Iron Powder and Spellcasters

   Chapter 136 "Baking" and "Testing"

  The first method of processing food mastered by the ancient ancestors who drank blood was undoubtedly "roasting".

  Roasting is closely related to fire, as long as there is fire, it can be roasted. In other words, fire is obtained for roasting.

  For the ancestors, barbecue is not only a way of processing ingredients, but also has the meaning of sacrificial ceremony.

  In the days of Winters Montagne, cooking food was regarded as the labor of inferior men, women. Men of status did not enter the kitchen, and families who could afford it hired a maid to cook.

   But in the "savage" tribes whose ancient relics still exist, in the lands of the Heds and the Northlanders, slaughtering animals and roasting meat are the duties of men.

   The distribution of meat represents the power of the head of the clan, and only the chief of the tribe can handle the sword.

   This cognition even permeates the language, which has been passed down from ancient times to today. Looking into the etymology, many words for power today are closely related to slaughtering and dividing flesh.

   The strong man standing in front of the fire distributes the precious meat to the rest of the tribe, a picture that symbolizes power and honor.

   Knowing this, it's no wonder why Gerard Mitchell, the highest-ranking man on the estate, is in charge of roasting the pigs himself.

  Gillard didn't come to do the job because roasting was easy. It's because roasting meat is harder than harvesting tobacco. It takes a lot of effort, and only the toughest men can do it.

   Taking the initiative to take on harder work is not a punishment, but an honor.

  If Winters knew about the past of the Dousa people in Wolf Town, he would be surprised to find that the old Dousa people who were holding barbecue with Girard at the moment were all once the strongest and most valiant Dossak.

   Only Dussac, who has proven himself on the battlefield, is worthy of standing beside Girard to help roast meat at this moment.

   Invisibly Girard, Sergey and Dussacks also consecrated barbecue.

  Because the air is not smooth, the charcoal fire is smoldering most of the time. The fat dripped from the roast onto the charcoal fire and squeaked, and fragrant blue smoke came out of the gap in the lid.

   The whole process is more like smoking than roasting.

   This is indeed a tiring job. You can't fill in too much fuel in one go, so the person in charge of the barbecue can't sleep and must keep an eye on the pit to prevent the flames from going out.

That night, Winters and the old Dussacks looked after the six roasting pits together, filling the bottom of the roasting pits with firewood and coals with shovels from time to time, lifting the lids to check the heat, turning over the sides, and sprinkling some on the golden meat. salt and spices.

  When there is no need to add firewood, everyone sits on the small chairs next to the roasting pit, drinking and chatting while watching the flames dancing in the brazier.

  The air is relaxed and comfortable, with a bit of a "boy gang" vibe. The old Dussacs happily talked about the past, told jokes, boasted, and passed on and shared a bottle of spirits.

   The friar Reid also knew the history of Dussack like the back of his hand. He blended seamlessly into the Dussacks' conversation, spitting out a few punchlines from time to time, causing the Dussas to laugh.

   Sitting by the fire and waiting for the meat to slowly cook is a pleasant and beautiful thing, sweet wine, laughter, warm fire, light smoke, the smell of barbecue, the beeping wood...

   Winters was infected by the atmosphere. After the bottle was turned around in the hands of everyone, the caster who seldom drank was also a little drunk.

  Unconsciously, the young Veneta for the first time forgot that he was in a foreign country thousands of miles away from home, enjoying everything like an ordinary wolf town.

  The years are not forgiving, and the old Dussacs gradually dozed off. From time to time, some people could not bear to slip to the grass not far away to sleep, and from time to time some people woke up and came back.

  Others come and go, come and go. Girard, Winters and Brother Reid were the only ones who had been guarding the edge of the roasting pit.

  Gillard enthusiastically taught Winters the secrets of roasting, and Winters listened and occasionally asked his own questions.

   "Why not just use a big fire? Will it cook faster?" Winters asked.

Girard explained: "You can use a high fire to roast small pieces of meat. If you roast a whole pig on a high fire, the outside will be burnt and the inside will still be raw. Therefore, you can only use high fire to roast the skin tightly at first, and use low fire for the rest of the time. ."

"Barbecuing is not as simple as setting the meat rack on fire. It is not only about the heat, but also about the wood used." The old monk was not sleepy at all, his eyes were brightly reflected by the firelight: "The taste of meat roasted on different woods is also different. "

   "Is that so?" Winters looked at Gillard.

  Gillard picked up a tree trunk that had been split in half and handed it to Winters: "Father Red is right. It's walnut, you heard it."

   Winters took the wood to his nose, the core exuding a faint sweetness.

   "I smell something," Winters said.

   The old monk pretended to be angry: "Can I still lie to you?"

   "The aroma from the wood will also get into the meat when it is roasted on a small fire." Girard said to Father Reid with admiration: "I didn't expect you to know so much about roasting meat."

"I don't know, I just ate a lot." The old monk patted Winters on the shoulder: "Don't underestimate the barbecue, Mr. Mitchell's barbecue is a must in the world. , even if it is placed on the royal table, it is the finale. It is an honor to taste such delicious food."

   "Don't dare, don't dare, I won the prize." Gillard smiled like a flower on his face.

   Sergey rubbed his eyes and came over, he yawned and asked, "Is it ready?"

   "Why, it's still early." Girard replied.

  Old Sergey rummaged through his pockets, took out a pipe, and sat on a small chair patiently filling the bowl with tobacco leaves.

After    stuffing, pressing, and repeating it three times, he took out a flaming stick of wood from the brazier and lit the tobacco, and began to smoke.

   "Have you not smelled enough today?" Gillard asked with a smile.

   There is a strong smell of tobacco wafting from the flue-cured tobacco room, which can be smelled even from a distance. Whether or not there is a habit of smoking, the people at Mitchell Manor have passed their cigarette addiction today.

   Sergey yawned again: "Otherwise you will be sleepy."

   Winters heard footsteps not far away, and Vashka and Pierre came over from the smoke field.

  Sergey asked his son, "Stinky boy, are you being lazy?"

   "No, just to see if the meat is cooked." Vashka said with a smile.

   "It's early."

   "Then let's help watch the oven too."

  Old Sergey sneered: "If you want to be in this gang, you two boys are still a little tender. Go back to work quickly, don't keep trying to be lazy."

   "Then give us some meat," Vashka begged.

  Girard stood up and beckoned the two little Dussacs to lift the lid over a roasting pit. He took out a knife and twisted two pieces of blackened pork skin from the roasted pork knuckle, dipped it in a little salt and handed it to the two little Dussacs.

   Afterwards, Girard cut a few pieces of meat from the rib, sprinkled it with salt and handed it to several others

   Winters was the first time to eat such a delicious barbecue. The meat wrapped around the crispy bones is delicious and juicy and melts in your mouth. Although there is a lot of fat, it is not greasy at all. And Gillard's seasoning is just a little salt.

  The two little Dussacks licked their fingers and asked for a few more pieces of meat before they would leave. Sergey was so sleepy that he couldn't keep his eyelids open and yawned and went to sleep.

   There were only three people left beside the roasting pit, namely Girard, Winters and Brother Reid.

  The old monk Tan Xingzhengnong said, "Second lieutenant, did you know that there was a great blind poet named Homer more than two thousand years ago?"

   "Although I didn't go to grammar school, I read the Iliad and the Odyssey." Winters couldn't help laughing.

"Do you know what Homer's heroes and demigods eat?" the friar asked himself: "It's roast meat. When Odysseus visited Achilles, the latter served him with pork and mutton. . Meat is 'the food of the heroes favored by the gods', and mortals live on grains. The hero in the epic tasted, and this is what we tasted. Just like the moon above our heads, it is also the ancients. Moonlight."

   The old monk was dropping his book bag, Winters didn't bother to pay attention, but Girard was fascinated.

   Seeing that Gillard was interested, the half-drunk Reid sang the epic original text in cadence. The second lieutenant didn't know where the memory of the old magician came from, but Gillard admired him more and more.

   "The demigods and heroes of the epic all ate the meat themselves." The old friar laughed and said to Girard: "Mr. Mitchell is a heroic role model among our generation for serving us delicious food..."

   The begging monk above the drink used a lot of ancient grammar and pronunciation, regardless of whether others could understand it or not. Winters was confused, while Gillard kept smiling.

   Winters suddenly realized: "This old man...isn't he drunk?"

  The elated old friar suddenly closed his mouth as he spoke, and Winters looked back, and another figure came out of the night.

   Mrs. Mitchell nodded and saluted, and shook the bottle in her hand: "I'm here to bring you some drinks."

  Gillard stood up hastily: "Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell."

  The couple is still very particular about etiquette on weekdays, and only use Mr. Mitchell and Mrs. Mitchell to address each other.

  Although Gerard Pleninovich Mitchell has a Dussack's voice and impatience.

   But Winters' intuition told him that the real owner of the Mitchell family was the gentle and gracious Mrs. Mitchell, just as the real owner of the Serbian Ti family was Kesha.

   Mrs. Mitchell did not leave after delivering the wine, but found a small chair and sat down. This time it was not only Girard and Brother Reid, but even Winters involuntarily ruled three points.

  To Winters: Lady Ellen Mitchell is a misfit in Wolftown.

   That's not to say she's unpopular, on the contrary, Mrs. Mitchell is extremely popular. Everyone in town loved her, but everyone was more or less afraid of her.

   This emotion is like an ugly mortal being ashamed in the face of a beautiful and holy angel.

  Dusa women have a spirit of unrestrained vitality, they will dance enthusiastically with the lads, roll up their sleeves to milk the milk, drive the big animals with the whip like a man, and retaliate with the most vulgar words.

   But Mrs. Mitchell had the opposite temperament—Winters couldn’t tell—a noble, reserved, but not arrogant temperament, one that was intimidating and not humiliating.

   Even the roughest Dussack will take off his hat in front of Mrs. Mitchell, and the laziest long-term worker will become disciplined in front of Mrs. Mitchell.

   Mrs. Mitchell's tone was always gentle and gentle, and her expression was always calm and composed. But the words that came out of her mouth were better than a hundred roars from Girard, and everyone listened willingly.

  Tyrants and rich people have similar abilities, but Mrs. Mitchell did not rely on coercion and inducement, and the people around her were completely convinced by her out of respect.

   Not only the Dussacks respected her, but the farmers also respected her, and even the Protestants held the same respect for her.

   And the tribute comes from Mrs Mitchell's impeccable courtesy and competence. Winters has not seen Mrs. Mitchell's disrespectful appearance since living in Mitchell Manor.

Mrs. Mitchell always had needlework at hand, even when she was reading the account book; her back was always straight, as if she had never been bent; her expression was always calm and indifferent, no matter how loud she heard Bad news is the same as always.

   Winters could feel it: Beneath Mrs Mitchell's gentle exterior, is a steely and tough character. Mrs Mitchell, though a lady, can't help but be in awe.

   So much so that Winters would occasionally give birth to a very offensive Gillard idea: How on earth did a Dussack marry a lady as noble as Mrs. Mitchell?

   "Second Lieutenant." Mrs. Mitchell nodded to Winters.

   Winters hurriedly returned the salute: "Mrs."

   "It happens that Father Reid is also there." Mrs. Mitchell bowed to the old monk politely: "Our husband and wife have a trouble, and we hope to get the wisdom of the two."

   Brother Reid changed his sloppyness and said in a serious tone: "Please speak."

   Mrs. Mitchell looked at Girard and nodded lightly, and then spoke.

   Mrs. Mitchell's heart disease is not a side event, it is the only son of the Mitchells, Pierre Giladnovich Mitchell.

   Before Pierre, the Mitchells had lost two boys and a girl—not unusual in this day and age.

   So when Pierre was born he got almost all the love of the Mitchells. The solemn and quiet Mrs. Mitchell treats her son with love and tenderness, and Gillard is even more doting on her son.

   In front of Pierre, the couple could not show a strict parental attitude, which also caused Pierre to grow up almost uncontrollably.

   Mrs. Mitchell's expectation for her son is not just a Dussac, but Pierre inherited more of his father's rough, savage, and irritable Dussac character.

   This was manifested by Pierre from a very young age, and Mrs. Mitchell was troubled by this. But Gillard never took it seriously, always laughing and hugging his son and boasting that he had Dussack's blood flowing.

   When Pierre was ten years old, Mrs. Mitchell wanted to send her son to a grammar school in the Castles of the Kings, the capital of Palato.

   Little Dussac of course would rather die. This time Mrs. Mitchell took the attitude of a parent and forcibly sent Pierre to the castles of the kings.

  Unexpectedly, within two months, the grammar school sent little Pierre back, on the grounds that "we can't control or teach this child".

  Because he was called a "Tatar", little Pierre injured several classmates, lost an arm, and finally burned a corral.

   Mrs. Mitchell reprimanded her son, but Gillard secretly told her son to do well.

   And so, for the next few years, Pierre went to every grammar school in Plato, and even went to seminary and law school.

   But at most three or four months, at least one or two months, little Dussack will be fired and sent home. In the end, in the Republic of Palato, Pierre had no school to go to.

   For Girard, his son rides well, has enough courage, dances briskly, drinks like a man, he is a top young man, and he does not expect too much from his son. But Mrs Mitchell didn't want her son to be a saber-wielding Dussack.

   As Pierre grew older, Girard gradually understood his wife's worries.

  A Dussac man must serve for life when he is born. Girard knows the dangers of his military career, and he also knows the pain of serving Dussac who cannot return home.

   But Dussac's lifelong military service has nothing to do with the amount of property. Even if the family has more land and does not need to grant land, the male will still be drafted into the army when he reaches his age.

  The only way to avoid being called up is to get a public office or a priesthood, but Pierre has nowhere to go to higher education.

   In a few more years, when Pierre turns twenty, he will have to leave Mitchell Manor for a six-year military service.

After    finished explaining the reason for the matter, Mrs. Mitchell asked hesitantly: "Second Lieutenant Montagne, please forgive me... Do you think Pierre can go to the Military Academy?"

  Mrs. Mitchell's attitude towards knowledge and culture confirms Winters' intuition: Ellen Mitchell is not a Dusa. Pierre is not a Dousa name, and neither is Ellen.

   It's just that although he has a non-Dussac name, Pierre is still a Dussack in his bones.

   Winters sighed and replied sincerely: "Ma'am, Pierre may be a little late to apply for the Army Officers Academy now. Because most officers enter the Army Junior School at the age of nine."

   Then Winters said everything he knew and said, explaining in detail the army's school-running and promotion system, as well as the difficulty of external admission.

   These things are not secrets to those who know, but to those who do not know they are like being locked in an iron cabinet.

   Listening to Winters' explanation, Mrs. Mitchell's expression became more and more gloomy.

"[Selika language] Pity the hearts of the world's parents." The old monk also sighed and said to the Mitchells: "If you two want Pierre to go to the seminary, I can recommend it. But the clergy must stand "Poverty, purity, obedience" three vows, can not have legal descendants... I can help, but the two have to think clearly, and Mr. Mitchell himself is willing to do it."

   Mrs. Mitchell's expression was gloomy, she thanked Winters and Brother Rhett politely, and left a little lost.

   Winters was the first time he saw Mrs. Mitchell's uneasy look. He and the old monk looked at each other and sighed in unison.

  Girard also became silent and sad, and reluctantly picked up his energy and continued to take care of the roasting pit.

   Night, still going on.

  The whole pig that was smoked and roasted all night was not released until the next morning.

  The pork rind was roasted to a nice orange colour with a hint of char. The succulent meat has been separated from the bones, the elbows are easily removed from the whole pig, and the ribs and backbone slide out of the pork on their own.

  As Sergey said, not only the people working in the Mitchell Manor, but also people from other manors came to enjoy the food after hearing the news.

  In addition to barbecue, pickles, fresh fruits and vegetables, sweet beer, and bread are also available in Mitchell Manor.

  People eat minced minced meat and pickled cucumbers wrapped in flour cakes, or eat beans and vegetables with chunks of pork, everyone has their own way of eating, and everyone who tastes the grilled meat is full of praise.

  Catholics, Protestants and Dussacks, these people who hated each other, cast aside their identities, religious differences, and sat down to enjoy food together.

   For those who have not experienced this scene in person, it is simply an unimaginable scene.

  Gillard leaned against the tree and sipped sweet beer, looking at everyone who was enjoying the barbecue, his face was completely satisfied.

   Not only Girard, but Winters also felt a sense of satisfaction and pride in his heart when he saw people happily tasting the fruits of his and Dussacks' labor all night.

  After eating and drinking, the tobacco harvest season continues.

   Winters returned to the room feeling that he had only slept for a short time before being woken up again. He looked out the window, the sun had already set in the west.

  Ms. Mitchell was timidly knocking on the door: "Mr. Montagne! Someone wants to see you!"

   He sorted out his appearance and followed Ms. Mitchell all the way to the main gate of the manor, where a team of cavalry was waiting.

  The visitor was not wearing a Veneta uniform, and Winters subconsciously stretched his hand to his waist, but there was nothing there—his saber was still in the blacksmith shop.

   led by the rider in the uniform of the school officer saw Winters and slapped the horse on the way.

   "You are the officer stationed in Langtun Town?" The colonel's tone was very bad.

   "That's right," Winters replied humbly.

  The colonel said nothing, and slapped the second lieutenant's left shoulder with a whip with his forehand.

With a    "pop", Winters, who was caught off guard, staggered, and Ms. Mitchell couldn't help screaming.

   The colonel lashed the second lieutenant with his whip with his backhand, but the whip dropped the next second.

   Winters tugged at the tip of the whip and pulled the whip out of the officer's hand with a violent force.

   "What do you want?" Lieutenant Montagne's eyes were about to burst into flames, and he could no longer suppress the anger in his heart.

   At this moment, a crazy idea popped up in his mind: kill the cavalry in front of him, grab their horses and flee back to Veneta.

   "Oh, I'm still a little temperamental." The school officer shook his wrist and asked with a sneer, "Let the smugglers pass through the defense area, what's your sin?"

   Thanks to the book friends who have been voting for recommendation before;

   Thanks to the book friends for their calm graying, the yellow rabbit from the flower gardener, Ami, Kamen Rider Powder, Moonlight Front, Jiang Xue Diao-weng, book friends 20191007064305842, and Tianjian for their recommendation tickets, thank you all. than heart.jpg

   (end of this chapter)