Chapter 184

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Protagonist:

Song Miao

Han Li carried a lantern and naturally walked to the front right.

But he had only taken two steps when he stopped again, turned around to wait, and seeing Song Miao had caught up, almost walking beside him, did he continue forward.

He extended the lantern toward the left again to light the path better, and began chatting about the arrangements for the next day.

"We are both working for the first time tomorrow, and breakfast time is tight. If we can't make it, be sure to say so. Everything can be discussed. We can push the mealtime back by half an hour, or find a way to bring some food from the city. We won't run out of supplies."

"This is my first time managing such a large operation. Actually, Weizhou recruited more than just these eight hundred people, but first, the boat transport capacity is insufficient, and second, we fear that if we suddenly take on too many people, we won't be able to control them. That's why I specially scheduled them to arrive in batches."

"Kong Fuyang came to tell me early this morning that he fears everyone lacks experience, and he himself lacks experience too. He wants to call a few more experienced hands who have managed things before to help supervise. I've asked the Zhang family stewards from Weizhou to give guidance from behind, and I've also divided the gathering times for the workers into batches. In short, as long as we get through this day smoothly, we can summarize the mistakes and successes later."

"The front is like this, so your kitchen in the back is naturally the same."

Though not stated explicitly, the meaning behind his words was clear—look, I'm cutting corners myself, everyone is cutting corners, so you shouldn't press yourself too hard.

Song Miao did not decline and agreed at once, saying, "Young Master, rest assured. If we can't make it, I won't force it. Otherwise, mistakes will happen in the rush, and that would be worse."

She added, "I asked today. Since it's the first day, everyone is spirited and eager to perform. Let's first estimate based on that."

The two discussed matters all the way.

The front hall of the official post station and the back courtyard were not far apart. Han Li initially led by half a step, but as they walked, they became side by side. Afterward, he walked slower and slower, and kept asking in detail if there were any other shortages of manpower or materials.

Seeing that the time was indeed late, although he still had many things he wanted to say, he knew tomorrow would be busy and didn't want to delay her too long. He honestly saw her to the door.

As he was about to take his leave, he suddenly said, "Feeding over a thousand people, even if divided into breakfast and lunch batches, you are only twenty or thirty people. It will inevitably be hard work. If you can't manage the side dish for the evening, just don't make it."

He added, "Whether it's soup or dishes, Kong Fuyang is just greedy. You don't need to mind him. When you return to the Capital, just give him anything to stuff his mouth."

He had said this once before. Saying it again now, Song Miao naturally accepted his kindness.

She thanked him. After entering the door, just as she was about to feel for the fire starter, the front suddenly brightened. Han Li was still outside the door, holding the lantern into the room, raising it high to light her way.

Song Miao lit the lamp, turned and went out to see him a few steps. When she stopped, seeing him turn to look at her, she couldn't help but smile, and suddenly said, "Young Master Han said not to mind Young Master Kong, but what about you yourself?"

Han Li was stunned for a moment.

Song Miao added, "If I'm too busy, then forget it. But if I can free up my hands, do you yourself want something to eat?"

Han Li opened his mouth to speak, but for some reason, he hesitated.

Song Miao didn't wait for his answer. She only smiled, nodded, turned back into the room, and closed the door.

Han Li stood rooted to the spot, feeling that the soft sound of the door closing seemed to gently strike his heart.

Early the next day, before dawn, Song Miao had already gotten up.

After a simple wash, she had just stepped out of the front hall when she heard low, noisy voices in the front courtyard. Opening the door, she saw not only that several mule carts had already arrived, but many young ladies and aunties had also arrived.

Lanterns were hung outside the official post station. Seeing Song Miao come out, everyone hurried forward to greet her, chattering noisily.

One said, "Young Lady, our group is all here! We can leave at once."

Another said, "Young Lady, ours is all here too. Only one just went inside to borrow the toilet. She'll be out soon, and we can leave immediately!"

Some whose groups weren't complete were anxious. They hurriedly sent people to check at the street corner, while urging with their mouths, "Oh dear, these Liao family sisters used to be quite reliable. Why haven't they arrived yet this time? I'll have a good talk with her later! This is dragging us down!"

Seeing everyone like this, Song Miao smiled and said, "There's still a moment before the appointed time. Don't rush. Come inside and sit for a while."

Soon, Da Bing came out from the back.

Seeing him, Song Miao was somewhat surprised and said, "Weren't you assigned to stay at the official post station this morning to receive the new workers brought by Auntie Ma? Why are you up so early?"

Da Bing hurriedly tugged at his sleeve, straightened his back, and said seriously, "Today is the first day our construction site kitchen opens for business. Even though I have other duties, I must come to see you off. Otherwise, lying in bed tossing and turning, I couldn't sleep at all!"

Indeed, once everyone was gathered, he took the initiative to run back and forth, helped confirm the headcount, and assigned the mule carts. Though young, he handled things with considerable thoroughness.

When the mule carts set off, he still stood at the door, leaning against the wall, waving his hand, looking reluctant to part.

The people on the mule carts, however, had none of his sorrow at parting.

Though it was early, everyone had walked a long way to the official post station and were already fully awake. Indeed, it was their first day on the job, and they had never cooked for so many people. None of them were confident. Sitting on the mule carts, everyone discussed how to move faster later.

The group set off very early. When they arrived, the sky was only faintly bright—just past the Mao hour.

At the door, several carts were already waiting. They were the purchasers and the delivery people who had arrived early.

The one responsible for counting and inspecting was Auntie Xia along with two other young ladies. The three immediately jumped off the cart and followed to inspect.

The others went straight to the kitchen.

The kitchen was very large. According to Song Miao's earlier requirements, there were four doors in total—front, middle, back, and side—each with a lock.

The locks were triple locks. Yesterday, three people had each taken a key. Now they all went up to open the doors together.

As soon as the doors opened, everyone followed the arrangements made earlier, each attending to their duties. Some went to check the water vats, some to check the stoves, pots, knives, and chopping blocks, and some went outside to carry in firewood.

They had all worked at the Washing Clothes Workshop before, and being of such an age, except for Zhang Siniang, almost everyone had elderly above and young below at home. They had done all sorts of household and outside chores, and the kitchen was no exception.

Seeing a room full of people who were all very skilled, Song Miao felt somewhat relieved.

She had already planned the dishes for today. Once everyone had inspected everything and returned to report, she assigned tasks according to the groups.

This time they were making large-pot rice. Although divided into breakfast and lunch, one meal was about six hundred people, which was completely different from the previous time at the Capital Prefecture Office.

The Capital Prefecture Office kitchen served officials. The funds were ample, and the requirements for the taste of the food leaned toward a balance of meat and vegetables, with as many flavors as possible.

This time, they were serving laborers who always did heavy physical work. The budget had to be compressed as much as possible. Taste was not that important. The most important thing was to let people eat their fill.

Song Miao knew that once people sweated a lot and expended great energy, the food should be as heavily seasoned, salty, and oily as possible.

Constrained by cost, meat could not be plentiful. She had to think of other ways.

Morning was just the first attempt. According to her plan, she was making Pickled Mustard Meat Crumb Steamed Buns and Chinese Cabbage Steamed Buns. She originally wanted to serve soy milk, but she hadn't expected that in just two days, Young Master Han had summoned so many people from Weizhou, ruining the original plan.

They say there are three bitternesses in the world: punting a boat, forging iron, and selling tofu.

Although there were three large stone mills here, and also mules, spending half a morning trying to make soy milk for six hundred people at once, Song Miao was still unsure. She was afraid there wouldn't be enough time.

However, the beans had been soaked since before she left yesterday; besides soybeans, there were black beans and some other small beans. After half a day, they had all plumped up, round and smooth. Though they could no longer be used to make soy milk, they could still make something to serve with steamed buns—thick bean porridge.

Beans are filling, and adding some other cheap grains inside, boiled until everything bloomed, needing no other sugar or salt for seasoning. Doing it this way was simple and saved effort; just flip the pot from time to time so it doesn't burn at the bottom.

Having decided quickly, she made the assignments, letting each group do their own tasks—kneading dough, chopping meat, washing vegetables, starting fires, cooking porridge—all proceeding simultaneously.

Six hundred people, only twenty-something catties of meat; divided among everyone's head, it was barely a mouthful each. Given that, besides keeping some for rendering oil, she simply took it all to chop into extremely fine minced meat, mixed into the filling and wrapped up.

As long as the meat was chopped fine enough and the filling mixed evenly enough, it would make people suspect while eating—there should be meat in it, right? I think I just tasted a bit of meat?

After the pickled vegetables were washed, cut, and wrung dry, without oil, stir-fried dry in a white pot. The cabbage was washed and blanched, then chopped and wrung dry. Also chopped and wrung dry were a few shiitake mushroom pieces.

The minced pork was chopped, half stir-fried—first to render oil, second to enhance aroma. Also, the mushroom bits were stir-fried fragrant in advance with some sesame oil added to the remaining lard in the bottom of the pot, still used to mix the raw and cooked fillings.

There was too much filling; Song Miao calculated the proportions, weighed out the corresponding weight of salt on a scale, and added the other seasonings.

Once the flavor was adjusted, the dough had also risen to about seven or eight parts full.

Everyone received their portions; besides those cooking porridge and tending fires, the rest washed their hands and gathered around to wrap steamed buns.

Hua Prefecture was located in the Central Plains, where people ate wheat-based foods most often in daily life. Every household knew how to wrap steamed buns, only the wrapping methods varied.

Song Miao had prepared more than ten deep-bottomed round spoons, letting everyone wrap one bun with one spoonful of filling. As long as it was spread flat, not overflowing, and not too little, they tried their best to ensure the buns were uniform in size and filling amount.

As for the wrapping method, she chose the most common one and made a sample, letting everyone try to follow it, so as to avoid arguments caused by seeing different shapes on their own hands—you think my bun is big, I think your filling is too much.

Buns were counted by head: two per person, one pickled vegetable filling and one cabbage filling each.

Whether filling or dough, both were prepared by quantity. Once wrapped, it was exactly enough; dough and filling were both just used up.

The two rows of stoves had burned for a while, enough water was added to the pots, and the steam was just right. So large steamers were put on one by one. With ten-plus stoves, a full pot of buns was steamed first. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of steamed buns.

The cooks naturally had to eat first.

The fire still needed tending, and those several large pots of porridge also needed watching, so Song Miao divided the people into two groups.

The first pot of buns steamed was already cooked. The higher up, the more steam and heat, so they cooked faster. Thus the top steamer of buns was taken down first. A group of people left the kitchen and sat in the next room to eat breakfast.

Zhang Siniang received the first batch.

Steaming hot thick bean porridge, steaming hot steamed buns.

Called thick bean porridge, but actually millet and corn were the most, while beans were fewer. The porridge was indeed thick—not the kind thick from sufficient ingredients, but thick from long boiling. On top floated a layer of rice oil, neither thin nor thick.

The rice oil carried fragrance, a fragrance of mixed grains and beans. But within that aroma, there was also an indescribable familiar taste.

Zhang Siniang blew for a long time, then took a bite. It was the most ordinary, most home-style taste, carrying a bit of the poor taste she was used to—those grains and beans had obviously been stored in the storeroom for quite some time. Such grain cost three or four parts less to buy than newly harvested grain—just like the bite she used to eat as a child when she got up early in the morning and lifted the pot lid at home.

Compared to the porridge, the steamed bun was far more impressive.

The filling Song Miao personally adjusted—although limited by insufficient silver, there was very little meat—but she used it all in the most outstanding place.

The cabbage bun had only a bit of shiitake mushroom inside; the pickled vegetable bun had only a bit of pork. But all the saved oil was fully used; what should be stir-fried was stir-fried, and the seasoning was appropriate. Once in the mouth, it gave a taste far exceeding its own worth.

Clearly it was meat she chopped herself, buns she wrapped herself, and the dough was old dough, not fragrant enough when eaten. But once in the mouth, the filling well covered the taste of the old dough. Especially the pickled vegetable and pork filling—sour, salty, fragrant, with a bit of spice.

The saltiness was a bit heavier than usual, but not excessive. There was too little meat; actually not a drop of meat juice could be tasted. But relying on the stir-fried, fragrant minced meat mixed in, there actually was a very obvious meat aroma, making Zhang Siniang dare not take big bites when gnawing the bun. She unusually chewed slowly and carefully—afraid that one careless moment would swallow the meat whole in one gulp. Clearly there was meat; if she couldn't taste it, that would truly be too wasteful!

The cooks took turns eating their meal hastily, and then it was the workers' turn to start eating.

A large cart, on which sat a big furnace on the ground, with fire burning inside, heating the food in the pot. Calculating the time, they were all pushed to the side of the "New River" where lines had been drawn but digging had not yet begun.

By this time the sky was already bright. The previous day, each team had just finished instructions or assignments, distributed their respective tasks, and breakfast was delivered.

The order of eating had also been decided early.

The patrol group carried whistles, blowing all the way, calling everyone to bring their own bowls and chopsticks to line up for food.

One person, one large flat spoon of thick bean porridge, one pickled vegetable bun and one cabbage bun each. Porridge in their own bowls, a bundle of chopsticks, one bun on each side. A group of sturdy men who had just arrived, some standing, some squatting, began eating breakfast right by this empty "New River."

Breakfast was very hearty. The porridge had been boiled long enough—not clear water porridge where rice grains could be counted. The buns were especially delicious. First, the cabbage bun: cabbage itself was sweet, and the shiitake mushrooms had been stir-fried. Although chopped very finely, there was still a rich feel when bitten. One bite, a mouthful of vegetable juice. The whole bun's filling was very juicy. Construction site food, yet they tasted freshness.

As for the pickled vegetable bun, no need to say more. Sour enough, salty enough, just right to go with porridge. Inside there was actually meat. If one bite happened to catch it, fragrant and oily—such deliciousness. Unfortunately, they were either squatting or standing; they couldn't even cross their legs.

What a generous meal!

At this moment, looking at the so-called "river" before them, no different from an ordinary wasteland, everyone felt they were just here to earn some silver and have a generous meal.

?? Good evening, it seems there are double monthly tickets at the end of this month. If your monthly tickets have the surname Song, and you can keep them, welcome to vote for Xiao Miao at the end of the month. If you can't keep them, you can vote for the surname Song now. Thank you, Food Friends!