Chapter 55: Roasted Mutton
The absolute silence did little to block out the grumbling of Ghost’s stomach.
Even with their awakened apertures completely suppressed to mimic the fragile state of mortal merchants, their biological systems were still operating at peak efficiency.
’We need food,’ Evan said, his voice flat and practical as he stood up from the low wooden cot.
’The horses are secured, and our merchant cover is established. If we sit in this dark stall starving ourselves, we’ll look more suspicious than if we go out and look for a heavy meal.’
Ghost let out a raspy chuckle.
’I saw a butcher’s stall three lanes over when we were selling the salt. The bastard had some fresh mountain sheep hanging from an iron hook. Let’s move before the midnight patrol locks down the grid.’
The three of them slipped back out of the grease-stained tavern tent, pushing past the heavy leather entrance flap into the sub-zero twilight.
The muddy pathways of the Shu Clan’s outer ring were slightly emptier now, the desperate vampires having retreated into their patched cloth hovels to escape the sharp mountain wind.
When the three of them reached the crude wooden stall, the transaction was swift and transactional.
For a small fraction of a blood stone, the pale, gaunt butcher cut down a massive, heavy slab of fresh, marbled mountain mutton.
The meat was thick, dark crimson, and laced with dense layers of white fat, exactly what they needed to survive the freezing night.
Returning to the massive tavern tent, they bypassed the crowded main tables and moved toward the central hearth area.
In this lawless inn, the proprietor didn’t care what the guests did as long as they paid their entry tax.
Nestled near the back of the open space was a deep, circular bonfire pit lined with heavy river stones.
The flames crackled violently, feeding on old pine logs and throwing a fierce, smoky heat into the canvas ceiling.
A heavy, seasoned cast iron pot sat resting on a pair of blackened iron grates right over the edge of the coals.
It was communal, meant for travelers to cook whatever scraps they managed to scavenge or buy.
Evan stepped up to the stone pit, his face masked beneath the wrinkled disguise paste reflecting the dancing orange firelight.
He pulled out a blade, wiping the steel clean against his wool sleeve.
He began Step 1 of the preparation, The Clean and Salt.
With swift, heavy strokes, Evan cut the mutton into large, thick chunks.
He intentionally kept the pieces massive, he knew from his life on earth where he cooked for his uncle and aunt that if he made them too small, the intense heat of the bonfire would dry the fibers out into unchewable leather before the interior could tenderize.
Once the pile of crimson meat was ready, Ghost reached into their merchant pack and pulled out a fistful of the coarse rock salt they had been trading earlier.
Evan began to rub the generous amount of salt all over the meat.
He was aggressive with it, pressing the jagged white crystals deep into the grain of the muscle and the thick layers of fat.
The salt would act as both the primal seasoning and the structural tenderizer, breaking down the tough mountain fibers.
They let the salted chunks sit on a clean wooden board for ten minutes, watching the moisture rise to the surface.
Next came Step 2, The Searing.
The mountain mutton was incredibly rich, its edges lined with a thick, dense layer of natural fat.
Evan didn’t bother using any of the cheap oil or lard from their packs.
Instead, he picked up the heavy iron tongs resting by the pit and pressed the fatty sides of the meat directly down into the cold iron pot.
He slid the pot closer to the center of the bonfire, raising the heat to medium.
As the iron absorbed the fierce heat of the pine logs, the fat began to render, releasing a loud hiss that instantly filled the surrounding air with a rich, savory aroma.
The scent was intoxicating, causing several pale, starving patrons at the nearby tables to turn their heads with wide, hollow eyes.
Evan ignored them.
He watched the meat closely, letting it brown deeply on every single side.
This intense caramelization created a thick, dark, roasted crust without the need for a modern oven or a spit, trapping the juices inside.
Once the crust was perfectly formed, Evan initiated Step 3, The Trap.
He took a whole, unpeeled bulb of garlic from his pouch and smashed it flat against the wooden board with the hard palm of his hand.
He didn’t peel it, the papery skin would keep the cloves from burning into bitter charcoal in the intense heat.
He tossed the smashed bulb directly into the sizzling fat alongside the seared mutton.
Next, he added a tiny splash of water, about half a cup that was just enough to create an immediate, violent cloud of initial steam that rattled against the sides of the metal.
Then came the crucial part, The Seal.
Ghost dropped the heavy, flat iron lid over the top of the pot.
To ensure that absolutely no moisture or steam could escape, Peaker stepped forward with a damp, tightly twisted canvas cloth, wrapping it securely around the rim of the lid.
Ghost then picked up a massive, heavy river stone from the edge of the bonfire pit and slammed it directly onto the center of the lid, pressing it down with a heavy, unyielding weight.
With the trap set, they began Step 4: The Slow Fire.
Ghost carefully dragged the heavy iron pot away from the roaring center of the bonfire, sliding it onto the outermost edge of the iron grate where the coals were dying down.
The heat beneath the iron was turned down to the absolute lowest setting, just a tiny, flickering flame kissing the blackened bottom of the vessel.
’Now,’ Evan muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow, his dark eyes reflecting the fading embers.
’We leave it alone. Don’t touch the stone, and don’t open the lid.’
For two and a half hours, they sat on the rough wooden benches by the dying fire, maintaining a silent, calculating vigil.
Inside the pressurized iron trap, the meat was releasing its own natural juices, which rapidly turned into high pressure steam.
The steam rose, hit the freezing underside of the heavy iron lid pressed down by the river stone, condensation formed, and it fell back down, continuously braising and roasting the mutton in a perpetual, closed cosmic loop.
When the time finally lapsed, Evan stood up.
It was time for Step 5, The Final Crisp.
Using a thick cloth, Ghost carefully removed the blistering hot river stone and slid the heavy lid off.
An absolute explosion of rich, garlic infused steam surged into the tavern air, so thick it momentarily obscured their faces.
The half cup of water was completely gone, evaporated into the atmosphere.
Left behind at the bottom of the pot were the massive pieces of tender meat, sitting quietly in a pool of clear, bubbling, rendered mutton fat.
Evan pushed the pot back onto the medium heat of the active coals for another four minutes.
The edges of the pulling meat began to fry lightly in their own rendered oil, turning a beautiful, dark, crispy brown that crackled with every bubble.
The result was absolute perfection.
The roast was incredibly dark and crispy on the outside, but as Evan lifted a piece with his blade, the meat practically pulled apart under its own weight, bursting with pure, rich flavor using nothing but salt, heat, and time.
They dragged the pot back to their private stall, shutting the canvas flap tightly behind them.
Without a single word, the three of them fell upon the meat like wolves.
Ghost grabbed a massive chunk, his thick fingers tearing through the crispy exterior.
The moment the meat hit his tongue, his eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated bliss.
’Oh my heavens,’ he muttered, his deep voice muffled by the food.
’This is the best damn thing I’ve ever tasted in my seven lifetimes. It’s completely melting.’
Peaker, who had been completely exhausted and pale from the previous night, grabbed two pieces at once, the rich fat dripping down his chin as he chewed frantically.
’The salt... it’s perfect. It’s so tender it doesn’t even require teeth.’
Even Evan, whose mind was always running like a cold machine meant to kill, couldn’t suppress the genuine satisfaction spreading through his chest.
He took a heavy bite of the crispy crust, the rich, meaty flavor bursting across his palate.
The simplicity of the Earth recipe had transformed a cheap piece of mountain sheep into a legendary feast.
They ate and they ate, completely losing track of their usual tactical restraint.
The meat was too good, the fat too rich, and their hunger too deep.
By the time the cast iron pot was completely scraped clean of its fat and garlic, the three of them leaned back against the canvas walls of the tent, breathing heavily, their stomachs completely stuffed to the absolute brim.
They had eaten far too much.
