Quoted By:
<span class="mu-i">How hard could it be?</span>
As it turned out, certain foods didn’t behave exactly as expected- the slurry for coating the bread, for example. Doubts crept in on whether it was only some, or a lot, or if it had to soak in there, or how much of anything was proper. One egg per piece of toast? Cut about two fingers wide? You couldn’t quite get even slices either…
The most familiar thing was cutting up the bunny’s body and getting out the best bits. You’d never actually skinned or gutted an animal, there were butchers who did that instead whenever you’d been involved in killing something and eating it, but this creature had come pre-done up. So the only thing there was to do was slicing its meat from its body.
An edge running through muscle. The slack from separation. The imperceptible pause before pain. The sudden stop, the grinding sensation of sliding against a bone. The divide between a scar and death was merely how deep it went and where.
The knife was grinding as you were suddenly cracking apart rabbit bones absentmindedly. You blinked, a shake of your head, back and forth, reflexively. Get a grip. Now’s not the time for daydreams.
What else was there to do? What part was the loin? There didn’t seem to be a lot. Well, quantity wasn’t part of this particular equation. They were given a bunch of everything, especially a shit ton of pepper and salt. Onto the pan they went, as hot and high as you could make it. As far as you knew if the fat was sizzling then something was going right.
…There was a lot of smoke. That was normal, right? Any cookhouse you’d been in was always smokey.
When the medallions seemed done, they had been given a blackened charcoaling on each side. Just like a good tripe had char, far as you figured.
Next, the pofesen. Eggy sweetened toast. The best thing to have for breakfast as far as you were concerned, griddlecakes or blini didn’t have the egginess. The pan, hot as hell was dark and deep, had crispy black ruins upon it, and some fat. Not enough to fry in. Time for the butter.
…And <span class="mu-i">more</span> butter. Not that you’d seen it done, but the whole of pofesen was supposed to be crispy, and that probably meant that the whole thing had to be submerged. Good thing the pan was so hot that it wouldn’t take long for it to melt- even if it wasn’t quite looking right already, from the shift of color.
Well, whatever. Some things didn’t look right until they were finished. Like the pre-fried pofesen, which was so saturated that the first slice you tried to pick up sort of just melted in your hands. Not that it was wasted, as it was plonked into the butter soup, but the next two were lifted with the spatula instead.
…
