As it was getting dark, Eric scooped out two catties of flour, kneaded it into a dough, and set it aside to rise, muttering, "If only I had some chicken eggs."
Dough with eggs would be chewier and not break as easily.
Sam, who was nearby, perked up his ears. Hearing this, he jumped up and said, "I’ll go find some for you! I know where there are chicken eggs, and lots of magical beast eggs too!"
When their patrol team came across them, they liked to poke a hole and drink them raw.
It was getting dark, so Eric wanted to stop him, but it was too late. The running speed of the Snow Wolves was too fast. Sam even conveniently took Leo with him.
"Then call Max and Michael’s group over too!" It seemed Sam was planning to stay for a free meal, so he might as well call Max and the others over, especially Max. How could the investor not come?
Eric shouted towards Sam’s back, which was now just a small black dot.
"Alright!" Sam’s reply was heard from afar.
The gray rabbit had been finished in one afternoon. For the evening, he could only take out the slices of Thunder-Fire Beast meat he had intended to dry yesterday to eat.
Eric laughed at himself for thinking yesterday that a hundred catties of meat was a lot.
So he took out all the remaining flour and kneaded it into a dough, leaving only a little flour for dusting when rolling out the noodles. The rest was kneaded together with the previous dough.
The wheat Luci had given him was about twenty catties. He had already milled half of it. When wheat is milled into flour, each catty yields about seven to eight taels. Excluding the flour for steaming buns tomorrow, he roughly had about seven or eight catties of flour.
If only he had an oven, he could also bake bread.
Eric tried hard to recall the design of a traditional charcoal bread oven in his mind, planning to try making one after he succeeded in making bricks.
After all this flour was kneaded into a round ball of dough, it looked like the beanbag chair in his old rented room.
Fortunately, he was stronger now. Otherwise, with such a large ball of dough, he really wouldn’t have been able to knead it.
Now, he even had the extra strength to slam the dough a few more times to increase its chewiness. After all, his conditions were limited; the flour he milled was quite coarse, and without any additives, he was afraid it wouldn’t be as chewy as the rice noodles and pho noodles he used to eat.
Actually, Eric didn’t really like this kind of Chinese-style wheat noodle much; it felt too floury. He preferred rice noodles and wide rice noodles made from rice flour. However, under these poor conditions, even wheat noodles were a delicacy.
Eric started a fire and placed the pottery jar on it. He waited for the jar to heat up a little, then slowly stir-fried the meat slices.
The meat had just been put out to dry yesterday, so today the outer edges were a bit dry, but the middle was still quite moist, perfect for stir-frying.
He didn’t dare to stir-fry for too long, afraid the pottery jar would crack. He briefly fried it to render some fat, then added water. While waiting for the water to boil, he used his strength to knead the risen dough for a while, repeatedly slamming it.
He found a large wooden board and a tree branch. He shaved the branch until it was round, trying his best to make it splinter-free.
He sprinkled some dry flour, placed the dough on the wooden board, and used his strength to roll it out thin. In his previous convenient life, he could find bún chả, banh mi, and baozi just by stepping out his door. He had never rolled out noodles or made rice vermicelli himself, only watched others do it. This was his first time actually doing it himself.
He rolled the dough into a large, thin, round sheet, sprinkled the remaining dry flour on it, folded it a few times, and cut it into thin noodles.
Being his first time, he didn’t know how to shake them out. He fumbled around awkwardly a few times before successfully separating them into several large bundles of noodles.
The water was about to boil by now. He lowered the fire to keep the water hot, waiting for Sam and the others to arrive before adding the noodles.
Soon, Sam arrived wearing a large bundle, followed by Max, Michael, and Kevin. Sam happily handed the animal hide bundle of eggs to Eric.
The ones as large as ostrich eggs were probably the chicken eggs here. The other eggs were two or three sizes larger than them, and he didn’t know if they were from magical beasts or wild animals. There was even a green one.
Since Sam had found them for him, they probably weren’t poisonous.
Curiously, Eric took the green egg, which was as big as two ostrich eggs, and cracked it into a stone bowl. The inside was the color of a chicken egg, only a more brilliant gold.
This time, Max was carrying the prey by himself, and it was about the same size as the one they ate this afternoon.
Sigh, inviting others for a meal but having them bring their own ingredients every time—he was probably the only one. But who could he blame? He was still just a cub here.
He opened the lid of the pottery jar and added the noodles, along with wild vegetables and chopped mushrooms, then covered it to simmer for a while.
Hand-pulled noodles cook easily. Soon, a fragrant aroma wafted out. Eric opened the lid and stirred. Seeing that it was almost cooked, he poured in the beaten egg.
Beautiful, brilliant yellow egg ribbons floated to the surface, mixed with the green vegetables, brown chopped mushrooms, milky white noodles, and red meat slices, making one’s mouth water.
Max and the others expertly prepared their bowls. Leo also impatiently pushed his bowl forward, looking up at Eric with longing.
Eating noodles was still more convenient with chopsticks, unlike yesterday’s stew which could be speared.
Michael was the first to learn how to use chopsticks to eat the noodles. After dropping them a few times, Max also got the hang of it. Although their movements were clumsy, they at least knew how to use them. Kevin, on the other hand, figured out a different way, rolling them up to eat. Sam scratched his head for a long time before finally just lifting the bowl and slurping.
The delicious noodles once again conquered the stomachs of the Snow Wolves.
Although today’s noodles had some small bits of bran in them because they weren’t sifted properly, only Eric noticed.
The Snow Wolves couldn’t even learn to make the Ox-Head tribe’s black bread, let alone these noodles that had been developed over several thousand years.
The Ox-Head tribe’s black bread was not much different from German bread; someone with slightly weak teeth couldn’t even take a bite. Inside, even though the pebbles had been picked out, there would still be countless husks and impurities.
Of course, this was only a comparison of hardness. German bread has its own distinct delicious flavor, but it is not meant for the jaws of Asian people.
He had tried German bread once while traveling; due to a lack of understanding, he had gnawed on it as if it were Vietnamese bread. While it didn’t go as far as chipping a tooth, his jaw muscles were sore for a whole week.
The bakery staff had looked at him like he was an idiot, yet they still enthusiastically showed him the correct way to eat it.
After that, he deeply understood why the Westerners near his old lodging would queue up for banh mi with pâté every day without getting tired of it.
Now, in this world, according to the inherited memories, one could also observe a person’s background by looking at their teeth.
Those who could possess a set of white and intact teeth were basically nobles. The food of commoners was not intricately processed, so their teeth were all ruined before they even got old.
Even the Ox-Head tribe, who were skilled at farming and made a living from it, didn’t know how to make white bread now. The humans had never taught the beastmen fermentation techniques.
Having tasted the delicacy, the group contentedly roasted their prey.
Eric was also very satisfied. By letting these people taste delicious food, they would take it seriously next year when he decided to start farming. Although the other Snow Wolves hadn’t eaten it, every time Eric cooked, there was no shortage of beastmen loitering near his house.
Originally, he had planned to clear some land himself next year to plant wheat, beans, and other crops, to let the Snow Wolves see how big the difference was between cultivated crops and natural gathering, and how much food could be provided for the tribe if more land was cleared.
Now that he had launched his culinary offensive, seeing how they salivated every time but couldn’t eat their fill, Eric thought that if he proposed clearing land for farming next year, with the promise that every Snow Wolf could eat such delicious food, he would definitely receive the support of many Snow Wolves.