Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 173: Naked Gourmet: Tree Edition

Ren stood naked in the center of the hollow, hands on her hips, staring at the raw ingredients laid out on the leaf. The fire crackled invitingly. The rain poured relentlessly outside.

It was time.

"Alright, listen up," Ren addressed her sole audience member. "Welcome to the pilot episode of Naked Gourmet: Tree Edition. I’m your host, Ren Reynolds, and today we are making a meal that will make your taste buds take flight."

The Golden Eagle stared at her. It blinked once, slowly, its silver eyes tracking a droplet of water rolling down her shoulder.

"First, prep," Ren announced.

She turned to the inner wall of the hollow. With the precision of a surgeon, she used her high-carbon chef’s knife to pry two thin, sturdy strips of bark from the tree. They were curved perfectly—nature’s plates.

"Hygiene is non-negotiable," Ren lectured, marching to the entrance.

She stuck the bark plates out into the monsoon. She scrubbed them furiously with her fingers, letting the rainwater blast away any dust or bugs.

"We wash," Ren narrated, shouting over the thundering rain. "Because dysentery is not a flavor profile we are aiming for!"

She brought the dripping plates back and set them on a clean leaf.

Next, she grabbed a handful of sturdy twigs. Whack. Whack. With a few deft movements of her knife, she stripped the bark and tapered the ends. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Chopsticks," Ren explained, holding them up. "Because forks are for people who aren’t currently stranded in the Neolithic era."

She marched back to the rain. She washed the chopsticks. She scrubbed them until they were pristine.

"And finally, the spatula." She stripped a thicker branch, smoothing the wood so no splinters would end up in the sauce.

She washed the stick. She washed her hands again. She washed the knife again.

"If you aren’t washing, you aren’t cooking," Ren told the bird seriously.

The eagle watched her waddle back and forth from the rain, captivated. It seemed particularly interested in the way her bare bottom wiggled when she aggressively scrubbed twigs.

"Okay! Mise en place!" Ren clapped her hands.

She sat cross-legged (carefully) by the leaf station.

"Today we are making a deconstructed Jamaican-style Curry Rabbit," Ren told the camera (the bird). "Usually, we’d bloom the spices in hot oil, but my sous-chef—that’s you—forgot to grab it at the store. So we are doing this the healthy way."

She grabbed the rabbit.

"Sorry, Thumper," she whispered.

With terrifying efficiency, she skinned and butchered the rabbit. The knife moved in a blur. Leg, leg, loin, ribs. She chunked the meat into bite-sized pieces.

"Now, the aromatics."

She smashed the garlic chives with the flat of the knife. She minced the ginger into a fine paste. She grated the fresh turmeric until her fingers turned bright orange.

"Color is flavor," Ren instructed, waving a yellow finger at the eagle.

She poured the white rice into the stainless steel stock pot. She walked to the entrance, washed the rice in the rain—swirling, draining, swirling, draining—until the water ran clear.

"You wash the rice until the ancestors whisper ’that’s enough’," Ren quoted the universal rule.

She added fresh rainwater to the pot, covered it with a large leaf she washed (obviously), and set it on the side of the fire to steam.

"Now, the technique."

Ren placed her trusty cast-iron skillet over the main heat. She let it get hot.

"We don’t have oil," Ren explained to the bird, who tilted its head. "So we can’t fry. Instead, we are going to use a technique called dry-sweating or water-braising."

She tossed the rabbit meat directly into the hot, dry pan along with the minced ginger, turmeric, and garlic chives.

Sizzle.

The moisture from the meat hit the hot iron, creating a burst of steam.

"We cover it," Ren said, placing a clean bark strip on the skillet instantly. "The heat draws out the natural juices from the meat. The meat sweats, and that liquid mixes with the spices to create its own broth."

She waited a few minutes, listening to the sound inside the pan change from a sizzle to a low bubble.

"Now, we braise."

She lifted the bark strip—a cloud of golden, aromatic steam billowed out, smelling of earth and ginger. She added a splash of rainwater and squeezed the lemon juice in.

"We let it simmer in this golden bath until the meat is tender," Ren narrated, stirring it with her clean stick. "The turmeric will dye the meat yellow, and the ginger will tenderize it."

She covered it again and let it cook.

While the curry bubbled and the rice steamed, Ren prepped the sides. She roughly chopped the swamp kale and the mushrooms.

When the rabbit was tender, she removed the bark strip.

"Now we reduce," Ren said, stirring vigorously. "We let the water evaporate until all that flavor concentrates back into a thick, sticky glaze coating the meat."

She waited until the liquid was almost gone, leaving the rabbit pieces shiny and golden. She quickly tossed in the kale and mushrooms, letting them steam in the residual heat and meat juices for just a minute.

"And... done."

Ren took a deep breath.

She grabbed her bark plates.

"Plating," Ren whispered reverently.

She scooped a mound of fluffy white rice onto the center of each bark strip.

Next to it, she ladled a generous portion of the golden, turmeric-stained rabbit. The sauce had thickened perfectly, coating the meat in a rich yellow glaze.

On the side, she arranged the glistening green swamp kale and sautéed mushrooms.

She garnished the top with a few fresh berries for a pop of color and sweetness against the spice.

It wasn’t just food. It was art. The yellow curry, the white rice, the green veg, the blue berries—it looked like a painting on a rustic canvas.

Ren placed the hand-whittled chopsticks on the edge of the bark.

She sat back, wiping a smudge of turmeric off her cheek.

She pushed one of the bark plates toward the eagle.

"Dinner," Ren announced with a flourish, "is served."