I Transmigrated Into A Fantasy World To Farm And Build Houses!-Chapter 251: Unanswered Questions

"These vegetables aren’t rotten! They’re not smelly vegetables either! This is pickled cabbage I intentionally salted!"

Eric stopped coughing; his first priority was to vindicate his pickled cabbage.

Grass angrily slapped the back of Kevin’s neck again: "Don’t you dare eat any later."

Kevin shut his mouth in grievance, missing his good brother Sam dearly.

It was hard for someone who had never eaten it to imagine the taste of pickled cabbage. The smell of fermented food inevitably had a distinct characteristic, so being suspected was normal. Eric wasn’t angry; thinking of everyone’s appetite, he told Max to bring up a whole large jar.

Pickled cabbage needs to be rinsed with water before eating. Some people who can’t handle sourness wash it many times, but this jar of Eric’s had just finished fermenting, so the taste wasn’t too harsh. Since he liked sour food, he only rinsed it once lightly.

Pickled cabbage naturally had to be stewed with bones. Eric ran out to the yard like the wind, digging through the mountain of food to find half a thorn-pig that Max had brought back last time.

Don’t look down on just half a pig; Eric couldn’t lift it alone. Max still had to step in to dig it out of the snow.

"Max, I just want the bone part, don’t leave too much meat on it..." Eric instructed for a while.

Max extended his hand; five fingers revealed sharp claws, and in a flash, he had separated the bones and lean meat.

Eric put all the chopped bones into the pot, first blanching them in boiling water, then putting them back in with spices, onions, and garlic to start simmering slowly.

This time, he didn’t add soy sauce to the stew, because if he added it and then the pickled cabbage, the flavor wouldn’t be authentic anymore.

Pork belly cooked faster than bones, so Eric fished it out first, and as per custom, let Max slice the meat into thin pieces.

It wasn’t that he was lazy, but his knife skills were notoriously bad. Using claws, he was even less skilled than other beastmen - who told him he wasn’t the original goods?

It was a pity there was no fresh prey today, so no intestines. Intestines stir-fried with pickled cabbage were true love.

Eric counted on his fingers; spring was coming soon. Recently, he felt the weather was much warmer. Wait until spring, there would be a large beast tide; by then, he could eat a hearty meal to his heart’s content, hehe.

The Fantasy Dream Continent was vast. The area where the Hadu tribe lived was relatively cold, so most magic beasts chose to migrate in winter and wait until the following spring to return.

In the middle and late stages of the original novel: The original "Eric" was stimulated to madness and found a way to lead a portion of the beast tide to attack the tribe. Fortunately, Max had condensed his magic core by then, his beast power skyrocketed, and his combat strength was equivalent to a level eight magic beast.

A level eight magic beast was on par with a Beast King. On this Fantasy Dream Continent, aside from the Heaven-Swallowing Giant Python which was a level ten divine beast, level nine magic beasts were extremely rare, so level eight was already the strength of a king.

Max killed the leading high-level magic beasts. The magic beasts behind saw this and wisely retreated, so that small attack dispersed.

When reading the story, Eric didn’t look closely at the later parts, but he always had a question: the original owner was just a Snow Wolf cub who hadn’t even developed beast power, so how exactly did he lure the entire beast tide?

This matter really made one ponder.

The fact that a level seven Scorpion-Tailed Lion was near the Snow Wolf territory was known to everyone in the Hadu tribe, so it wasn’t strange for the original owner to know. But it was strange that the beast herd didn’t eat the original owner who was nearby, and instead was lured to the tribe.

Eric once guessed that the original owner must have been used by someone else. It was just that he didn’t read to the end, so he had forgotten this plot point. Now, regretting and wanting to know was impossible; he could only try to avoid making the same mistake.

The pot of bone stew emitted a fragrant aroma. Eric sniffed it intoxicatedly, putting the shredded pickled cabbage into the pot to simmer. When the sour taste of the cabbage permeated the broth evenly, this dish would be considered complete.

In Eric’s hometown, when making pickled cabbage soup, some families would stir-fry the cabbage with lard first, while others preferred it lighter and put it straight into the broth to cook.

Eric liked it either way, but considering the beastmen’s heavy palate, he put lard into two cast-iron pots on the stove to stir-fry the cabbage briefly, then poured in the broth to stew, and finally arranged the sliced meat on top.

At this moment, Kevin could no longer utter the words "rotten" or "smelly."

He followed behind Eric, drooling profusely. The fragrant smell made his stomach rumble with hunger; it seemed the meal he had just eaten at the cafeteria had been digested the moment he smelled this scent.

Pickled cabbage bone stew was delicious enough, but Eric created another way to eat it: adding a few bundles of sweet potato vermicelli to the soup. Waiting for the vermicelli to soften, the clear, chewy strands soaked in the sour and savory broth were truly a wonderful combination.

Busy thinking about tasting the other-worldly version of pickled cabbage, he forgot to make a staple food. Eric patted his head in annoyance, thinking about which rice dish would be quick to make since the two pots of soup were almost ready.

Thinking back and forth, Eric felt that noodles were the fastest, most convenient, and filling, so he ran down to the cellar to bring up a bag of wheat flour.

Kevin had already eaten, so even if he craved it, he couldn’t eat much. Eric calculated the number of people present, found a large basin, and poured in more than half a bag of flour.

This cloth bag was still the grain bag from the Ox-Head tribe; each bag held at least five or six hundred catties. More than half a bag of flour was absolutely enough to fill these few Snow Wolves in human form.

As Eric poured the flour, he silently exclaimed that before, he never dared to think a single meal would use several hundred catties of flour. Wasn’t that only for university cafeterias? Here, just three or four Snow Wolves would eat all of that.

"Let me knead the dough!"

Michael stood by the basin and smiled at Eric.

Ever since kneading dough at the Ox-Head tribe, Michael was surprised to find that while difficult, it was quite interesting. A pile of sticky flour, after being kneaded back and forth, turned into a smooth, shiny white ball of dough that could make all sorts of delicious dishes.

Since someone volunteered for this troublesome task, Eric was naturally happy and quickly stepped aside.

Although the Snow Wolves’ basins were very large, that much flour still required two basins. Michael washed his hands and began kneading based on memory.

Since returning from the Ox-Head tribe, the Hadu tribe also had more grain, and every household was distributed quite a bit. Influenced by Eric, Michael didn’t want to eat grain the old way, so he took the distributed grain to remove the husks and ground the wheat into flour.

Michael had tried kneading dough at home a few times, but he lacked Eric’s cooking talent, so even after kneading the dough, he couldn’t make anything delicious. The best dish was only slightly better than chewing raw grain or boiling it directly.

His mother Anna and father Phong had never eaten Eric’s noodles and steamed buns, so naturally, they felt the food Michael made was already delicious.

Until later, when Eric taught the cafeteria staff, and everyone got to taste various delicious staple foods, Anna and Phong would rather go to the cafeteria than eat what Michael made.

Later, Anna handed over most of the grain in the house to the cafeteria, deciding that from then on, as long as they had time, they would eat there. No one in the family cooked well, so keeping grain at home was just a waste.

Being disdained by his family like that, Michael was also very helpless.

He didn’t really like cooking; he just liked the feeling of kneading dough. Now that there was a chance to show off, what could be better?