when the fiber is best, how to best cook them with pork belly, I know it all. There’s a traditional dish called cool melon stir-fried with egg, but it's too cooling for women to eat. The key is adding garlic and ginger—that’s understanding the ingredient.'

Even luxury ingredients are reborn in his hands. Take caviar—the Chinese de facto luxury salty-umami seasoning. Cai Hao disagrees: 'I had to tweak the recipe. In the past, caviar was salty because logistics weren't great and it needed preservation. Now my requirement is a shorter fermentation—one month instead of three. Caviar shouldn't be a condiment. Today, people's salt intake is only 40% of what it was 50 years ago; caviar needs less salt. Chinese caviar can be a bit soft, but the oils are wonderful. Foreign caviar looks gorgeous, translucent, but that can be achieved by adding borax and soda. Low-salt Chinese caviar can be supremely aromatic. Only by understanding this can I create 'Cai Hao Selection'.'

To this end, Cai Hao ventured deep into Yunnan. The sturgeon in icy waters grow extremely slowly, but the resulting caviar—rich, creamy—answered the challenge.

Others cook by the book; Cai Hao cooks by brainstorming. 'It's not just execution,' he says, 'execution is for craftsmen.' The latter half of that thought went unsaid out of modesty, but anyone who’s accompanied him to a market knows: he has the personality of a culinary scientist, with an artist’s flair.

Meimao and Cai Hao were close friends back in the US, his professional market companion. Only he can really speak with authority. 'Cai Hao has a natural gift for ingredients. Even unfamiliar ones, he'll glance and instantly know what to do. Later, when we were in different places, I’d send him photos of difficult ingredients, and he’d immediately figure out how to handle them. When he’s at the market, his mind's eye is painting a picture—that’s years of accumulation, not just book learning. I remember when he first returned to China and opened his restaurant in Panyu, he insisted on visiting the market every day for 365 days a year, meticulously observing the seasonal changes in produce.'

'I don’t pre-plan ingredients. I go to the market, and then I know what’s good. No fixed patterns. I only get inspired when I see the produce. Like that Beckham banquet, everything was decided at the last minute. I gave him a menu only because the company had a process. Inspiration and understanding of ingredients—that’s a chef’s cultivation. Chefs today are lazy; my chefs must visit the market, every season. Technique is another matter, all about combinations of temperature, protein, amino acids. I cook by latitude.'

That phrase 'cooking by latitude' reveals a researcher’s depth. Few realize that China encompasses four dining regions: south of 30°N, 30°N–35°N, 35°N–40°N, and north of 40°N. 'The biggest problem with Chinese cuisine is cognitive boundaries. Viewing ingredients by latitude—what wine goes with January ingredients, what with February—is a matter of understanding.' Along the same latitude, people, climate, hydrology, biology, and soil can be discussed at one table. Without that concept, genuine comparison is impossible.

Recalling Beckham’s family banquet, Cai Hao’s Skye blue lobster stunned the superstar family. 'Beckham had my baked crab. I applied Chaozhou-style garlic-baked crab to British garlic-baked blue lobster. That day Beckham asked, how did you know I like garlic? And that garlic was super tasty. I said I didn’t; I just saw garlic and blue lobster, perfect for the season. I had no preconceptions, no idea what he liked; I just responded to the ingredients. The garlic was creamy and poetic—have you ever had mashed-potato-like garlic? I baked it my way, low-temperature, slowly roasted, golden and fragrant. Typically chefs flash-fry garlic over high heat, but the inside stays raw. You need to alter the molecular structure: oil temperature a little lower, let the heat penetrate the garlic, release the garlic essence. Then spoonfuls of it, velvety like mash. That changes the structure and reveals something new. The perfect pairing? An Islay whisky—it can tame the flavors!' Just hearing this, a Scottish sea breeze wafts through, and even my mouth waters with that creamy texture.

I once followed Cai Hao on a quick Hong Kong South Wholesale Market trip. When he strode through, shaking his head, the vendors were under immense pressure, trembling to produce their best goods. Those practiced in fleecing tourists dared not try—their reputations would be ruined! Cai Hao, sunny and meticulous like a Virgo engineer, drives collaborators crazy, yet they willingly admire his rational handling of details—a love-hate relationship.

Now, the offerings at the Hangzhou 'Hao Jiu Hao Cai' are eagerly awaited by his fans, myself included. He has surveyed the Hangzhou market and found an obsession with yellow croaker. The wild yellow croaker from Zhonglu Island in Yuhuan, Zhejiang, raised in open waters, aligns with his cooking philosophy. 'Murkier waters yield better yellow croaker. I went personally; the softness, tenderness, and chew must be just right. The fish is silver when caught, turns yellow in an hour—photosynthesis from light-sensitive pigments.'

After numerous experiments, Cai Hao plans to bathe this yellow croaker in chicken oil. 'At Guangzhou’s Hao Jiu Hao Cai we experimented: rendering oil and jus from six old hens as the base, then simmering Tianjin winter cabbage's salty essence into the chicken jus. The liquid is 80% chicken oil and 20% broth. Poured piping hot over the fish, the skin stays crispy—absolutely delicious!' He also has a Chaozhou-style soybean milk simmered wild yellow croaker, marinated with soy paste then lightly fried as an appetizer: 'Jiangzhe folks love semi-dried fish, a wind-dried texture, not too dry. A niche regional preference, but I want to make it broadly enjoyable.'

Another wonder is his lemongrass-soup yellow croaker, which he says is incredibly simple: lightly toast the lemongrass, slice, then gently fry in oil. Make a fish stock, turn off the heat, drop in the cut croaker—no boiling. The taste has a magical pull from Southeast Asia to China's eastern coast. 'Future dishes will draw more on Jiangzhe ingredients. I must make Hao Jiu Hao Cai locally beloved, focusing on closer ingredients and reinterpreting Hangzhou cuisine—think Jiangsu pufferfish, and in winter, many hairy crab series.'

Ordinary ingredients often shine in his hands. Cai Hao's 'lava center series' is famous—in Hong Kong, his lava center carrot was once impossible to get; water bamboo had to be eaten with knife and fork, seasoned with shrimp roe. The bamboo is cooked until sticky, pressed flat, set in the fridge, then baked until slightly charred—a total revelation for gourmands.

Now he's set his sights on Hangzhou's beloved bamboo shoots. 'When we think of bamboo shoots, we default to yanduxian (a traditional stew). That's a waste. I'm doing a one-to-one ratio of bamboo shoot and soft-shell turtle, with one liang of aged tangerine peel, steamed to its purest essence. The turtle's aroma and fat bloom in the mouth, and the finish is all cleaned up by whisky. It's seasonal, not always available. Hangzhou folks love duck, whitefish, freshwater delicacies... I want to transform them into something with a culinary threshold, a differentiated enjoyment. Fine dining can be very down-to-earth; ingredients can be common, but the understanding must be elevated.' Cai Hao says the new restaurant will have 40% classics, 30% seasonal, 30% innovation. Hao Jiu Hao Cai is always evolving—no signature dish.

Alongside 007,

He’s Influencing the Whisky World

It’s hard to imagine the fashion-forward Cai Hao, cozily stuck in a muddy market. Behind him, the 'Bond girl' Sister Na is his style consultant, ensuring every appearance is dapper and otherworldly.

Every time I see Cai Hao, I’m reminded of Sean Connery’s James Bond, the perfect balance of suave and gentlemanly. Those clear features, that tall bearing—yet he’s a formidable character who drinks great whisky daily. Years ago, I was privileged to visit the back kitchen of Hao Jiu Hao Cai in Hong Kong for a Central finance circle’s dream Chef’s Table. There I discovered three-year-old goose head, the goose’s beak collagen so firm, thick as chilled mochi, unfathomably savory, with a balanced layering of salty, spicy, and pungent. Paired with a 1964 Glenburgie, limited to 139 bottles globally, it was a knockout! For a lightweight epicurean like me, it was a delicious trap—both rustic and refined, impossible to escape!

Like Bond, Cai Hao drinks frequently and at a high level. A decade ago, he was either in Scottish distilleries or on his way to them. Once in Hangzhou, he brought out a single malt whisky called 'Qingcui,' custom-blended for Ms. Cat (Wang Peiqing) from Blue City. She threw a private feast to celebrate. I glimpsed a dainty seal bearing a 'drunken cat' mark, exquisitely crafted. The whisky was a 30-year-old Bunnahabhain, one of Cai Hao’s three beloved single casks last year (alongside 30-year Macallan and 30-year Bowmore), yielding only 118 bottles. He took a sip, then added a few drops of water. 'When you add some water, you accelerate the release of molecular structures, and the aromas will differ from when neat or over ice.' Everyone nodded, as if attending a whisky appreciation class.

At the table, he seldom sets down his glass, taking continuous small sips—Scotch whisky is part of his life. In the movies, Bond, a Scot, drinks roughly every 11 minutes, at least 27 times across 25 films, with his iconic 'Shaken, not stirred.' But Cai Hao drinks very slowly, tasting more than guzzling. 'When we drink whisky, we usually suggest: first taste it neat, then add a little water, then pour another and add ice. You can compare the changes across different layers. If you’re dining with six to eight courses, you can use one whisky throughout the meal by varying it: neat, with room-temperature water, cold water, or ice. You’ll find it pairs with many things. By altering its state, you can match just about any dish you like—say, vegetables, meat, seafood. It’s a great concept.' Neat, with water, with ice—this has now become the standard 'trilogy' for whisky at the dining table.

Drinking with Cai Hao sometimes feels like traveling with him. He can quickly teach a novice about whisky, encouraging them to grasp the tasting notes by region. 'Speyside’s overall style is sweet and warm; the water source in that valley, its layered rock, and the malt tend to be very approachable.'

Then he’ll guide them north to the Highlands—similar alcohol levels but a much brisker, brisker character. Next, the islands, Islay, and the Lowlands. 'I give many beginners this map. After some time, they easily find their preferred flavor. The next stage: let the whisky linger in your mouth and throat, and guess the notes. Smelling before sipping is a good method—your nose gets an air-conveyed message, signaling whether you'll like it before you drink. Some, like Islay whiskies, have medicinal, peaty aromas that may not appeal initially but might be exactly what you’re seeking. All aroma-carrying substances have fat molecules; contact with air causes an aromatic burst. A classic Highland style is rich and slightly domineering; Speyside or Lowland can feel a bit more robust. Lowland water differs from Highland, producing a relatively coarser spirit; many triple-distilled whiskies come from Lowland to achieve a smoother, cleaner taste. The third stage is the scientific deconstruction of malt and water. For instance, Speyside’s water filters through layered rock, giving high purity and a clean, brilliant spirit that easily develops fragrant notes. In contrast, island whiskies are not just about peat; their water is mainly groundwater, carrying a hint of the sea.'

His descriptions make you feel you’re tasting the whisky’s life, sparking an urge to visit. 'Start at the Scotch Whisky Experience in Edinburgh, the Lowlands. Then drive up the east coast to Aberdeen in Speyside—that’s where Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Macallan are. Further north, just past Nairn Bay, Glenmorangie’s distillery. Still north to the Highlands, you’ll find Highland Park on the island. Then down the west coast, Talisker, and finally the famous Islay with its two distilleries, Bowmore and Laphroaig, then back east to Edinburgh.' He’s more knowledgeable than veteran Scottish distillery guides because he understands the whisky better.

Thanks to 007, some whisky prices have skyrocketed—that’s true. And thanks to Cai Hao, the Chinese whisky market has surged—also true. The 1962 Macallan featured in 2012’s *Skyfall*, the glass of 50-year-old shattered, and Bond lamented, 'What a waste of good Scotch.' That bottle, later signed by the cast, sold at auction in 2013 for £9,635 more than usual—a clear 007 market effect. That year, Cai Hao returned from the US in 2004. Even nine years later, the vast whisky market in China was still a blue ocean, and Cai Hao was the surfer.

In business, he shares the same philosophy as Zeng Guofan: 'share the profit, never monopolize.' This collaborative style sets him apart. His vision has also elevated many seasoned whisky lovers, and plenty seek his investment advice. Just recently, a discreetly wealthy Hangzhou entrepreneur ordered a 60-year Macallan from him. Cai Hao simply says, 'The 60-year Macallan transcends any descriptive language of taste—it’s a benchmark.'

His 'Cai Hao Selection' truly handpicks only Scotland’s finest whiskies. 'Cai Hao Selection is niche; only single casks I can reserve, bottled in Scotland, all from my good friends. Scarcity defines value. Because it’s scarce, each cask uses a portion of the original stock, yielding limited bottles. Once bottled, it’s shipped back to China, exclusively owned. No one else in the world owns that resource. That’s the rarity and prestige of a single cask. The 60-year Macallan is scarce worldwide, not just for my selection.' With a nearly ¥500,000 price tag per bottle, being able to reserve a cask is no small feat; Cai Hao understands it’s a social trump card for his clients.

China now imports the largest volume of single cask whisky globally, and Cai Hao has contributed. 'Getting it into the cask is an honor, and only when it reaches a high standard do I approve. Hangzhou has no shortage of connoisseur-tycoons; senior executives from Alibaba, Alipay, Taobao around Tianmuli have reserved casks with me. They have social needs, and toting a single cask whisky is a status symbol. I value the brand’s weight—I even put my own name on it. So each cask’s flavor and consistency cannot be sloppy; it must be delicious. Only then does it truly match the style and can be recommended to esteemed guests.' He even founded the Cai Hao Selection Fund, with many magnates as shareholders.

Cai Hao is the first person to bring custom single cask Scotch to the Chinese dining table, inadvertently influencing the Scottish market in the process. Not long ago, 'Brother Cai,' the owner of Jiangnan Yuge, finally received his Cai Hao Selection 'Little Macallan' single cask with great appreciation potential. 'He queued for years—it's a 22-year-old Glenrothes, also called Little Macallan. The sherry casks used in the Solera Collection come from Edrington’s top Spanish sherry casks, identical to those for Macallan, at a tenth the price. Sherry casks resonate with Chinese taste aesthetics. Through sherry cask influence, it develops a nutty natural flavor; these whiskies are meticulously chosen. Scots prefer bourbon casks, but Chinese love sherry—this trend has driven up sherry cask prices. Chinese influence reaches the world, influences whisky; I’m just paving the way, incidentally involved. Single cask whisky is still new in China, known only to a small circle, especially Cai Hao Selection. I see more and more discerning people starting to bottle single casks.'

Cai Hao has no particular preference between blended and single malt whisky; Scotland doesn’t even have that concept. True blending is an art, too—add a bit more smokiness, a touch of other grain whiskies, and it creates another, more aromatic layer. Having returned seventeen years with his cross-industry background, he finds new heights in food-wine pairing.

Cai Hao especially recommends pairing whisky with Chinese cuisine. Oily dishes, scientifically matched with whisky, make the whole meal comfortable, cleansing the palate, leaving one refreshed. That’s what sets whisky apart. Chinese baijiu gets you there quickly, to that tipsy state. 'Whisky has a tasting threshold and variety; with a single cask, you should savor it slowly.'

His view of the food-wine market is soberly rational: 'Generally, wine is the language of international high society; at the top, wine opens minds and conversations, while whisky remains niche.' Yet while innovating in food-wine pairing, Cai Hao never ignores the more mainstream wine in his sophisticated menus and cellars. 'When drinking Burgundy, pair it with traditional flavors like braised goose liver. For a traditional old Bordeaux, go with smoky flavors like eel, a rich white eel. Wine must have age to be good; if you respect me, bring a 20+ year old bottle to Hao Jiu Hao Cai—no corkage fee.'

'That’s my respect for Hangzhou gourmets,' Cai Hao adds.

Crispy Pork Knuckle and Hao Jiu Hao Cai's Plates

Keep Iterating

Every time James Bond appears, he’s a terminator, thanks to his quick instincts.

As a veteran judge for fine dining and drink lists, Cai Hao never stops reinventing himself. At Hangzhou’s Tianmuli, near Alibaba, Hao Jiu Hao Cai is evolving with an internet-age mindset. 'From large vessels to small ones. The international trend is big plate, small food; we’re doing small plate, small food. Before it was huge plate vs. tiny food; now it’s small and small. The cultivation of tableware is lacking in the Chinese dining scene. We believe as long as the vessel is aptly used, it’s good, and shows cultural progress. Using crude, brutish to describe our chefs—I find that helpless. As for rankings, I’ll say bluntly: foreigners like big plates, judge foreign cuisine; Chinese prefer small plates, judge Chinese cuisine—it’s an aesthetic standard. But aesthetics alone won’t do, because the industry’s barriers were low; height requires depth of knowledge.'

So whether dining solo or in a group at Hao Jiu Hao Cai, one always finds intellectual satisfaction. His crispy pork knuckle is the core project of Cai Hao’s 'Scientific Cooking' philosophy, striking a chord deep in many tycoons’ souls. Pork knuckle 2.0—bone and meat, pliable as a soft ribbon, the crispy skin dissolving like spring soil. After that, you can never go back to the glassy-skinned roast suckling pig. The infusion of Scientific Cooking knowledge makes Hao Jiu Hao Cai a global Chinese dining experience, not just Chinese food.

When the crispy pork knuckle arrives, diners see it intact, but the bone is tender, the skin crispy—a magical texture unattainable in ordinary Chinese cooking. 'The shape remains, but the pressure cooker, refrigerator, and oven have each played a part. Understand the ingredients, the equipment, everything inside out, and you can execute scientifically. The pressure cooker makes the bone tender—it needs intervention. Immediately flash-freeze so it doesn’t deform and the softening stops. Third step, re-warm in a high-temperature oven, thus the skin crisps—three interventions. Letting it cool in the pressure cooker is also part of the process; modern compressors are no problem, just a bit of electricity but beneficial to the ingredient. When pressure cooking, the molecular structure is agitated; flash freezing locks in the original flavor—release and capture, that’s the understanding. It’s the same with ingredients; grasp what is release and capture. There’s nothing incomprehensible, just unrealized.'

Pardon a Versailles-worthy belch: I've already eaten version 5.0 of Hao Jiu Hao Cai's crispy sea cucumber. The crispy skin now makes a joyful rustling sound, like a miniature maraca playing on my gums, but that doesn’t detract from the thick, mochi-like gelatinous surround sound that's three-dimensionally unctuous. I couldn’t help asking Cai Hao why both the crispy sea cucumber and the pork knuckle keep evolving. He said ingredients aren’t eternal, especially wild ones—they have a limited supply; when one region is exhausted, you switch areas, waters, species. 'The first generation of pork knuckle was Spanish; not enough supply, we moved to Portugal, Hungary, Belgium... These things have regulations, different from domestic; imported goods require quarantine. View it by latitude, and the solution space broadens enormously.'

Cai Hao eagerly embraces the changes of the times. 'The trend of solo dining has emerged. Before, a table gathered ten or more; now there are so many singles. Solo dining is the modern theme, becoming mainstream. I believe perfecting one-person and two-person meals is the precondition. Hao Jiu Hao Cai comes to Hangzhou to change—even if you've been to the Hong Kong, Guangzhou, or Beijing locations, this is an entirely new experience.' During the filming of *Once Upon a Bite*, Meimao and Cai Hao privately discussed this; now it’s finally landing in Hangzhou, and expectations are high.

'Progress with the times; there’s no generation that can’t surpass the last. Future cuisine will be written by the post-00s. No matter how capable Old Cai is, someone will eventually surpass me, but I’m not conceding yet. I keep a youthful heart of creativity; the canvas still has colors,' he says with a smile.

'This world will always have post-00s, post-10s. Hangzhou is a fresh, inclusive city; with economic momentum comes the engine of progress. To me, Hangzhou is Shanghai’s rear engine—rear engines are better than front engines; the best cars are rear-engined. In a place like this, I come to pave the way for the young; that’s the role of Hao Jiu Hao Cai. Sometimes, knowing yourself clearly is more important than doing something flashy. I see some Chinese culinary celebrities get lost; in truth, everyone who stands firm in this industry has a role.'

'It’s not in the cooking, but in the thinking.' That line reminds me of Bond's 'Well, it's all a matter of perspective.' A lone hero making crispy pork knuckle, constantly challenging himself through scientific understanding, constantly metamorphosing. All those seemingly important things on the road to success, in the face of 'mindset', become mere eating and drinking.

What’s Your Drink?

“Rather chase a dream than create one.”

Food Bless You!

Advisor, China International Gourmet Expo

Producer, *A Table of the Gods*