Free Web NovelChapter 1204: Chapter 1132: My Uncle Palak
Bond led the Pantsless Men, standing before the tall courtyard gate, gazing at the three four-story buildings.
The apartment was originally built with green stones cemented with starch paste, looking like a large green rock.
Yet it had a triangular white marble pediment installed at the front, with a yellow painted door beneath.
The first-floor wall seemed like white marble vertical-vein mallow leaf pillars half-buried, but upon close inspection, it was evident they were wooden panels.
Panels, simply put, were colored wooden reliefs.
The Pantsless Man squad’s residence, the Arsenal Apartment, was expanded and renovated based on the original arsenal, partitioned into single rooms.
The first floor contained the dining hall, lobby, and bathroom; the second floor featured rooms around 20 square meters, accommodating four to six people.
It is now a newly built affordable rental apartment, enjoying government subsidies, specially for immigrants and workers to rest.
So this apartment only offers short-term rentals, maxing at three months; regardless of whether a job is found, one must leave.
But on the other hand, the apartment itself provides cheap dining.
If willing to help with cleaning, leftovers can be eaten for free.
However, Palak had already prepaid a month’s meal costs for them, so the Pantsless Men could just sit and eat.
Having allocated the beds, it was already evening.
With the sun setting west, the golden-red hues illuminated the walls, where the shrine housed the bust of Saint’s Grandson.
The bust’s eyes seemed to be made of glass, still sparkling.
The Pantsless Men, unable to endure hunger, dragged their heavy feet and flocked to the dining hall.
Behind two rows of counters greasy even before opening, a dozen burly women carried half-human-high iron pots forward.
Inside the pots was a brown, rich, thick sauce soup, made with pork and chicken bones, seasoned with pepper and flour paste.
Seeing the Pantsless Men arrive, one of the women shouted, "Queue up, get in line, start from you!"
Indicated by the woman, Bond’s scalp tingled but, caught under the eaves, had to bow his head and stepped forward.
The woman’s stout forearm grasped an iron ladle, stirring the iron pot, and the previously placid soup surface began to ripple.
In an instant, vegetables, innards, bits of meat, vermicelli, along with egg shreds bubbled up, emitting an oddly aromatic hot vapour.
Eye twitching, Bond accepted two pieces of black bread and a bowl of meat sauce soup, and found a table anywhere to sit down.
Staring at the bowl of slop-like turbid substance, Bond didn’t know what to say for a moment.
Clearly one should bow when under the eaves, yet this bow was excessive, even lowering into the dirt.
If it were Leia or the Norn people, not to mention people from other areas of Falan who came, they’d definitely feast heartily.
But Bond and the others grew up right under Huaqiu City’s city wall roots.
Huaqiu City is known as the city of gourmet; even street food has to be made exquisite and appealing.
Flower Hill cuisine emphasizes pure flavor and consistency in soup color, aroma, and taste.
Where would you find such brown-black, sharp and oddly scented and nauseating soup?
"Ah, should have expected this before coming." Bond stirred the meat soup with a wooden spoon, smelling the meat aroma, yet couldn’t bring himself to eat.
Here in the Holy Alliance, they naturally eat Thousand River Valley cuisine.
Though Thousand River Valley dishes have no social hierarchy, they possess distinctions between refined and common.
Expensive dishes exist, so do affordable ones, which makes it comprehensive.
Thousand River Valley cuisine is modified based on Falan cuisine, rooted in what’s known as mom’s cooking or farm-style dishes.
Like the stew of mixed parts Jeanne often made for Horn, which they could only eat during holidays before.
With Horn’s modifications and seasoning, it had evolved into the folk version mountain stew and the pricey version pepper lamb soup.
As for what Bond and the others eat, it’s the mountain stew.
Yet until now, the Pantsless Men, though extremely hungry, dared not eat.
"Aren’t you eating? Why aren’t you eating?" The leading woman tapped the pot lid and asked.
"Too hot, we’re letting it cool..."
"Ah, if it cools it won’t taste good." That woman enthusiastically added a ladle each to those non-steamy bowls.
Someone, unable to withstand the hunger, grabbed a spoon and took a sip.
Just one bite, and that person’s actions halted.
"You really ate it?"
"Hey, tell me, is it good?"
People around turned to look.
Without waiting for a response, that person took another hearty sip.
This time they did not speak, just ate in large bites.
Disliking the shallowness of the wooden spoon, they spread their fingers wide, supported the bowl bottom, loudly slurping the amber sauce soup along the edges.
Once the bowl shrank a layer inside, sweat was flowing from their forehead from eating; they fanned with the right hand and pinched the damp collar, yet did not stop.
Picking up a spoon in one hand, he stirred the sauce meat chunks and white egg threads in the bowl and ate.
The silky vermicelli slid into the mouth, instantly splashing oily broth at the corners of his mouth.
"Satisfying, really satisfying!"
It didn’t take long for the wooden bowl to see the bottom. Though he was dissatisfied, he used dry bread to wipe the bowl, soaking up the broth and chewed a big mouthful.
"Are you crazy?"
"No, it’s really delicious, trust me."
Seeing the first person to take the plunge, the others hesitated but followed suit, cautiously eating.
"Ah, hey, oh wow!"
"Wow, I’ll have another sausage!"
Seeing everyone else eat, Bondo hesitated and also scooped a spoonful into his mouth.
Soon, a burst of spicy, salty, fresh flavor enveloped his mouth, slick with oil, something bouncy in the stew he couldn’t identify.
The first bite was okay, just found the taste strange, even made his tongue a bit sore.
By the second bite, his mouth adjusted to the taste, his belly warmed, appetite opened, sweat appeared, unable to stop taking the third bite.
Wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, Bondo couldn’t care about posture, feeling unusually hungry.
The cheap food from Falan is often preserved goods, with cheese, green vegetables, flower petals, and berries as supplements.
The reasons being, one, easy to preserve, two, strong flavor requiring little salt.
Also, Falan’s climate is moist and warm, unwilling to use condiments, resulting in a lighter taste, primarily salty, fresh, and mild sweetness.
Though there’s cream and the like, the main focus is on the original taste of the food.
Thousand River Valley imports Norn sea salt (since Daze Village rock salt isn’t enough), but condiments they have plenty.
If rare seafood isn’t available, then they go crazy with spices to enhance flavor, increasing freshness and spiciness.
Especially with the Holy Alliance widely promoting chicken, duck, pig farms, and fish ponds, meat scraps are abundant.
As for their fishy taste, hard to handle issue.
Didn’t they just crazily add condiments?
After conquering the eastern Black Snake Bay, acquiring the local Dragon Blood Pepper with its unique spiciness, Horn quickly brought in the hometown’s special flavor - stewing.
Though the meats Bondo and his group ate were often soaked in stew for a dozen days, the aroma was irresistible.
"Another bowl, another bowl!" voiced some simultaneously.
Slurping away the Thousand River Valley dishes, Bondo couldn’t help but wonder, what were they eating over at Moroka?
Across from the Holy Arrival Hall at Joan of Arc Castle, the Hajji Migo Restaurant.
On the round table laid a delicate checkered tablecloth, a basket with complimentary lye bread.
The three sat around the table, faced with river shrimp cream soup, stewed beef, roasted squab, roasted venison, and three plates of red sauce purple egg noodles.
Of course, butter and cheese were present.
"Try the mountain roasted venison." Standing up, Palak smiled, voluntarily placing two venison pieces onto Moroka and Kuvasz’s plates.
Sitting back down, Palak picked up a glass of green apple wine, swaying it: "If this were back then, eating a bite of deer we’d all be hanged by the lord.
Guess who hangs who now? Hahahahaha."
Moroka swirled the green apple wine in the glass, taking a small sip.
He frowned, clearly not accustomed to this tart-drink: "Is there any grape wine?"
"No." Palak shook his head, "You’ll have to adjust, many Holy Alliance’s high-end restaurants don’t serve grape wine or any red wine."
"Why?"
"Because many restaurant owners are veterans or participants in the Blue Blood Wine incident, they despise red wine, seeing it as blood, as the source of sin."
Wine lover Moroka nearly cried out.
Kuvasz didn’t think much of it, softly asked: "Uncle Palak, is there a reason you invited us for dinner?"
"Of course." Palak wiped his hands, "Frankly speaking, if my father hadn’t forced it, you wouldn’t even see me."
Kuvasz smiled wryly.
"But, since we’re family, according to Thousand River Valley tradition, I couldn’t treat you poorly." Palak snapped his fingers, "Do you know how to read?"
"A little..."
"Alright, then your first goal is passing a literacy test, then I’ll send you to the commercial department’s crash school, graduate in a year, earn a salary of 100 to 140 Dinars a month, deal?"
Seeing Kuvasz dazed, Moroka quickly kicked him under the table.
Only then did Kuvasz react: "Deal!"
"Good." Palak turned to Moroka, "Mr. Moroka’s abilities I’ve long been aware of, this dinner is mainly to invite you.
Would you be interested in becoming a manager here, specifically handling the business with Falan?"
