By the time he had cleaned up all the bones, the fawn meat and bones simmering in the pot were nearly ready too. The little thing might not even have been a month old. Its meat was very tender, and all it needed when boiled was a handful of salt.
Thinking about it now, Li Long realized that despite having lived a life and a half, he was not particularly skilled at cooking. He could manage ordinary meals, but when it came to rarer ingredients, although he could cook them, he would most likely end up wasting them.
He put the bones in a basket and left them on the worktable to dry in the sun, then went to prepare the meal. After all, they could not just gnaw on venison. Out of habit, lunch still needed a staple.
Those words, "staple" and "rice," reminded Li Long of the announcements when the dining car sold meals on the train. Of course, he could not serve just rice, because Sun Jiaqiang did not really eat it.
He felt that the drifters in these mountains were probably all northerners who liked wheat-based foods. People from the South were unlikely to come all the way here-not that there were none, just that the odds were very low.
Steamed buns were easy; he just needed to toast them beneath the stove. The rice needed steaming, but not much-enough for two or three people. Anything left over from lunch could be fried for dinner.
Once the fawn meat was done, he scooped it into a basin to cool, left the broth in the pot, pulled the fire out from beneath the stove, and put the lid on. The other cooking stove was also lit, ready for stir-frying. Since a lynx was a feline too, perhaps