Chapter 11 Real Cooking

Is it normal for everyone to die? Glad I'm alive, you know? Lucky I'm alive?

With a sudden shudder, Crane took two quick steps toward the door, trying to chase several police officers for protection.

But as soon as he touched the handle, he stopped.

"The officer made it sound so terrible, so why didn't they protect me as a key witness or clue?"

"Isn't that very negligent?

"Testing or baiting?"

Various thoughts fought in Klein's mind, making him suspect that the police were still secretly "watching" him, watching for reactions.

Thinking of this, his heart settled a lot, no longer so frightened and flustered, slowly opened the door, his voice deliberately trembling to the landing position shouted:

"You'll protect me, won't you?"

Pop, pop, pop, no response from the officers, no change in the rhythm of the leather shoes and the wooden stairs.

"I know it! This will happen to you!" Klein shouted again in a tone of mock conviction, trying to look like a normal person in danger.

The footsteps faded away into the ground floor of the apartment.

Klein groaned and laughed in his stomach:

"Isn't that a false reaction? Bad acting!"

He turned away, went back into the room, and closed the door behind him.

In the hours that followed, Klein was on full display, restless, fidgeting, fidgeting, unable to read, and not relenting because no one was around.

It's called actor self-cultivation! He laughed at himself.

As the sun set and the clouds "burned" in the sky and apartment dwellers began to return home, Mr. Klein shifted his focus elsewhere.

"Melissa's almost out of school..." He cast his eyes on the stove, lifted the kettle, peeled the coal, and took out his revolver.

Without pause, without delay, he extended his hand to the back of the wooden board under the low and high bed, where a dozen or so wooden slats crisscrothed.

With his revolver tucked between a strip of wood and a board, Crane straightened up and waited nervously, afraid that the police would suddenly break down the door and storm the room, gun in hand.

In the normal steam world, when he did what he did, he was sure no one would see him, but there was extraordinary power here, self-proven extraordinary power.

After waiting for a few minutes, there was no movement at the door, except for the sound of two tenants meeting to go to the "Wild Heart" bar in Iron Cross Street.

"Whew." Klein exhaled and a heart settled back into his chest.

Just waiting for Melissa to come back and make lamb stew with tender peas!

The thought filled Klein's mouth with the smell of gravy and reminded him of how Melissa had cooked lamb stew with tender peas.

She starts with boiling water and slices the meat, then simmers it with Onions, salt, a little pepper and water, then adds peas and potatoes at a certain time, and simmers it for 40 to 50 minutes.

"What a simple and humble thing to do... It's just the taste of the meat!" Klein couldn't help but shake his head.

But this is also no way to do things, where there are a variety of spices, where there are a variety of cooking techniques, can only pursue simple, practical and saving, anyway, as long as the meat is not scorched, not broken, for people who eat twice a week or even once, how is good.

Klein is not a good cook, the daily food is mainly outside, but cooking three or four times a week, the accumulation of weeks, still let him have a passing level, feel can not live up to the pound of lamb.

"Wait till Melissa gets back, it won't be done until after 7:30, it'll starve her... It's time for her to see real cooking!" Klein excused himself, reignited the fire, went to the communal washroom to get water to wash the lamb, then took out a chopping board and a knife and chopped it into small pieces.

As for how to explain the sudden cooking, he decided to push the dead Welch. McGarwan, the student not only hired chefs who are good at Jianhai's special flavors, but also often thought of their own food and invited people to taste it.

Well, the dead don't contradict me!

But, hiss, this is a world of extraordinary people, and dead people don't have to be speechless... Thinking about it this way, Klein feels a little guilty.

He put the messy idea aside, put the meat into the soup bowl, then took out the seasoning box, and shook a spoonful of semi-yellow kosher salt in it, in addition, from the special small bottle of precious and heavy black peppercorns, and lamb, salt together, a little marinade.

The saucepan was set on the stove, and while it was heating up, Klein dug out the carrots left over from yesterday and the onion he had bought today, and cut them into many pieces.

After preparing, he took out a small jar from the cupboard and opened it to find what little lard was left.

Mr. Klein takes a spoonful, puts it in the pan, melts it, then adds the carrots and onion cubes and stir-fry for a while.

As the aroma began to spread, Klein poured in all the lamb and fried it carefully for a while.

During this process, there should have been some cooking wine, or at worst wine, but the Moretti family did not have such luxuries, Benson could only drink one beer a week, Klein had to make it simple, pour some boiling water, and make it.

After simmering for about twenty minutes, he opened the lid and put in the young peas and cut potatoes, plus a cup of hot water and two tablespoons of salt.

Closing the lid and lowering the fire, Klein exhaled with satisfaction and waited for his sister to come home.

Minute by minute, the fragrance in the room became more and more intense, with the temptation of meat, the mellow of potatoes, and the "refreshing" of Onions.

As the flavors began to mix, Klein swallowed occasionally, opened the lid of his pocket watch, and looked at the minute hand.

More than forty minutes later, not light but rhythmic footsteps approached, the key was inserted, the handle turned, and the door opened.

"Smells good..." Melissa whispered in a confused voice before she came in.

She stepped in, bag in hand, her eyes glancing over the fire.

"You made it?" Melissa pauses in mid-air as she removes her gauze cap and looks at Klein in horror.

She sniffed more aromas, her eyes softened quickly, as if she had found some confidence.

"You made it?" She asked again in doubt.

"You're afraid I'll waste the lamb?" Klein smiles back and, without waiting for a reply, says to himself, "Don't worry, I asked Welch specifically how to make this dish, and he has a good cook, you know."

"First time?" Melissa's brow furrows involuntarily, but is smoothed by the aroma.

"It seems I have talent." Klein laughed. "It's almost done. Put your books and hats away, wash your hands in the bathroom, and wait for the tasting. I'm pretty confident."

Listening to her brother's orderly arrangements, looking at his gentle calm smile, Melissa was terrified at the door, numb and unresponsive.

"Do you like it cooked badly?" Klein urged with a smile.

"Oh, yes, yes! Melissa came to her senses, bag in hand, hat in one hand, and rushed into the back room.

When Klein lifts the lid of the saucepan, a mist rises before his eyes. Two loaves of rye bread have been laid on the sides of the lamb and tender peas, allowing them to absorb the aroma and heat to soften.

By the time Melissa had collected her belongings, washed her hands and returned, a plate of lamb stew with tender peas sprinkled with potatoes, carrots, and Onions was on the desk, and two pieces of brown bread, stained with gravy, were on their respective plates.

"Here, taste it." Klein pointed to the wooden fork and spoon path resting next to the plate.

Melissa, still a little dazed, did not refuse, picked up her fork, put a piece of potato to her mouth, and nibbled.

The powder of the potato waxy, the thick aroma of the gravy at the same time, let her saliva secretion crazy, three or two to this potato to eat, swallowed.

"Taste the meat." Klein pointed his chin down the dish path.

He had tasted the taste just now and felt that it was only the level of the pass line, but it was enough for a little girl who had never seen the market and could occasionally eat meat!

Melissa's eyes gleamed with anticipation as she carefully forked a piece of lamb.

It was cooked so badly that it felt like it was melting as soon as it was eaten, a real burst of meat, a wonderful flow of juice that filled the mouth.

It was the best feeling ever, and Melissa couldn't stop.

By the time she knew it, she had eaten several pieces of lamb.

"I, I, Crane, this is for you..." Melissa's face flushed and her words faltered.

"I've had it before. It's a chef's prerogative." Cline smiled and soothed his sister as he also picked up a fork and spoon, sometimes eating a piece of meat, sometimes stuffing a mouthful of peas, sometimes putting down his cutlery and breaking off a piece of brown bread to dip into the juice.

Melissa relaxed and, influenced by Klein's ununusual demeanor, reimmersed herself in the food.

"It's so delicious, you can't tell it's your first time." Melissa looked at the empty plate with no juice left and praised it heartily.

"It's not nearly as good as Welch's cook, but when I get rich, I'll take you and Benson out to a restaurant and eat better!" Klein says it so much that he's starting to get a little dreamy.

"Your interview will... Hiccup..." Melissa began to sound uncontrollably satisfied.

She clapped her hand over her mouth and looked embarrassed.

That lamb stew with tender peas was so good!

Cline gave a sneer, determined not to laugh at his sister, and pointed to the plate.

"That's your task."

'Yes! Melissa got up eagerly, grabbed the basin, and rushed out the door.

When she came back from cleaning, she opened the cabinet and habitually checked the condiment box and other items.

"Did you use it?" Melissa blurted out in surprise, turning to look at Klein, holding a black pepper shaker and a can of lard.

Klein smiled.

"A little, that's the price of good taste."

Melissa's eyes twinkle, her expression changes a few times, and finally she purses her lips:

"I'll do the cooking from now on."

"Well... You need to hurry up and prepare for the interview. You need to think about your job."