Iron Power And Sorcerer

Iron Power And Sorcerer Chapter 136

2021-01-23

Chapter 136 "Roasting" and "Testing"

The ancient ancestors mastered devour raw meat and fowl The first way to process food is, without a doubt, "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 sacrificing ceremony.

In the era of Winters ·Montagne, people regarded cooking food as the labor of lower-class people and 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 that still survive in ancient times, in the lands of the Heds and the Northlanders, it is the responsibility of men to slaughter animals and roast meat.

The distribution of meat represents the power of the Head of a Clan, and only the tribal leader can handle it.

This cognition even permeates language, inheriting 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 distributing the precious meat to the rest of the tribe is a picture of power and honor.

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

Gillard is not in charge of the job because the barbecue is 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 the past of the Dusa people in Wolf Town, he would be surprised to find out that the old Dusa people who were holding barbecue with Girard at the moment were all once the strongest and most valiant Dusa people. gram.

Only Dussack, who has proven himself on the battlefield, is worthy to stand beside Gillard to help barbecue at this moment.

Girard, Sergey, and the Dussacks also sanctified the barbecue.

The charcoal fire was smoldering most of the time because the air was not clear. The fat dripped from the barbecued meat onto the charcoal fire, making a zhi zhi sound, and fragrant blue smoke burrowed out of the gap in the lid.

The whole process is more about 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, and when the golden brown Sprinkle some salt and spices on the meat.

When there is no need to add firewood, everyone sits on the small chairs beside the roasting pit, drinking and chatting while watching the dancing flames 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 cultivator Reid knows the history of Dussack like the back of his hand. He blends seamlessly into the Dussacks' conversation, spitting out a few punchlines from time to time, causing the Dussas to laugh heartily.

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 sorcerer, who rarely drank, was also a little drunk.

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

As time goes by, the old Dussacs gradually dozed off. From time to time, some people couldn't 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 Reid cultivator were the only ones who had been standing beside 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 high heat? Will it cook faster?” Winters asked.

Gillard explained with a gesture: "You can use a high fire for roasting 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, only at first use high fire to roast the skin tightly, and the remaining Use a low fire for the rest of the time."

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

"Is that so?" Winters looked towards Girard.

Gillard picked up a split trunk and handed it to Winters: "Father Rhett is right. It's walnut, you smell it."

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

“I smell something,” Winters said.

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

"The aroma of the wood will also get into the meat when it is roasted on a small fire." Girard admired He said to Father Reid, "didn't expect you to know so much about barbecue."

"I don't know, I just ate a lot." The old cultivator patted Winters shoulders: "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 deliciousness."

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

After a good night's sleep, Sergey rubbed his eyes and walked over. He yawned and asked, "Is it done?"

"How come, it's still early. Right." 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 three times, he took out a flaming stick of wood from the brazier, lit the tobacco, and began to smoke.

"Isn't it enough to smell today?" Gillard asked with a smile.

The strong tobacco smell wafts from the flue-curing room, 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'll be sleepy."

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

Sergey asked his son, "Smelly brat, are you being lazy?"

"No, just come and see if the meat is cooked." Wasika smiled hehe Say.

"It's early."

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

Old Sergey sneered: "I want to help here, You two are still a little tender. Hurry back to work, don't be lazy."

"Then give us some meat." Wasika 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 a few others
Winters was the first time to eat such a delicious barbecue. The meat wrapped around the crispy bones is delicious and juicy, melts in the mouth, and 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 went to sleep yawning.

Gillard, Winters and Rhett cultivator were left beside the roasting pit.

Tan Xingzheng, an old cultivator: "Second lieutenant, did you know that there was a great blind poet named Homer more than two thousand years ago?"

"Although I did not Went to grammar school, but read the Iliad and the Odyssey." Winters didn't know whether to cry or laugh.

"Do you know what Homer's hero and Demi-God eat?" the cultivator asked himself and answered: "It's roast meat. When Odysseus visited Achilles, he later The mortals serve pork and mutton. Meat is the 'meal of the heroes favored by the gods', while mortals live on grains. The heroes of the epics taste, and this is what we taste. Just as our heads The last round of the bright moon is also the moonlight written by the ancients."

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

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

"The epic Demi-God and the hero eat the meat themselves." The old cultivator laughed and said to Girard, "Mr. A hero among us..."

The alms-cultivator on top of it uses a lot of ancient grammar and pronunciation, regardless of whether others can understand it or not. Winters was haunted, while Girard was chuckled.

Winters suddenly realized: "This old man...isn't a boozer?"

The gleeful old cultivator suddenly closed his mouth as he spoke, and Winters turned his head for a moment. Look, another silhouette came out of the night.

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

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

The couple are still very polite, usually referring to each other only by Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell.

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

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

Mrs. Mitchell did not leave after delivering the wine, but found a small chair and sat down. This time not only Gillard and Reid cultivator, but Winters also involuntarily ruled three points.

In Winters' eyes: Ms. Ellen Mitchell is a misfit in Wolftown.

It's not that 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.

The women of Dusa have a spirit of unrestrained vitality, they will dance enthusiastically with the young men, roll up their sleeves to milk the milk, drive the big animals with the whip like a man, and use the most vulgar words Respect for flirting.

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

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

Mrs. Mitchell's tone was always gentle and hilarious, 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.

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

Not only did the Dussacs respect her, but so did the farmers, and even the Protestants held the same respect for her.

And the respect comes from Mrs. Mitchell's impeccable courtesy and competence. Winters hadn't seen Mrs. Mitchell's disrespect since moving into Mitchell Manor.

Mrs. Mitchell always had needlework at hand, even when she was looking at the account book; her back was always straight, as if she had never been bent; her expression was always calm and indifferent, Even when the bad news is big, it's business as usual.

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

So much so that from time to time Winters would have a very offensive Gillard thought: 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: "Madam."

"It just so happens that Father Reed is there." Mrs. Mitchell politely nodded to the old cultivator: "We husband and wife two The people have something to worry about, and they hope to get the wisdom of the two of you."

Rid cultivator changed his rambling, said resolutely: "Please say it."

Mrs. Mitchell looked towards Girard nodded lightly, then spoke up.

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, husband and wife two people could not show a strict parental attitude, which also caused Pierre to grow up almost uncontrollably.

Of course, Mrs. Mitchell's expectations for her son are not just a Dussac, but Pierre has inherited more of the rough, savage, and irritable Dussac character of her father.

This has been reflected in Pierre since a very young age, and Mrs. Mitchell's brain has been devastated 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 Castle of the Kings, the capital of Palato.

Of course, little Dussac would rather die. At this time, Mrs. Mitchell took the attitude of a parent and forcibly sent Pierre to the castles of the kings.

But didn't expect but 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 that he was doing well.

And so, for the next few years, Pierre went to every grammar school in Plato, even going to the Academy of Gods and the Academy of Law.

But in three or four months at most, or 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, he doesn't care much about his son expect. 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 Dussas man must serve for life when he is born. Gillard is well aware of the dangers of his military career, and even more aware of the pain of serving Dussack who cannot return home.

However, 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 was to get a public office or a priesthood, but Pierre had nowhere to go.

A few years later, when Pierre turned twenty, he would have to leave Mitchell Manor for a six-year military service.

After telling the reason for the incident, Mrs. Mitchell asked hesitantly, "Ensign Montagne, please forgive me...

Do you think Pierre could go to the Army Officer Academy? "

Mrs. Mitchell's attitude towards knowledge and culture confirms Winters' intuition: Ellen Mitchell is not a Dousa. Pierre is not a Dousa, Ellen is more No.

It's just that Pierre in the bones is a Dussack despite having a non-Dussac name.

Winters sighed, sincerely replied: "Mrs. , Pierre is probably a little late to apply for the Army Officer Academy now. Because the vast majority of military students enter the Army Infant 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 for those who know Not a secret, but for those who don't know it's like being locked in an iron cabinet.

Mrs. Mitchell's expression grew gloomier as she listened to Winters' explanation.

"[Selika language] Pity the hearts of parents all over the world. "The old cultivator was also sighed, and said to the Mitchells: "If the two want Pierre to be a god of the Academy, I can recommend it. But the clergy must take the three oaths of "poverty, purity, and obedience", and they cannot have legal descendants... I can help, but the two have to think clearly, and Mr. Mitchell himself is willing to do so. "

Mrs. Mitchell looked gloomy, and she politely thanked Winters and Rhett cultivator, and left a little lost.

It was the first time Winters saw Mitchell. The lady looked shaken, he and the old cultivator looked at each other and sighed in unison.

Gillard also became silent and sad, and reluctantly gathered himself to continue to look after the roasting pit.

The night continues.

The whole pig that was smoked all night was not released until the early morning of the second day.

The pig skin was roasted into a beautiful orange-yellow, with Slightly charred. The juicy meat had separated from the bones, the elbows were easily removed from the whole pig, and the ribs and backbone slid out of the pork on their own.

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

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

People eat either minced minced meat and pickled cucumbers wrapped in flour cakes, or large pieces of pork with beans and vegetables, everyone has their own way of eating, Everyone who tasted the grilled meat was full of praise.

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

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

Gillard leaned against the tree and sipped sweet beer, watching the people enjoying the barbecue, There was a look of complete satisfaction on his face.

Not only Girard, but Winters also felt the same in his heart when he saw people happy Earth Grade tasted the fruits of his and the Dussacks' labor all night. There is a sense of satisfaction and pride.

After eating and drinking, the tobacco harvest continues.

Winters returning to the house feels like he is being slept for a short time Wake up. He looked towards the window, the sun was already setting.

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 entrance of the manor. A team of cavalry was waiting at the entrance.

The visitor was not wearing a Veneta uniform, Winters subconsciously He stretched his hand to his waist, but there was nothing there—his saber was still at the smithy.

The leader of the rider in the school officer's uniform saw Winters and slapped his horse toward him.

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

"That's right. "Winters replied without being humble or arrogant.

Without saying a word, the colonel slapped the second lieutenant's left shoulder with a whip.

With the sound of "Pa", Winters, who was caught off guard, was beaten. She stumbled, and Ms. Mitchell couldn't help screaming.

The commander slapped the second lieutenant in front of him with a backhand whip, but the whip dropped the next second.

Winters tugged at the tip of the whip and yanked the whip out of the officer's hand.

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

At this moment, a crazy idea popped into his mind: kill the cavalry in front of him and grab them. Their horses fled back to Veneta.

"Heh, a little temper. The school official shook his wrist and asked with a sneer, "Let the smugglers pass through the defense zone, what are you guilty of?" ”

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