Chapter 2: Minced Meat with Eggplant

Chapter 2: Minced Meat with Eggplant

Shen Miao verified her "travel permit" at the guardhouse of the ferry crossing and settled her fare with the boat captain. The porter carried her two large wooden trunks to the cabin she had booked. She gave him two copper coins as a tip and finally sat down in the cabin, letting out a sigh of relief.

Traveling long distances in ancient times was truly not easy. Her "travel permit," which could be understood as an ID card, cost her a full string of cash to have a lawyer pull strings at the government office to get it processed. Without this, ordinary people couldn't travel, as it was required to be shown at river ferries, city gates, and town gates. If one couldn't produce it, they could end up in jail!

Not to mention the expenses of buying food for the journey, renting a donkey cart, hiring a driver, and a porter, even the boat ticket alone was enough to make Shen Miao gasp. She had chosen a government-operated grain transport barge, which, after unloading its cargo, could carry passengers on its return trip. Although more expensive, it was safer, with fewer unsavory characters and troublemakers.

Traveling alone, safety was Shen Miao's top priority.

The barge from Jinling to Bianjing cost two hundred copper coins, and the journey would take over half a month. Naturally, it was better to have a private berth cabin, so she added another hundred coins, plus forty coins for luggage storage.

Onboard, one still needed to eat and wash up. Most ancient people brought their own dry provisions, and Shen Miao followed suit, ignoring Auntie Rong's scolding. Early that morning, she went to the market to buy enough naan for ten days, wheat grains for five days, and vegetables and meat for one day. She also brought a small coarse earthenware jar filled with oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar. However, to get hot water, warm up the naan, or cook a bowl of porridge, she had to use the boat captain's stove, adding to the cost of water and firewood... No wonder the ancients said, "A poor home but a rich journey!"

Fortunately, the cabin she spent a hundred coins on was spacious and bright, with a complimentary pot of hot water and a small basket of charcoal provided daily. She dusted off the somewhat moldy hard wooden bed, laid out her own bedding, and then rummaged through her camphor chest to find a plump round eggplant and a packet of pork belly marinated with oil and salt. She also scooped out half a bowl of rice and soaked it in warm water.

Today was a celebration of both the original owner's and her own new life. Shen Miao planned to borrow a stove from the ship's kitchen to make herself a bowl of minced meat eggplant over rice!

The ship was a motley crew, so she put on a face veil, bent down to exit her cabin, carefully locked the door, and walked along the narrow wooden staircase to the lower deck. Passing by two large communal cabins, she reached the stern, where the stifling boiler room was packed with passengers fetching water. The steam, smoke, and various smells mingled, making it quite suffocating.

The boiler room was small, with a constant flow of people. The boatman stood by the boiler, loudly calling out, "Freshly boiled hot water here! Only three coins a ladle! Cool, clear water from the Yangtze River! One coin a ladle! Alright, three coins from you, next in line—"

She was involuntarily pushed into the crowd, and then a burly woman behind her shoved her, causing her to accidentally step on the cotton shoe of a tall young man in front of her.

The young man, about seventeen or eighteen years old, wore a plain blue robe that he carried with the grace of a pine. Startled by the step, he turned around with a pained expression, revealing a face that, despite the discomfort, was exceptionally handsome and refined.

The cotton shoes were brand new, and the white socks peeking out from the shoe opening were spotlessly clean. Now, there was a noticeable shoe print on them. Shen Miao felt quite embarrassed and quickly bowed her head to apologize, "Young master, please forgive me. It's crowded here, and it was truly unintentional."

The young man glanced at Shen Miao, then quickly averted his gaze, turning to the side and waving his hand, "It's alright. I was lost in thought and didn't notice. It's not your fault."

He was quite good-natured, even taking the blame himself. Shen Miao smiled at him and gave a slight bow. The young man hurriedly waved his hand again and quickly turned away to continue forward.

Finally squeezing through to the other side, she paid a deposit to rent a double-burner red clay stove. The boatman tied a straw rope around it for her to carry. As she left the boiler room, she glanced back and saw the scholar buying a pot of hot water before leaving.

Back in her cabin, Shen Miao let out a long sigh of relief, rolled up her sleeves, and started cooking.

The cabin had only one small window. Seeing that the charcoal produced heavy smoke, Shen Miao worried about carbon monoxide poisoning if she cooked inside, so she huffed and puffed as she moved the stove to the doorway. The level she was on had private cabins, located just below the deck, the best accommodations on the grain transport barge. There were about seven or eight cabins in a row, each doorway fully occupied—some, like her, used stoves to cook, while others had servants who slept on straw mats and thin blankets by the door.

When she stepped out, she attracted many sidelong glances—she was alone, a young and graceful woman, dressed modestly but still unique.

She paid no mind, first returning to her cabin to fetch a cleaver before coming back out.

Seeing her carrying a cleaver and deftly twirling it in her fingers, the prying eyes silently retreated.

She had bought the cleaver a few days ago on her way to hire the lawyer. As a chef, she couldn't be without a good cleaver. Shen Miao wasn't particularly picky about cleavers, but she had standards for the basic shape, material, handle, and sharpening techniques. Her father had once said that a good cleaver could last a chef a lifetime. However, the ironworking techniques of the Song Dynasty couldn't compare to those of later times. She had visited several knife and scissors shops in the market before settling on this one.

The shape of cleavers in the Song Dynasty was already quite similar to the Chinese cleavers of later times. Shen Miao was a fan of Chinese cleavers. If she had to carry a cleaver for survival, she would definitely choose a Chinese cleaver—"slash in front, chop in the back, and slice in the middle." It could be used for self-defense, chopping meat and bones, and even smashing garlic. Even with a thick-backed cleaver, Shen Miao could quickly slice a two-centimeter piece of tofu into twenty thin slices, making dishes like Wensi tofu a breeze, not to mention slicing raw fish. So, a good chef didn't need to carry a bunch of cleavers.

Why had the original owner's malicious mother-in-law let her go? The lawyer had forced Auntie Rong to hand over the dowry. After he left, Auntie Rong, filled with resentment, was about to take it out on her. Shen Miao then took out the cleaver, sharpened it in the courtyard, and chopped meat with a menacing smile, making loud thuds. People tend to bully the weak and fear the strong. Auntie Rong, thinking she had gone mad, retreated in fear and didn't dare leave her room for a day.

In truth, Shen Miao just enjoyed sharpening her own cleavers. She believed that tools had spirits, and only by carefully honing them according to her own habits could the cleaver truly become hers.

Of course, only with money could one afford such quirks. Given Shen Miao's current financial situation, buying this cleaver, which would barely pass muster in later times, required some grit. The cleaver she held cost eighty copper coins, the best laminated steel cleaver she could find in the shops.

Though her mind was filled with random thoughts, her hands didn't stop. Squatting at the doorway, she laid out a thin cutting board and swiftly chopped the white eggplant into sections, then poured them into an earthenware pot to steam on the small clay stove. Simultaneously, she steamed rice on another burner, and soon the aroma of rice and eggplant filled the air.

In the Song Dynasty, eggplants weren't called "eggplants" but "luosuo," and most weren't long and slender but round like eggs, with a white-yellow color. Without the original owner's memories, Shen Miao would never have recognized these as the eggplants she knew. However, after wandering around the market, she found that some vendors sold purple eggplants, though they were much rarer and more expensive—in the Song Dynasty, officials of the first to third ranks wore purple robes, so purple was considered prestigious, even for eggplants.

But for Shen Miao, it was all food for the stomach—what did looks matter? Unlike the cleaver, which was a "valuable fixed asset," Shen Miao didn't hesitate to buy the cheaper white eggplants.

While the eggplant was steaming, she also chopped some green onions and garlic, and prepared a sauce with oil, salt, and soy sauce. Although there were no chili peppers in the Song Dynasty, people loved piquant flavors, which were referred to as "pungent" at that time. Drawing from the original host's memory, Shen Miao had carefully prepared a jar of classic Song-style spicy pickled vegetables before leaving home. She minced ginger, garlic, and leeks, mashed them into a paste, and added prickly ash, salt, and water. Now, she scooped a small spoonful of this pickled mixture to mix into the sauce, using it as a substitute for chili to enhance the flavor.

She worked swiftly, and soon the steamed eggplant was set aside to cool. She then poured a spoonful of oil from the jar into a clay pot, heated it, and sautéed the green onions until fragrant. With a sizzle, she added the minced meat and stir-fried it.

The aroma of meat and onion oil filled the air. Shen Miao was generous with the oil. As she stir-fried the meat, she added the prepared sauce, followed by the steamed eggplant segments and minced garlic. After everything was well-cooked and fragrant, she sprinkled some chopped green onions and the dish was ready.

While the eggplant was cooking, the rice in the other clay pot was also done. She wasn’t eating the polished rice common in later times but rather cheaper millet and foxtail millet. Before steaming, she lightly crushed the grains with the bottom of a bowl to speed up the cooking process.

She poured the fragrant minced meat and eggplant, along with its sauce, over the freshly steamed, steaming-hot rice. Stirring it with a wooden spoon, the dish might not look as neat, but it smelled even better! The rice was infused with the aroma of meat and eggplant, and every grain was coated with the rich sauce. She took a bite and nodded in satisfaction. Despite the limited conditions, her cooking skills hadn’t deteriorated.

When she looked up, she noticed that people in the hallway had been silently watching her, their necks craned. At the door of the neighboring room, a chubby little book boy, about seven or eight years old, with his hair tied in two buns, was staring at the fragrant clay pot in her hands, unable to move. He kept swallowing his saliva, and the others weren’t much better, their eyes gleaming with hunger.

In later times, this would have been just an ordinary home-cooked dish, but to the servants who rarely had rich meals throughout the year, it was a rare delicacy. Moreover, the aroma lingered in the narrow hallway, making everyone’s mouths water. Seeing this, Shen Miao quickly retreated into her room, guarding her bowl, and soon moved the stove inside as well. Finally, she closed the door cautiously, holding her knife.

She wasn’t well-off and was traveling alone, so it was better not to be overly generous.

After finishing her meal in the safety of her room, she peeked out and saw that the people in the hallway had dispersed. Relieved, she went downstairs to the boiler room to fetch water and wash the dishes. She didn’t plan to return the stove too soon; she still had many meals to prepare during the long journey.

Next time, she decided to make something simpler.

She didn’t feel entirely safe in ancient times. Although the Song Dynasty was prosperous, and such an expensive grain barge rarely carried poor people, as a woman, it was always better to be cautious.

After cleaning up, Shen Miao was about to take a nap with her knife as a pillow when there was a hesitant knock on the door.

She picked up the knife, slid the door bolt back slightly, and opened a small crack to peek outside.

Standing at the door was the little book boy who had been eyeing her minced meat and eggplant earlier. When she looked at him, the chubby boy clutched his clothes and gave her a pleading smile.

Shen Miao didn’t open the door but asked kindly, “What brings you here, little one?”

“I apologize for the intrusion,” the boy said in an oddly mature tone, imitating an adult’s bow with clasped hands. He then pulled out about twenty copper coins from his pocket and held them out to Shen Miao, pleading, “My name is Yan Shu, and I live next door. The food you just cooked smelled so good. If you have time, could you please cook dinner for my Ninth Brother?”

Before he could finish, the little book boy’s stomach rumbled loudly in front of her.