"Master, the mutton hotpot is ready. The lamb was slaughtered just this morning. Wine, pastries, side dishes, cold meats, and dipping sauces—twelve items in all. There's still a chef in the rear kitchen, ready to slice fresh mutton at any time."
"Good! Add more of that ginger, garlic, and Sichuan pepper to the broth. It only tastes good when it's spicy and hot!"
"Master, you haven't fully recovered yet. Let this servant help you."
"No need, I'll do it myself! Whew, whew! Bring another plate of spicy vegetables, to wrap around the lamb! And another jar of that Lahu Wine. I'm going to drink my fill with Brother Ali!"
"Yes, Zhu'er, bring another pot of Tusu Wine! Prepare the sobering smoked plums in advance."
On the stone table in Xiuyan sat a bronze beast-headed hotpot, surrounded by armchairs of Juglans mandshurica Wood. From the beast's mouth of the bronze pot, the stove fire of birch charcoal breathed in and out, while delicate slices of lamb rolled and rose and sank in an oily broth of ginger, dates, scallion segments, and Sichuan pepper. Zuwaro had not yet learned to use chopsticks. With a small wooden clip, he picked up a translucent slice of meat swollen full with broth, rolled it through the pungent Chive Flower Sauce, wrapped it in two slices of spicy pickles made from Mustard Root, and put it into his mouth. Spicy, salty, fresh, and hot; smooth, rich, moist, and fragrant—it all melted together in his mouth, then flowed into his belly and turned into a warm current. Zuwaro savored it for several breaths before tilting back his head and breathing out a puff of white vapor, laughing as he said, "After eating spicy vegetables wrapped around boiling lamb, not even the Prophet His Majesty can compare to