Chapter 171: Millet
Golden millet was placed into the black pottery bowls, making them even more enticing. The shaman, pounding grains in the clay basin nearby, took a bowl to examine closely and found it much more beautiful than before.
His anticipation for the deliciousness spoken of by the Divine Child grew stronger.
Han Cheng continuously pounded two pits of millet, and the sweat was already flowing.
After some thought, he called Lame, who was weaving circular wooden slats in the courtyard, and after demonstrating once, the task of pounding millet fell into the hands of Lame.
Lame always adhered to the Divine Child's instructions. Wielding two increasingly powerful arms, he gripped the wooden stick and pounded forcefully into the stone pit, imitating the Divine Child's actions.
Under the punishment, the husks of those grains couldn't hide the secretly stored grains.Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience
With the addition of Lame, who now acted as the main force, Han Cheng suddenly became more relaxed.
He only needed to clean up the grains pounded by Lame. It was a meticulous and less strenuous task, although continuous blowing made him dizzy.
"Dong, dong, dong"
The caves of the Green Sparrow Tribe rang with somewhat muffled but rhythmic thuds. Some sleeping infants were disturbed by their sweet dreams. They squinted their eyes, kicking their feet, hands forming tight little fists, raising their heads with a slight tilt, mouths agape and toothless, crying loudly to vent their morning grumpiness.
A nearby primitive woman picked up one of the crying infants, offering her dark breast into the baby's mouth. The little one, crying incessantly, instantly quieted down, greedily consuming the nectar-like liquid.
After being fed, the baby, with full, gleaming eyes, refused to sleep. It wasn't clear what this little one saw or thought, but it smiled silently, revealing a toothless mouth.
Using a child's face to describe the weather in June was not wrong; it truly changed quickly.
In the gradually dimming cave, the shaman had already combed down the grains from a head of grain, and now he squatted there, cleaning the millet pounded by Han Cheng.
Lame continued pounding the millet tirelessly, wielding the wooden stick with two strong arms. With the physical labor involved, the previously concealed grains' husks were now brought out.
With Lame's contribution as the main force, Han Cheng suddenly felt much lighter.
He only needed to clean up the millet pounded by Lame, a more meticulous and less strenuous task. However, blowing continuously for a long time made him a bit dizzy.
What once required three people now seemed effortless for one person, and the roasted food turned out even more delicious than before.
Han Cheng was busy washing millet and was unaware that the person roasting meat was looking at him with extreme admiration. The feelings of respect in his heart were like the surging waters of a small river in front of the tribe during the rising summer, unstoppable
Some small, undisturbed husks of grains floated on the water's surface as slightly pale and somewhat turbid millet water flowed out.
After washing four or five times, this half basin of millet finally became clean.
The cleaned millet was placed into a clay pot, and a small amount of water was added about three centimeters above the millet.
Han Cheng had Fire Two light up another pile of fire, found a few commonly used stones, placed them separately around the fire, and put the pot containing millet and water on top. Then, he covered it with a lid.
Orange flames dispersed from the bottom of the pot, enveloping half of the clay pot.
Han Cheng stood by, personally adding firewood below, mastering the heat. Cooking dry rice was not easy to control; it could easily be burnt, wasting food and affecting the taste.
This time, he exerted all his strength to make the primitive people in the tribe cry from gluttony. Naturally, he had to handle it carefully.
White smoke emerged from below the pot lid, rising gently. The unique fragrance of food permeated the cave after the grains were cooked and boiled, drifting into people's noses.
Han Cheng, who hadn't eaten staple food for almost two years, smelled this long-lost aroma, and his eye sockets became moist.
The meal was not ready, and the primitive people were not crying from gluttony, but he shed tears first
After cooking, he picked up the cleaned, long-handled spoon, opened the lid, and reached into the clay pot, stirring carefully. The purpose was to move the millet at the bottom in contact with the pot, preventing it from heating for too long and turning mushy.
After all, they were using the primitive method of cooking with fire, not the electric rice cooker from the future that required no further attention after putting in rice and water.
Seeing that there was only a tiny layer of soup left in the pot after stirring several times, Han Cheng made the final stir. Then he covered the pot and removed the two burning pieces of firewood from below, placing them in the fire pit where the fish soup was simmering.
Using firewood to steam the rice the moment before it was taken out was crucial, as most dry rice tended to burn at this time.
At this point, they couldn't use high heat. Instead, they used a small fire or directly roasted it over the remaining charcoal.
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